This journal was submitted to us by Sanjuro of House Syrtis, member of the Bearers of Akasha and compatriot of Maxwell Highcliffe. According to the t'skrang, the following journal was recovered after a battle in the Servos Jungle. Apparantly, Maxwell feigned death after a minor wound and when he threw himself to the ground, the journal fell out. It was taken by Sanjuro who decided to submit it when he discovered we were chronicling his group. As is the usual custom, barring a title already on the journal, we use the name given it by whomever submits the work. Hence, Sanjuro and the female elf Briana, who accompanied him, brought it to us as the Lying Tome of Maxwell. The journal, written during the events described within, covers the entrance of Sanjuro and Highcliffe on 8 Raquas, 1508 and ends with the death of the Corinthian on 6 Sollus, 1508. - Vardin Silvertongue

Sanjuro and I were thick with road-dirt when we met the group. As much as the dwarves like to boast about the way their elemental-earth roads speed the feet of beasts of burden and so on, I believe that the magical roads' most endearing and useful attribute is the way they keep dust down on the ground where it belongs, rather than on a wizard's robe or in his eyes or throat.

Sanjuro and I had worked our way to the northwestern part of Barsaive over the past several months, entertaining and earning enough to eat and sleep in relative comfort. Our act was rather simple, but effective. While Sanjuro told a fantastic tale (truly, the boy should have been a troubadour!), I punctuated his wild adventures with flame flashes and bursts of ignition spells. Once, when the tale got a little too wild (Sanjuro was quite drunk by this time), I mind-daggered Sanjuro to slow him down, explaining later that I thought a little blood from his nose was appropriate at that certain point in the story. Since I don't expect anyone but me to ever read this, I must make a note that I could not sit or see clearly for the next few days. I have not attempted further artistic license, leaving such things to Sanjuro who, as a t'skrang, has a natural sense for performing. Editor's note: The previous line seems to have been rather clumsily edited from the original. The corrupted version praising the t'skrang has been kept, however, as there is no earlier copy availible.

8 Raquas 1508 39/3

Why Sanjuro and I ever thought our legend would improve by travelling with a group of adventures I'll never know. Certainly, it looks good on paper - a group of heroes can perform many more legendary acts than a pair, and it is quite flattering to be known as 'The Great Wizard of the Heroes of the Moon, Maxwell' or 'The Iron Coterie's faithful magician, Maxwell' - but as I think of it, I can't imagine it working practically. There's always too much infighting and argumentation in a group for it to ever achieve anything great. Oddly, against all reality and following theoretical logic for once, our group seemed to fit quite well together.

There was the nethermancer, Midnight Blue. Quite typical of his Discipline, he was forever musing on death and diabolism. A slender elf who carried an enormous crystal shield (the word 'stagger' comes to mind when one sees this fellow toting that quartz Aegis). While travelling with him, I came to understand why nethermancers are feared in villages Barsaive-wide - and to think, I once spoke out against prejudice of all sorts, even to nethermancers. I certainly wouldn't want my children playing in the village square when an elf like Blue meandered into town.

Another notable member of the group was the windling scout Garnel. He seemed to follow some odd variant of the Scout discipline, but seemed a nice enough chap. Of course, I immediately launched into a barrage of windling jokes when I met him. I certainly hope he doesn't take my ribbing too seriously; one of my best friends in that tumultuous time I spent immediately after leaving my family barge was a windling, and he and I continuously tormented each other with verbal barbs. Windling jokes are simply a fact of life in Barsaive.

The only lady of our group was the elf Akasha. When Sanjuro and I first hooked up with the group, the poor dear was locked in some deathly slumber. I soon learned that the narcoleptic Akasha was prone to fall unconscious at a moment's notice; while awake, she was somewhat cold, but rather clever and kindly at times. In truth, she did seem to suffer from spells of absentmindedness - ah well, the greatest magicians of yore were always brilliant but confused. N.B. - I shall have to work on my state of confusion; I do not think it is deep enough to befit a legendary wizard yet.

The orkish swordmaster, Rokk Krinn, impressed me as a very noble sort of fellow. He was very heroic in his actions, always travelling about with his sword peace-bonded and such, and it struck me that this was a good group to work with. The loud and charismatic Sanjuro could boast of our tales and leave our mark somewhere flamboyant, while Rokk's heroic actions would certainly draw comments of admiration from the hero-gossips of Barsaive. The dark and malevolent Blue would add an element of fear to our group, and perhaps draw in admiring fourteen-year-old lads who enjoy that evil sort of person. Garnel was an admirable fellow, serving both as the noble, independent and danger-daring scout and as a role-model for fledgling windlings everywhere. I, as the wizard, would serve as theoretical magician and researcher of the group, which should maximize my hero potential and minimize the danger.

