Shaintar_J&L_Rangers of Sog

The Private Musings of Gudmund Stonebook

22nd White Stag

The Private Musings of Gudmund Stonebook.
(note the page would be doodled with Calligraphy)
22nd White Stag

Why can the mind not work as a well lubricated wagon wheel? I feel terrible, and yet, exhilarated about this wonderful town I have been sent to study, burning! Yes burning! Well more to the point the fact that an Aevakar by the name of Magpie flew me through the air over the burning town.

Let me explain myself. Sitting with my friend Firebeard eating more of his wonderful food, a stranger walks in pushing a barrel and proclaims it to be Firebeard Ale? There is no way this would be delivered as it is a wonderful home brew. All present jump to this problem catching the man and examining the barrel. Only to find it was a trap set to explode on a timer. This gallant Winged one takes it upon himself to fly it into the air as it is set to damage this wonderful place of food and drink. After an amazing feat of flying, the trap is turned into little more than fireworks. At the same time, a few other diners are trying to gather information from the delivery boy who does not seem to have the spirit needed to withstand the groups terror inducing presence. The “Captain” Of the Rangers , well Master Sargent with captain leanings, is yelling orders and sending messages to Ranger head quarters to rally and ready for an attack.

Not being one for interrogation nor exactly sure what my role with the rangers is. I was made a ranger but a night ago, at least that is what I took the drunken yelling and pelting me with a cloak like the one they wear as. So I set out to see if there was evidence of other trapped barrels or folks acting out of character. That was when I noted smoke above the roof tops turning from the gray of a new fire to the black of a fire catching hold. So I shout to the Winged ones to check it and to my utter amazement and shock, I was bodily plucked from the ground, and at a pace I have not even seen a cart make, I was whisked to the sight of this new fire. This act had I been asked I would have refused as very unsafe. Yet having no say has brought to me the most indescribable experience.

The rest of the day is a blur spaced with snips of vivid spots. Most of these spots are seen from the air above the town. Yet a few are painted white. Due in part to seeing that the new preservative, white wash, that was used on most of the town was a plant of extremely flammable magic. At first it seemed that the center of town, the council building and leaders manor, was the target. After many widely spread fires to draw the sorely pressed defenders of the town to the far reaches of the town the center starts afire with the mightiest blaze yet.

Alas this to was a ruse. It was in the end the inn, the vary one that we had been eating at a few busy hours before, that was the main gathering of the enemy. This fact was stumbled upon and all rushed, another flying jot, to save this beloved building. It was asked that we cover all the entrances. So our flying friends went to the top of the building, the main fighting party to the front doors and I to the rear. It does seem that all these tall folks are all ways flitting here and there. This is an advantage in the art of war it seems. By the time my shorter legs got me threw the rear doors into the cooking areas the fight was mostly over it seemed. I toppled a large barrel of wash water to the floor to spread water in a large arch, and worked to put the fire out as the troop of intruders was dealt with.

Yet threw this highly eventful day all that truly stands out is flying. The town in flames, my body exhausted and yet flying is what I dreamed of all night laying in a near doze. No less than three revisions of a flying harness have I drawn. (Follows a colored stylized drawing of armor harness with loops and buckles.) I am not sure the Winged ones would wish such a devise but it would allow me to be carried spreading my weight all around their thin bodies. I am trying to work on an idea that came to me during the battle for a cistern and raised water barrel with carved troughs. This spread through the city would allow for swifter firefighting but, also close sources of water for everyday use. The idea is like diverting a creek to water a garden. Yet even this work draws me back like a magnet to the idea of flying over the town to see the worst of the damage and the best roves for my new idea of watering a town. I wonder if the size of the woman Aevakar means she could carry me better. I must lay down my pen to go ask, and start the repairs of this town I have come to study. I just wish the destruction of the architecture would take from my mind this spiraling trap of flight.


