Olympus RPG Blog

As with so many of Auditore’s entries, this one is heavily damaged and difficult to read. His focus on one of the native children as a potential student lends credence to the oft-stated theory that Auditore would later become the “Old Man in the Mountain” who headed the Order of Assassins that caused so much trouble in the 2020s.

balance is impeccable though that does not surprise as he is an expert boatman and from what little I know about sailors, balance is very important. The language barrier remains an issue – how do you tell someone that their elbow is crooked when you have no words in common? – and the way his father watches me, I doubt not that the older man disapproves. More the fool he for this is a dangerous time and a boy knowing how to slay would be a great boon.

I am also ignorant of the boy’s dedication so I hesitate to give him more than rudiments. He mastered Cat Crosses the Courtyard quickly enough though I fear that poster is oft mistaken as arrogant by those untrained. I was tempted to push him – could he comprehend the nuances of Parting the Silk or Black Pebbles on Snow? Should I bother showing him Cutting the Clouds?

Tomorrow I mean to seek out Malcolm and learn how long he means to stay here. It is only logical to remain for a time, to perhaps learn enough of the tongue to be able to communicate with others, before we seek our way back to Yrth. I know not this young lordling of Wallace well enough to guess at his thoughts – a wise man would stay in place until his footing is sure but the men of Caithness are sadly oft not spoken of in the same breath as wise.

The entry appears to go on for some time further but most of the remaining text is obscured beyond comprehension. There are a number of words that have survived – blade is repeated at least ten times and blood twice but without any context, historians hesitate to speculate.

This entry is, like many of Auditore’s entries, only partially complete, but it unique due to a surprisingly skilled representation of a beast. There is a reference to a previous journal entry, presumably written a day earlier, following the incident with the two Controllers, but that entry has been rendered illegible from both age and damage. Equally distressing is the loss of several other images of Otherworldly beasts

how to record the day? Even before we came to this Otherworld, I had lost track of the day though that is no surprise. Mother often accused me of not paying adequate attention to the passing of the calendar and I fear I have become no better as I aged.

But I digress and my mind wanders.

The village set out early, leaving behind only what could not be carried or stored in the carts or the boat. The people, these Huallpa, are resilient, though we travel far more slowly than I would like. In their own way, they are beautiful and my eye is oft drawn to the ridges upon their noses. Though they are crude and cannot capture the true likeness of the Huallpa, I follow in Talon’s example and put charcoal to page to capture their likenesses and that of their local beasts of burden.

Below this are several faded images, all but the following lost to time. Presumably, Auditore sketched several of the Huallpa, but this is the only such image that appears to have survived.

Auditore’s next entry picks up sometime later.

Our path takes us higher, which slows the Huallpa even more. The old tire quickly and even their young are unaccustomed to extended marches.

We offered to scout ahead to find alternate routes through the ridges, leaving Lord Wallace, Radskyrta and Talon to watch over the Huallpa as they rested.

‘Ere long, we stumbled upon a nest of creatures unlike any I have ever seen. My father’s blade sang true and my refocus on the old lessons bore fruit. Nigh singlehanded, I felled one of the beasts whilst Rainald and Dane combined to slay the second. Afterward, while my companions and the Huallpa butchered the beasts, I once more put ink to page.

The beasts were a strange form of bird-lizard that towered over us as a war-destrier stands over a sheep-dog. Its skin was tough, but unarmored. The paws have wide, flat digits that provide it with sure grip on difficult surfaces. Viracocha named these beasts in his native tongue but I have no ear for languages and cannot reproduce the sound of his words in Anglish or Latin.

The eggs left behind by these creatures we destroyed as Viracocha said these beasts were greatly feared.

A celebration of sorts is planned and I mean to enjoy myself. Tomorrow I shall offer to instruct the Huallpa in swordplay – few of them are mighty enough to fight as Rainald does and my teachings are better suited to them, I think.

One of the few wholely intact journal entries from Auditore’s lost writings, this section has been poured over by experts intent on peeling away the truth regarding the war with the V’Saa.

Fog shrouded morning. It could almost deceive one into thinking this place was somewhere on Yrth – an oasis butted up against the Great Desert, perhaps, or an inlet between al-Haz and the Djinn Lands. But to do so would be the greatest form of deception, that of lying to the self.

The sun burned the fog away and we proceeded down the river toward the boat we saw the day before. As we drew closer, a boy was revealed to us. If we needed any further proof this was Yrth, the … ridges on the lad’s nose was more than enough. He fled from us, as if we demons given form. His trail carried us to a cliffside village – the structures were no different from what would be found in Caithness – and a greeting party of peasants armed with farming tools rushed to greet us. Lord Wallace elected to send forward Magnifico to act as our voice …

Magnifico. What to say of him? A clown he may be, but he is no fool. Though I know nothing of his past, he has displayed surprising aptitude in knowing what to say and when. It is an impressive skill, being able to change a potential enemy into a friend with only words. My brother possessed this talent, though he and Magnifico could not be more different, in both appearance and temperment.