The group was exciting from the very start. Apparently, they had just lost a strong and faithful member, an obsidiman Named Gort. Gort had been meleeing with some master swordsman at the time of his death. This swordsman had been chased by the group for a while, as they tried to apprehend him for tearing the eyes out of small children, as well as carving cryptic letters on the poor dead childrens' chests. In addition, the group had crossed the Holders of Trust in Iopos. Brr.

10 Raquas 1508 39/5

We spent a few nights wandering about the countryside from village to village. One village we discovered was utterly uninhabited by the living. The town hall was closed, and when we forced our way in, we found the dessicated corpses of the villagers, complete with scratches on the wall to mark how many were removed. I was informed that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened, and that the dread Horror Ristul was active in the area. We beat a hasty retreat and although I strenuously advised against it, the others put the town to the torch.

I must mention that at this time, the group had long been muttering amongst itself, excluding Sanjuro and myself, and casting us suspicious glances. We suspected that they knew more of the Horror Ristul than they were revealing. On the point of confronting them, we were attacked as we camped out in a grove. Rokk and I had seen suspicious lights, and the windscout Garnel had discovered the existence of a camp of Ristular a bit to the west, at the foot of a mountain. As Rokk and I made our way across the dark plain, a horde of Horror-cultists mounted on ebony horses broke from the mountainside and charged toward us! As a swordmaster, Rokk was able to hold his ground and engaged a handful of attackers. Unfortunately, I was terribly unskilled in melee combat and didn't stand a chance against these charging Horror-brothers. Thinking quickly, I dropped my rope and commanded it to rise into the air, tying it securely about my waist. It did, carrying me with it, and I began to rain spells upon the confused riders from my safety point in the sky.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group had arrived, having been alerted by our horrible cries. A bloody battle ensued. Sanjuro and Rokk leapt like dancers amongst the cultists, hewing and slashing with their blades. With each stroke, another Ristular fell. Garnel vanished from the scene, leading several burly troll cultists off into the darkness. I spent most of my time calling upon the plant spirits to ensnare the men for Sanjuro and Rokk to dispatch, until an incredibly lucky bowshot cut my thin black rope and sent me plummeting to the rocky plain. I escaped with only a few broken ribs and a copious amount of bruises, and I thank Floranuus for that. As for Blue? He was nowhere to be found, which was rather disturbing.

After the battle, we searched the campsite of the cultists, finding a trail that led up the mountain. I suggested it led to their base camp, and that we should follow it to erase these scourges from Barsaive. I was outvoted, however, and we continued south, on our way to warn the nearby towns of the vile Horror.

It was at this point that Rokk confronted Sanjuro and I and confessed his suspicions that we were part of the Horror-cult that had been dogging the group for so long. After many heated words, we agreed that our sudden appearance might have seemed suspicious, and took our respective seats by the campfire to glare over the flames at one another. I am happy to report that we eventually gained the trust of the others. How lamentable that the evil of the Horrors causes those who would otherwise be friends to suspect each other and eye one another balefully.

11 Raquas 1508 40/1

The next town we reached and warned was called Camil. They sent us southward to muster troops, in case of a Horror-led attack. Making all haste, we did so, in the process unsealing parts of Camil's kaer and examining its chief elementalist's laboratory, in order that we might find something to use against Ristul. I acquired a small blue box called Welsna's Azure Prison here.

14 Raquas 1508 40/4

As we travelled northward with ideas of following that forlorn mountain path and perhaps intercepting an attack, Sanjuro and I became privy to more information about the other evil this group was fighting. I have included a copy of the note and poems the group has scavenged, which provided clues that it was a creature of corruption somewhere between Horror and man. Its Name was Sir Corinthian, and it was somehow tied to the town of Viln. Examining these documents, we made our way up the mountain.

As we wandered up the trail, Garnel spotted a strange sight as he scouted ahead. A sentry of sorts, a dwarven lad was crouched hidden at a bend in the trail. Garnel relayed the information to us, and then returned to sleep-poison the lad in order to silence him. Upon his return to the site, however, he discovered that the boy had been murdered in his absence, and his eyes torn out - in the mark of the child-murderer known as the Corinthian. We continued onward to the dark lair, which was actually some sort of lost kaer. We reached it at nightfall and camped out, intending to assault the dark cave in the morning.