The Private Musings of Gudmund Stonebook.
(Note the page would be doodled with Calligraphy)
23rd White Stag

Another night plagued with sleeplessness. Still with the dreams of the city from the air. Now it is not only my new found fascination with this most dangerous mode of travel, I have been asked to lay my pen to mapping the town from the air. I went ahead with my foolish quest to ask to be flown about, for the purpose of inspecting the town for the worst sections of damage. This is how I phrased it, yet I fear that it was as much for the personal thrill as for helping the town. Yet once it was undertaken it appeared to be a wonderful idea. I was able to spot many sections that would have been harder to find from the ground. In seconds rather than hours scale larger buildings and inspect them.

Now after near a full day in and out of the sky my fears have grown past the curiosity of a new event. I showed the silent winged one, that has been my guide around the city, my idea of straps to hold our bodies together more easily. With out the power of speech I am yet sure of her response. I was fearful of offending yet more fearful of being dropped. Perhaps in time I will understand more or when we have time she and the others will let me know how the idea was taken. I now hope to not need to take to the air any more until this matter is settled. Yet I also fear that this one day shall not have been enough for me to have gathered all of the information I shall need to illuminate a map of this city as asked. I have told them I am no cartographer, yet they say I know my way around a pen and more than one color of ink. My hopes are to remember that my art is not the more important but covering the facts is the true goal. This I should know from all the hours spent transcribing page after page of lore and text. Not even allowed to add to the page more than a simple flourish or swirl that did not reflect the original.

It seems that my stock of pens and inks will be sorely tested. The map I have started is but one of the tasks set before me and one of many that involve my pen. I still work upon decompressing the tome of lore that has been loaned to me. Almost two full books I have filled and yet I seem to be making slow headway from the original. This my own task of seeking and storing lore lost or not. I have this as an obligation to my order as well as my self and my race. Yet I have been asked to draw up plans, full plans not just an idea, they wish a full proposal with drawings and a list of needed items and labor. On top I seem to have been put in charge of the rebuilding. None of the buildings were lost but there was damage and I have the skill and the knowledge, these are both in short supply. It gladdens my heart to know that the skills and knowledge that my forefathers have invested in me has this much need in the world beyond our tomes and scrolls.

It seems that in handing me this a new obligation I have earned another rank in the Rangers. Artivan has said that I can not lead people without the rank to reflect this leadership. So I now, within 48 hours of being tossed a cloak have been raised to the rank of Ranger First Class. I have studied these Rangers and some of their history in the short time I have been in the city. I am still not sure how I joined or if I should have, nor what exactly my duties are or will be. I know stopping the town from burning and fighting off those that would damage it are the right things to do, yet will it clash with my duties to the Order? I must find the time to send back to my holding and ask for guidance.

The rebuilding in and of it’s self is enough to keep one busy through the winter. They have simple to no tools for building. Hammers and nails yes, a ladder here or there, maybe. They have no counter balanced winch or lifter. I am told they use large groups to move anything heavy and that it can’t be raised above the reach of the group. This leads to rebuilding things I have seen only from sketchings and writings. I had not planned to stay in this place longer than needed to chronicle the stories of these twin Firebeards. Now I find my self embroiled deep within the daily goings on in this town. They shall need several building machines if they are to even start the plans I am drawing up. It will help in the long run with both daily water and if there is another attack, yet I also hope that it shall add more style to the buildings I touch. One path for the water to run across a roof will look odd. Yet if worked into the existing roof or added as art works. This shall not only function but add to the beauty of this town. Also if one side is added to it is my hope that in time they will build up the rest of the buildings to match these new additions.

I know not where to start nor where I shall finish. I suppose if I am to work in this town and help it to rebuild and prevent such attacks, I shall need a place more permanent than this simple room at an inn to hang my tools. I find that I have not the space in my room nor the patience to work in the main hall on many of these projects. When shall I have the time to seek out such a place? I know not even how to start seeking a place. How I once wanted to see first hand the things I saw upon a page. Now a month out of the clan holding and one must wonder about the musings of a youth of 40 years.

Saiderin PillowTop

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