The attempted diplomacy seemed to go well – Mendel joined during it at Magnifico’s request – until a newcomer arrived. Shirtless, he was unmistakably shackled, with the same kind of creature that had controlled the baron of Ferrier. The peasants knelt at once but the host looked at our diplomats and reacted with visible fear.

Again, my recollection of the events that followed are sketchy. I recall already being in motion when the shackled man appeared – the old training, to stay low, to stay hidden, to stay unobtrusive, kept me from sight – but by the time I reached the man, he was already facedown, a trio of arrows from Dane and Talon protruding from the creature’s carapace. With Mendel’s assistance, I pried the creature free from the man – he began convulsing and Magnifico announced that the creature was seeking to kill the Host. Again, the archers’ aim was true when I tossed the creature aside.

We were rushed into a building by the peasants and another newcomer joined us. This one began making the hand motions that I recognized from the Alphas – and a few moments later, he spoke Anglish. He introduced himself as Viracocha. The insectoid creatures we learned are called V’Saa and they had previously invaded this world where they subjugated the inhabitants, Huallpa. Viracocha expressed great fear that the second shackled – called a Controller – would alert the V’Saa “hive” (which is, according to Viracocha, controlled by a Queen) and they would send reinforcements. After discussion, it was decided that we would neutralize her. My companions urged a direct assault despite my desire to act in a more circumspect manner – Viracocha weaved a portal through which we leapt through, startling the shackled woman within. I was again less than effective – it fell to Rainald and the archers to slay the Controller without harming the Host. Thrice in as many skirmishes, I have been of no aid to my companions and in fact have become a hindrance.

I have lost focus in my wanderings, allowed myself to forget the most basic teachings that my father instilled upon me. My sword must once more become an extension of my self, of my will, of my goals. All men are made of water, my father once told me. If you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die. I must once more become the water dancer I was long ago. My balance must be restored, both inward and outward, and I must feed my emotions into the flames of concentration. Anger, fear, they must be set aside so I may focus on what must be done.

The wind beckons, and I must bend before it.

Viracocha intends to secret his people away from this place and we have agreed to escort them. There is much to learn, much to do, much to be.

More water damage has obscured many of the entries beyond, including the one that modern scholars have spent the most time attempting to reconstruct – the encounter in Ferrier Keep that was later referenced in several other places by second or thirdhand reporters, but has never been fully described by any with firsthand knowledge. The damage to Auditore’s journal is not unexpected, given how the intact pages begin.

filthy sewers. Scouted forward with Dane & Talon. Stumbled upon Red Soldier, but the two felled him quickly. At Lord Wallace’s instruction [Editor Note: This reference is to Malcolm I, who is recorded as to having traveled with a man known only as Whitecloak; this is generally believed to be Gabriel Auditore and this historical document is confirmation of this theory], we pressed on where we entered a wide section of the tunnels. My memory here is sketchy, though I recall another of the Red Soldiers appearing and I springing forward to delay him so as to protect the archers. The skirmish passed quickly, even though more Reds appeared, and my contribution was negligible. One of the Reds fell to my blade and Talon’s arrows and I recall hearing Rainald’s warcry moments before a Leader emerged from the darkness, but a second of the monsters won through my defenses and thrust his weapon into my body. Had it not been for Brother Mendel and the Lord, I fear I would have fallen.

I woke elsewhere, in a shadowed room that my compatriots said was reached via hole in the sewer floor magically erected by the Leader before he was slain. My grievous injury was mostly healed, though they burned and I fear infection. Roughly chiseled stone stairs beckoned and, once we were rested, we stepped toward them.

Emerged from the room and into an alien vista. Architecture is completely foreign, with scribbles that could be writing though none I have seen. Upon looking back we discovered it to be little more than a doorway in the rock.

The sight we beheld was both terrifying and magnificent: Two moons hung low in the sky that was otherwise normal in appearance. A great canyon, with trees that look to be upside-down, with branches growing into the ground rather than upward toward the sky, stretched out before us. The foliage was unfamiliar – the leaves I’ve never seen, nor has Dane or Talon. A great river cut through the canyon, and in the far distance was a boat, which we set out toward. Bro. Mendel & Magnifico exclaimed over “restored mana levels” though I knew not what they meant. Experienced a lightness of step that I had never before felt.

Near dusk, Dane & Talon kill a blue, four-legged beast that tastes funny. We camp now, and mean to press on upon the morrow.

Sleep beckons now, though my wound burns. I pray that this land is not an eternal Purgatory.

Several pages from this journal have been destroyed by water damage and are illegible. It resumes in mid-sentence, with no indication of the date or the context although modern researchers have narrowed the date down to one of three in the year 2005 based on the reference to a sandstorm that wiped out Bordertown.

-damage is beyond the scope of anything I have witnessed before. Entire buildings have vanished, swallowed up by the sands, and the locals wandered the streets with wide, terrified eyes. Mendel did what he could to succor them though it was for naught as a small band of riders entered led by a captain named Benwell. They bore a strange story, of being overwhelmed by great insects in the desert commanded by a magic-using devilspawn. Their injuries were dire and the fear in their eyes too clear to be a lie and it was decided to abandon Bordertown, to retreat to Wallace. Our aid in convincing the citzenry was needed but we knew it would not be enough – the Enemy was too close and would reach the outskirts before the commonfolk could flee. A plan was agreed upon: we would remain behind with the Thunder to hold off the creatures and sell ourselves to save who could escape. I thought it a good plan, one worthy of us, and volunteered to scout our foes.