15 Raquas 1508 40/5

As the sun rose bright, we made our way down the spiralling stair which led into blackness. Partway down, we heard a click, and threw ourselves backwards. Poor Blue, not swift enough, was stabbed in the ankle by a blade trap and sent plummeting down the shaft to land horribly at the bottom with a loud clang. His magical amulet saved him, despite his protests that such an amulet existed, and we hurried carefully down the rest of the flight to aid him. The cultists had put a bronze pot upside-down on the floor to alert them to any disturbances, as evidenced by the loud clanging noise we heard as Blue impacted. He was spread over this pot, bleeding but alive. As my astral sense picked up shadowy patterns moving toward us, we beat a hasty retreat to rest and allow Blue to heal.

In a few hours, after Blue had called upon the magic of the earth to heal his crippling injuries a bit, we returned to the dank pit. We found a huge roomful of mud, filled with horrid shadow-beings who were resistant to physical attacks and who possessed Sanjuro in the blink of an eye. Blue's enchanted circle proved an effective weapon versus these unholy beings, blasting them out of existence and freeing Sanjuro from their wicked grip.

The shadows vanquished, we continued deeper into the kaer, fighting off a straggling group of Ristul cultists. We were almost defeated by a horrible Horror-construct known as the Qural. In a brave sacrifice so that we could finish the beast, Sanjuro fought the creature alone. His sword-arm was withered beyond recognition. Using my astral sense to see through the inky blackness filling the area, I directed the conflict and retreat. As we pulled back, dragging the unconscious Sanjuro, I spotted an odd pattern in the wall and sent Garnel after it. He returned with some sort of enchanted item, which I planned to examine more closely later. Editor's note: Research has revealed this item to be one part of the Armour of Elost - most likely the gauntlets.

21 Raquas 1508 42/1

After escaping from this horrid once-kaer, we began our trek southward, where we discovered we were being hunted by a band of Iopan nobles. Our group had apparently crossed them some time in the past, and the Denairastas family was out for blood. In addition, we found our destination, a town called Gevin, occupied by the Denairastas forces allied with the hated House Ishkarat. They were, in fact, bullying a Scavian river barge as we arrived!

Forced to skulk by the sheer numbers and power of the enemy, we managed to smuggle the town elders to an airship in the nearby mountains and escaped toward Bartertown. During this time, we recruited a swordmaster Named Tural who apparently had some sort of history with the party.

24 Raquas 1508 42/4

Unfortunately, the ride was not easy. One morning, we awoke to find a young dwarven boy stretched out across the sail, eyeless, with a letter carved in his chest. My heart sunk as I knew our enemy, the Corinthian, was aboard in one form or another. Utilising my wizards' eyes, I managed to discern our foe's pattern. He was disguised as a young boy!

I tried my best to communicate this to the trolls, but they ignored me. Indeed, all but Sanjuro thought me to be mad! As I argued my point, the trolls brought forth a corpse from below deck, a corpse which looked suspiciously like the dwarven boy/Corinthian...

With a great roar, the Corinthian assumed a more familiar, white-haired form. At the same moment, a pair of wyverns assaulted the ship in berserk fashion. A wild melee broke out with trolls, adventurers, and wyverns fighting each other fiercly while the Corinthian laughed madly.

Utilising my mind-dagger, I quickly wounded each of the wyverns. Bolts of mental acuity are not so effective against large animal masses such as this, so I turned my wizardly weapon on the Corinthian himself. Carefully, I set about targeting his impossibly shielded pattern.

Meanwhile, the trolls were suffering terrible wounds from the stingers of the wyverns. Tural, Rokk and Sanjuro were in a terrific melee with the beasts, and Garnel zipped about overhead, a deadly little bumblebee. Blue merely cackled and wove his terrible spells, causing great harm to our draconian foes.

A terrible explosion sounded below deck, and we were all knocked to the ground. Looking toward the staircase, I beheld the horrible half-man form of the manticore, troll giblets speared on its teeth. I ceased my attacks on the Corinthian and speared the beast with a flash of mental power. It snarled, surprised, and fired a mind-dagger of its own at me! Only my smith's talent saved me from serious damage. After swiping at Tural and a few trolls, the beast sprang from the deck of the ship and disappeared.

I again targeted the Corinthian, and for the first time my mind-dagger pierced his defences and sliced a chunk from his prefrontal lobe. He glared at me (why must they always look so surprised when I damage them?) and was on the verge of attack when Rokk and Sanjuro laid into him with their blades. Seeing his servitors dying, the Corinthian sneered at us, threatening destruction if his diabolical plan went through, and stepped off the edge of the ship. Rokk threw down his pack and immediately followed, wrapping his thick ork arms around the Corinthian's scrawny waist. Then the two of them were gone.

