#carver t aberfort

[inquisitoraberfort-blog]

Lord Inquisitor Carver T. Aberfort

[leywalkwithme]

Aberfort, a human rogue on the WRA server, who was highly active in Kul Tiran based RP, is a Nazi. (In game he went by Carver T Aberfort, an Inquisitor based in Drustvar)

He is no longer associated with anyone in the moon guard guild Moonglow Inc, nor with his former guild, Kul Tiran Adrimality, on the WRA server. He has been completely removed from the guild and from their storylines. 

In regards to RP, he’s being completely scrubbed from Verdy’s story as well. If we RP’d a lot in Drustvar together, feel free to drop me a line and I’ll fill you in on everything.  

His views do not reflect those of the KTA or myself. I (along with KTA) had no idea he held these views. A few weeks ago he stopped responding to all my messages and left all our common discord servers. Maybe he knew he was going to start being a nazi scumbag proudly. *shrugs*

Here are his recent discord icons showing his true colors.

Please don’t interact with this guy. He may transfer servers or faction swap or something, but I wanted to let people know. Hopefully he ghosted on wow for good. 

[inquisitoraberfort-blog]

“The Water, shone in the night like a black mirror, it’s rippling edge promising an oblivion so complete as to be almost inviting...” 

[inquisitoraberfort-blog]

Blood and Snow.

Field Report of Inquisitorial Officer Carver T. Aberfort, Order of Embers.

                                          Not for common viewing, nor reproduction.

To be delivered to the offices for the Proudmoore Admiralty.

Detailing events for the evening of the tenth month, fourteenth day, Kings Calendar year six twenty five.

The following report is sensitive, and reading and distribution outside of select officers and staff is discouraged.

Regarding the events that took place last night, I would be remiss not to include a few disclaimers prior to the text that follows. Some of the details will be absconded from so as not to offend the reader. Some things simply shouldn’t be put to paper.

The other note I’d add is that this was never intended to be anything other than a scouting trip with provisions to escort a mainlander mage, Namely miss Verdy Taylor, Mage of Dalaran.

At seven bells past noon, I arrived at the Proudmoore Barracks in Boralus to pick up my charge and some the trusted help of one of my mainland acquaintances. There was a quick briefing which I will summarize as follows.

The brief was simple enough.

After much badgering I had agreed to escort a mage from Dalaran to the slopes of mount Drust. I had warned her off several times, but upon conditions and with a sharing of information being agreed upon the mission would go forward.

I will not go into specific details as to the nature of the agreement but suffice to say that the Mage would be providing a significant contribution to the Orders ongoing engagements against the Coven and all their ilk.

We had set out from the docks, Using my ship, a small four sailed, two gunned Corlain cutter by the name “Persistence”. Crewed by a small collection of Waycrest sailors, the boat was to return to Boralus once we’d arrived.

Once we reached the shores, we were quick to disembark and set off for the town, the term “Uneventful” hardly seems fitting but there is nothing particularly worthy of note.

Once we reached the now fortified Fallhaven, we were approached by a local girl, a tracker and hunter that knew the land. She inquired as our reasons for travel and upon my introduction she requested that she be allowed to offer her gun for service.

Under ordinary circumstances I would be neglecting my duty to protect the people of Drustvar in allowing her to attend us, but given our breathtaking shortages in manpower and her local expertise it would be a fool's errand to deny her.

We set out into the woods, keeping a tightly knit group, torches high, we pressed on for what felt like some hours. As we reached the southern reaches of the Autumn wood, we were in territory familiar due to my last excursion.

The dried and burned remains of the camps that we had put to the sword lay dormant, nothing but a feast for the crows.

Our traverse through the ravaged clearings was silent and morose but we were otherwise unmolested by the enemy.

We began our climb at the base of the mountains, near the eastern falls. There is a disused and rather run down footbridge crossing them which leads to the deeppass caverns and the pass beyond. This route has been routinely cleared of its denizens, the local Troggs and makes for a reasonably safe, if lesser known path through the slopes toward Arom’s Stand.