Atop Cometes I rode forth into the desert, skirting the escarpments and staying out of sight. The Enemy approached on swift legs, marching with military precision. Tall they were, a hand and a half greater than even Rainald, and dark scarlet in color, with broad wings and long glaives. Their captain floated at their back though he was gray and seemed to have no wings. None looked like the two creatures we fought in the desert. I counted eighteen of the red ones, though another pair came was revealed to me when I sought to return to the town. Neither of these scouts saw my passage.

In Bordertown I reported to Benwell. Thunder he may be but I thought him to be timid and unmanned by his flight from the creatures so it was to Rainald that I deferred to in terms of military strategy. It was decided that our band would move forward and ambush the scouts in the hopes that it would slow the full force. One of the Thunder accompanied us, a boy by the name of Radskyrta.

The ambush was successful though it was a close thing. I struck from concealment at one of the red creatures, but its hide turned my father’s sword aside and it grasped me with strong arms. God was with me as I was able to plunge a dagger into the beast’s eye, felling it. The other Rainald and Radskyrta charged, but they were laden down with mail so I was able to reach it before they much to my detriment as its glaive cut deeply into my flesh. It felled Radskyrta and Mendel disarmed it with a grace I had not expected from such a portly priest. Rainald then smote it with a blow the slew it outright. Again Mendel proved his worth by recalling Radskyrta from the brink of death and washing away my injuries with magic. Truly, God is good.

Back to Bordertown we went where Benwell declared his intent to abandon our charge and follow the commoners to Wallace. Again we volunteered to remain upon the flank to observe and ensure that the foul creatures would take no more lives. I suspect that our bravery surprised Benwell – for were we not mere mercenaries? – but it served a valuable purpose. The creatures entered Bordertown and ransacked it, seemingly searching for victims. Their foul leader then wove some great magicks that caused many fires before creating some sort of portal that the beasts used to depart. I rode to Benwell to advise him of this, then returned to my companions and suggested we retrieve the bodies of the two we slew for further study.

Night began to fall before we could reach Wallace so it was decided we would set camp and finish our journey upon the morrow. And what will that day bring us I cannot help but to wonder…

It is with considerable trepidation that I put quill to ink in a meager attempt to record my thoughts and fears. By no stretch am I a great scholar nor a wordsmith – I am many things: a bladesman, a rogue, a thief, a murderer, a liar, a Lost Soul likely damned to burn for my sins of which there are many. Of the Lord’s Commandments, I have violated all but two – never have I sought a God other than the Almighty, nor have I made false idols in His Name. All the rest have I broken and none do I regret more than my sundering of the Fifth.

But my thoughts wander astray and leadeth me into temptation. Who am I? I am Gabriel, of the fallen House Auditore, late of Crane and of Megalos. And, like my father before me, and his father, I was an Assassin.

I fear not these words falling into false hands, for I compose this using the codes and cyphers taught to me by my father, who learned from his father, and so on, back to the beginning. If you have the skill to break these cyphers, then I congratulate you and pray that I am already dead.

But no matter. I fell from Grace long ago, and now seek my path as that of a common mercenary, selling my blade to those who can afford it and seeking adventure where I should seek forgiveness. I am at peace with the Lord’s plan – would he save me from the cruel fate that fell upon my House if he did not have a Plan? He placed my feet upon this Path and I shall stride forth, eager to serve as he directs and be his blade where he needs me. The Lord knows I am a sinner – perhaps it is a sinner and not an upright man that he requires.

Of late, I travel with three – a northerner named Rainald who is strong of arm and of heart; a Franciscan named Mendel who is unlike any priest I have had the misfortune of dealing with; and an archer known as Talon, who is hunted for a crime he did not commit. An assassin – I know not if this man possessed True Training or no – slew the duke of Tacitus, and Talon is now hunted for this crime. Though this murderer – I hesitate to call him an Assassin – was later slain, my curiosity, ever my bane, has kept me at Talon’s side – if the murderer was truly trained in the Art as I was, then those he called Master must invariably move against any they consider threats. I had believed that the conspiracy that robbed me of my House was slain by my actions but now I wonder if it was wider than I feared.

But again I digress. I blame these meanderings upon poor sleep. My dreams have been dark of late, ever since the Great Desert. My companions and I ventured deep into its heart with a scholar and met what I can only call demons. The scholar lies in a deep, unnatural slumber and I wonder if ere he shall wake.

Tonight we sleep here in Bordertown. It is an ugly place with no grace or beauty. Men come here with dreams of glory and venture forth to die with naught but those dreams. If e’er I must enter that desert again, it will be too soon. Rather would I spend interminable weeks listening to theologians debate trivial points of the Bible than face one of those sand demons again.

But I tire and my hand weakens for I am unaccustomed to such scribe work.