We rushed to the edge of our rapidly falling airship and saw Rokk and the Corinthian struggling on the back of the manticore as it soared westward. Helpless, we could only watch as they drew farther and farther away. Sanjuro took some sort of blood oath, but I did not hear the words. We watched anxiously as the manticore became a speck on the horizon, the only sounds the bellows from wounded trolls and the captain's frantic shouts to prevent a crash. Editor's note: The sad tale of Rokk Krinn can be found elsewhere in this work.

25 Raquas 1508 42/5

It was only later that we realized Garnel had tailed the beast, and would have quite a story to tell when he returned. In the meantime, we busied ourselves in Bartertown and Throal, trying to discover exactly what ritual the Corinthian would be performing and where. Through long hours of research at the Library of Throal, we were able to pinpoint the site of the ritual in the Delaris mountains, in a small pre-Scourge mining town called Viln. This Corinthian had been some sort of magistrate there, and had helped create the wards which protected the town from Horrors. A tragic poem told of the town's demise. I have attached the poem to this work.

26 Raquas 1508 43/1

It was in Throal that we met the elf Briana. She was rather standoffish at first, probably a bit put off by the raucous fun Sanjuro and I were having with some stuffy trolls, but quickly proved herself to be simply a curious young woman. Her eagle Henning was never far from her side, and she had a sort of deep bond with nature. She would be an interesting and beneficial addition to the party, especially with our hour of reckoning drawing near. As for Sanjuro, he had his arm healed by Denjada, a Questor of Garlen. I must remember not to scan questors, as she took offense to my doing so and let me know in a most unpleasant manner.

3 Sollus 1508 44/3

Our airship was not quite repaired, but we took off anyway, working frantically to beat the clock. We made it to the Delaris mountains in record time and began to scan the area for any signs of the lost town. Our spirits were uplifted by the return of Akasha, who awoke from an especially long sleep.

Then - from the west - the lookout cried a warning. Theran ships were on the horizon, and we were forced to find cover. At the same time, we saw the remains of some sort of town in the center of a small lake. Unsure if it was Viln or not, but needing cover, we quickly descended into the dry pond in the town center and attempted to masquerade as one of the derelict ancient ships scattered about on the silt surface.

We held our breath as the ships flew overhead. First, some scout vedettes. I had heard tales of these wondrous stone airships, but had never experienced them firsthand. I was suitably impressed by the magicks of the Therans. Then came something which looked like a great huge castle soaring through the air. I heard the trolls muttering something under their breaths, and Sanjuro gave a sharp curse. This was a kila, a monstrous Theran airship. And was there two of them?

At this point, we were all in total disarray. What could a fleet of powerful Theran ships be doing here, headed northeasterly? Headed toward Throal?

Just then, it became night. I looked over at Blue, but he was peering about confusedly like the rest of us. Sanjuro invoked the name of the t'skrang god Syrtis in amazement. Curious and filled with dread, I peeked out from under the boat.

It was incredible. In all my life on the Coil, I had never seen anything like this. The nearest thing I can compare it to is the Floating City of House V'strimon. It was made of hewn grey stone - it looked like a single shard of rock - a piece of a mountain - a mountain itself, not just a piece!

A Theran behemoth was soaring overhead. Looking up at its massive belly, I had the impression I was suspended by my feet dangling unside-down above a city. Small buildings jutted off the underside of the ship. Ship? It shall have to do. Smaller vedettes were docked along the underside of this beast, and I saw the massive mountain sides of the behometh bristling with fire cannons and lightning guns. Windlings and magicians soared back and forth like flies from building to building. There must have been more than ten thousand men sailing on this single example of massive magical might.

When the behemoth had moved on, we sat silently. What could cause the Therans to animate such a brobdingnagian thing? A war, perhaps? What could stand against such a weapon?

Just then, a vedette veered off from the main formation. It was heading toward us, and we prepared ourselves for a conflict. Very soon, the Theran airship was overhead, and we could hear the mummering of the crew, undoubtedly driven by a mad Questor of Dis.

When the ship soared away, we were no longer alone. It had left a patrol of Therans who would harry us during our stay here. The trolls began to work on the ship to prepare it for our escape, and we set off to find the Corinthian. We had a time limit.