As we climbed higher into the mountains, the cold and wind took on a life of its own, the raking claws of the spited spirits that still walked the land. Shimmering lights flickered in the mist and whistling song of the storms and clouds chattered.

The Mage, who was seeking Ley lines, a nexus of sorts the way she described became erratic and excited as we crossed one of the snow-laden fields of the upper valley. As the ruins of the Drustvar began to dot the landscape I realized that we were being drawn toward a cave, which I had made out in the side of the distant mountains peaks.

With our goal clear and our destination in sight we were determined to move on.

As we reached the mouth of the cave my guard was up. Those of combat experience in my party were also on edge, and the hunters wolf became defensive, perking up, and growling.

After some brief conversation with the Mage it was apparent to us that the thing she shook was within, and so without further trepidation we made our way forward.

Was the price too high? It’s hard to say yet. While I will not go into specific details in upon this page, for fear of summoning back the memories of that haunting cave, I will say this; I have never encountered a scene of ritual horror so profound, nor so immediate as I did within this cave.

The Mage had set about her studies, mapping the cave, making her notes, tracing her “Ley Lines” … All was well. Myself and the others were in a stiff, defensive posture, weapons drawn, ready for any eventuality, or so we thought.

I will be brief and to the point in the details. The Cave was the sight of a coven ritual, a mass of sacrifices were found within and strong evidence of sacrifice at the site. There were Drust monuments and masonry within, carved from the ancient rocks.

The Mage triggered some kind of trap or… Perhaps just completed one final, illusive circle. No matter the true cause, the ritual was completed and it was our fate to witness this culmination.

As mentioned before, I will NOT write what I saw, I will simply leave you saying that we survived our ordeal, a great threat to the Stand was thwarted and all of our party were injured, myself and Huntress Ymressa foremost.

We fled the cave, as best we could into the snow once more.

The Mages goal was, despite all that we endured, achieved as far as I understand. The winds were punishing and the cold had dropped to insufferable levels.

Were it not for the determination of my companions I believe I would have perished from my injuries on that mountainside.

I write this report from the Inquisitorial Tower, Arom’s Stand, Waycrest mandate. This was our ultimate destination and this is where aid was rendered by a doctor, whom I believe works for the Anchor Trading Company.

Blessings and final treatment was provided by Tidesage, Brother Anton who had responded to calls for aid via Gryphon, almost frozen in the very same winds as I almost perished.

For further details, specifics or sensitive information regarding the above events, please make an appointment with me, send letters to the officices of the embassy to House Waycrest in Boralus.

Silver preserve, C.T. Aberfort, Inquisitor. House Waycrest.

[inquisitoraberfort-blog]

A beginning to things.

Field Report of Inquisitorial Officer Carver T. Aberfort, Order of Embers.

                                          Not for common viewing, nor reproduction.

To be delivered to the offices for the Proudmoore Admiralty.

Detailing events for the evening of the tenth month, tenth day, Kings Calendar year six twenty five.

The following report is sensitive, and reading and distribution outside of select officers and staff is discouraged.

On the night of the 10th, around seven bells in the evening I had gathered my forces, and recruited several adventurers to assist in the tasks at hand.

Our mission was to be undertaken under cover of darkness and was sensitive to the issues of time. The objectives were reasonably simple and were to be one part of a larger operation.

While being sparing in details I will simply say that the Order, along with the House Waycrest had made it a point to begin a night of action. Counter attacks against the coven at specific strategic points in the northwest forest.

Our group was to investigate rumors of a fledgling cult in the Autumn wood and if necessary cut them off from being able to reinforce the Coven forces that were to be engaged by the other forces operating that night.

The Order had provided for us Horses, and specialist equipment for the Mainlanders who had answered the call for aid. We were provided with water, silver tipped arrows and tack for the aforementioned horses.