4 Sollus 1508 44/4

The city of Viln is a fascinating place. It is built in the center of a great lake, and a system of canals connect the lake with a sort of inner pond in the center of the city. The canals and the inner pond are now dry, but must have once provided the city with an excellent port system. The city was once connected to the mines in the nearby cliffs by a system of tracks, but those have long since fallen in. Most curious about the city is its defencive wall. I was amazed to find that, in a city devastated by a Horror, the astral space was completely safe. I personally cast several raw magic spells without any warping damage or Horror attention, and I found that this degree of purity was preserved by the wall.

The tragic poem of Viln speaks of the citizens 'sacrificing their young' for the wards of protection. I have found this to be quite literally true. All around the outside of the wall are grotesque petrified children, protecting the city from Horror intrusion. Outside the city, the space is as black as that inside the Well of Souls. These child statues were the subject of a thorough, although interrupted, examination by myself, and I found them to be quite satisfactorily powerful warding magic.

5 Sollus 1508 44/5

The center of the city was occupied by a sort of crystal palace which resisted my attempts to penetrate it astrally. After exploring the city and fending off attacks by the troop of Theran adepts, we attempted to enter the building and search it. With the help of my leaping spell, we were able to clamber through the maze of slick crystal which twisted through the palace. As we neared the main room, however, I discovered the rival team lurking on the other side of the main door. We barely had time to retreat as their wizard attacked us with a flurry of mind daggers.

Retreating, we set up an ambush of our own, and attacked the Therans with all our might. We killed a few, disabled more, and chased down as many of the rest as possible. In the end, it came down to Briana and I bounding through the walls of Viln, ending up trapped with three of the adepts against a hive of blood bees. Teaming up with them to fight our way out, Briana and I had a tense standoff with the elven archer. Although an image of Sanjuro pranced in my head, screaming 'Kill! Kill!', I stayed my mind, and the elf escaped unharmed. I was beginning to wonder about these Therans. Although I found the Theran policy of slaveholding despicable, I could not bring myself to kill one of these men as it became obvious that they had not necessarily meant us harm.

We regrouped that night and planned for the mighty battle on the morrow. Clues from a blind, two-tailed t'skrang (the last living resident of Viln?) had led us to believe that the Corinthian waited for us in one of the mineshafts outside of town. Garnel confirmed this, tracking the Corinthian manticore into one of the shafts. I said a hurried prayer to Floranuus, meditated a while, and then fell asleep.

6 Sollus 1508 45/1

The morning of the battle with the Corinthian dawned. We knew he was a powerful swordmaster, and it seemed he had developed illusion abilities as well. As we entered, we saw an image of the Corinthian standing over Rokk Krinn, Ork of Legend, brandishing a knife!

Garnel and Sanjuro heroically struck forth, but the image faded, revealing only a bare altar. Further ahead in the cavern stood the Corinthian. He drew a pair of blades, cackled, and waved his hands. Just then, the eyes of several of our party members - Briana suffered the worst - tore from their sockets and landed at the Corinthian's feet. At first I grew panicked, but quickly realized that it was probably illusion magic. We attacked, and I attempted to convince Briana to overcome the illusion. She was unable, though, and had to resort to attacking blindly. I have to admire her resilience in the face of such pain.

The fight with the Corinthian was long and bitter. Halfway through, the manticore burst in through a twisted gate-like area and struck down Tural and Briana. Sanjuro fought the Corinthian bravely on his own, but he too was brought down. As my friends fell one by one, the Corinthian seemed to grow stronger, laughing off the loss of his manticore after a crushing blow by Garnel.

Just then, an arrow struck the Corinthian. Sonorious, the Theran elf whose life Briana and I had spared, had arrived to aid us. With a swift blow, though, Sonorious was dispatched, buying Akasha and myself enough time to set up for a final, two-pronged strike.

We battered the Corinthian between us. I used my mind-daggers and drew most of the blows, avoiding them with leaping magic, while Akasha threw crushing balls of ice. At last, my dodge magic virtually spent, I bounded toward the twisted gate. Throwing a final mind-dagger, I was knocked backwards as the Corinthian slammed his weapon into my belly with the strength of an ogre. I saw him loom over me, weapon poised to strike a final death-blow - and then Akasha let loose with a final Ice Mace and Chain, wrapping him in bonds of frost and sending him tumbling through the gate.

A monstrous rumbling sounded, and the Corinthian vanished as the gate lit up with magickal energy. As it faded, I could see only his skeleton and equipment.

We gathered up our fallen friends and retreated from that horrible place, only to find a Theran vedette waiting for us. We boarded, and spent a good several days healing as we headed for parts unknown....

An interview with Maxwell Highcliffe

The Lost Journal of Maxwell

Excerpts from the writings of Maxwell Highcliffe

The folly of travelling with Sanjuro