We set out through the North-gate but were intercepted by Waycrest scouts who informed us that the passage was blocked and that the 3rd infantry regiment had been engaged by some manner of hulking stone beast, and that our way would not be passable.

Thinking on my feet, I elected that we’d take the high road pass. What used to be a kind and tranquil road would provide us with a great deal of challenge. Between the snow, rain, darkness and cruel sharp rocks we would be in for a rough ride.

As we got toward the ending of the chasm pass, we had to ride through the ruins of what was once a Trogg camp. Bones, remains and what not were strewn about but no evidence of current habbitation was noted.

As we were traveling through this rain slicked pass, we did notice a small group of Troggs gathering on the far ridge side… After firing a few rounds, the group dissipated on their own.

They disbanded their little party, but not before howling, and throwing rocks and so on, but the ride through their camp was otherwise uneventful.

As we trotted down toward the culmination of the pass we saw a lone armsman fighting off a Trogg, we hastened our advance to render assistance but he dispatched the beast handedly.

He swiftly informed me that he was trying to render aid to us and had received word of our from Fallhaven and proceeded to make his way in our direction.

As our party grew we reached the end of the pass. It was here I elected that we continue on foot. We tied up our horses to a silver peg, as has become the standard practice to protect them from the hex-hewn airs that blow up from the forests below.

After a brief moment of reprieve the party did away with their comforts and drew their weapons at my command. We proceeded forward and down the mountain pass, near autumns falls.

The forest stretched out before us, a clearing shone through the night, a blazing bonfire and evidence of habitation. There were easily fifty, perhaps more people down below, their paths lit with torches and efigies to their dark practices.

We moved down the mountainside in silence, staying close together so as not to lose sight of one another. Once we reached the bottom, the first sight of the cults grizzly activities greeted us.

Splayed out before an altar was a woman, of.. Let us say her mid twenties, dead and gutted before one of their wicker idols.

After a brief reprieve and prayer, we moved forward toward the clearing we had seen from the mountain side. I had absolved that stealth or sneaking in would not be an option considering their numbers and how well lit they had made their encampment.

Stealing those under my command for the encounter we pressed forward, crossing a small brook and boldly we ventured into their camp.

As we moved into the gathering, they began to surround us, people from all sides circling around us, holding clubs, farm equipment and various makeshift weapons. They were not overtly hostile but the threat was clear.

I gestured for those under my command to stay close together with a movement of my hand, but before long their leader; or what I supposed to be their leader showed his face.

I won’t bother to transcribe his enfeebled words here to save the reader a measure of time and sanity, suffice to say it was drivel of the highest order.

Once the verbal exchange between me and this .. “Speaker” had concluded, he sent his men, and women for us, they were like an unwashed throng of vitriol and violence. They set upon us in seconds.

One of the members of my command, Elizabeth Lockwoode of the Proudmoore Admiralty was seized and pulled into the mass.

We tried to cut our way through to her but to no avail. The fighting continued for some time and their numbers began to fall as myself and those under my command proved to be more capable fighters.

The battle was concluded with the execution of their “Speaker” at the hands of one of our Mainland companions.

Immediately following the incident, we set forth toward the mouth of a large cave, set into the mountainside.

The path was lit on all sides by torces and efigies, and it was from within we heard the cries for help of our lost companion.

Some of those under my command having sustained injuries our progress up the rocky path was slow but we did eventually make it to the black caves mouth.

We pushed inside and the sights that greeted us would turn the stomachs of lesser men, and… well, indeed they did.

I will forsake writing the things we saw within that cave. To put them to paper would further reinforce the reality of the horror we encountered within. Would remind me of the senseless, formless thing that we were beset by and its witch master.

I will however, detail some events and discoveries that were made within the cave.

We were joined in combat with an unmentionable abomination after discovering the practices of one of the cults witches, and several prisoners, one of which Lockwoode had become.

The prisoners were all women, bearing child. We recovered them and Lockwoode, but despite the best efforts of myself and my men, the women succumbed to some form of foul magic in the conclusion of our fight against the caves denizen.

Having suffered losses of health, and moral, in my recently injured state I ordered the cave, forest and camp within the surrounding area burned and destroyed.

The men quickly set about this task. For my part I rounded up and executed any remaining stragglers in the grounds as the fires begun to build to intolerable levels.

Once it was clear that we had done all that we could, I marshaled my forces and we withdrew to the mountain road by which we had entered, giving proper release by flame to the villager before the altar that marked the roads beginning.

A full account of the events that transpired within the cave, and the discovery that it lead to will be delivered to the Office of the Inquisition and will only be available upon request, granted by the Order of Embers.

Carver T. Aberfort,  Office of the Inquisition.

Silver preserve you.

[inquisitoraberfort-blog]

Under the shadow of a blood drunk moon...

Field Report; Lord Inquisitor Carver T. Aberfort, Order of Embers.

        Not for common viewing, nor reproduction.

The following report is of a sensitive nature, thussly the reading, distribution or duplication of this document without proper approval will result in full criminal prosecution

Detailing events for the evening of the tenth month, twenty eighth day, Kings Calendar year six twenty five.

The following will detail an engagement by friendly forces with those of the enemy. Belligerents therein being the Forces of the Order and Waycrest guard, Opposing the forces of the hex-thralled “Waycrest” Guard.

It was the evening of the twenty eight, and I had arranged for the forces to be arrayed in Arom’s Stand, to warm themselves at the inn until the time I would address the troops.

After addressing the gathering of forcers, which were Order, Admiralty regulars and a few Mainland auxiliaries, we set off toward the western gate. That night would mark the first march we had made outside of the gates toward that side of the mountains in months.

The last operations against Corlain and the Crimson wood met with limited successes, the victories that were found there were the efforts led by Lady Lucille Waycrest and her fledgling Inquisitors, these were the early days of the order.

Things have changed.

In the months following the death of the errant, and traitorous Lady Waycrest the Coven has become a decentralized, belligerent thorn in our heel, and shows no signs of collapse not stopping the menacing of our once great lands…

The objective of the nights operation was to infiltrate the outer banks of the Crimson Forest, to track the foul blue thing that I saw birthed in that cave, to put a stop to this - rising - patron of this new Coven.

I have been greatly delayed in writing these reports due to developing events and changes in the direction of the wind, and thusly I will try to keep the summary brief. The work never ends.

We set out on foot in the early evening, the moon was high in the sky, drunk on blood. Shining down on us, tainting and tinting everything in an eerie pinkish glow.

The omen was ominous and the celebrations and jubilations of the covenant in the forests below could be heard for miles, this was their night, their holiest of holies.

We set down from Arom’s Stand in the direction of Corlain, though this was not our destination the steep path down the mountain sides left us little choice.

The ruined remains of the lost patrols and of our foes were scattered around us in the dark, framed by the quickly building snow.

No sooner had we reached the crossroads we heard the unmistakable sound of armored men, marching. The whinney of some sick horse, they were already upon us.

I did what I could to rally and prepare the troops. As the enemy marched down on us, the blocked our path forward and backward. One column of men advanced on us, and a bulwark of them blocked the bridge, blocking us from our destination.

Riding behind the hex-thralled guard was a traitor… “Maelforth.” One of the Waycrest guards lieutenants who was missing, presumed dead. I served with this man, and to see him this way, even I will admit was jarring.

He rode arop a black steed, dead of flesh and carved into in some foul ritual. He wore antlers on his head, clad in shining black armor, a gleaming scythe at his side. He was the one of found us, he remembered our tactics, the way we moved and had assembled this force to thwart us before we were able to penetrate the Crimson Forest.

There were a few moments of shouting, of frantic preparation, of closing rank. I marshalled the men as best I could, keeping our soft targets in the center, the armor up front.

Within seconds we were beset by the men, their pikes thrusting into our lines, their shields their boots, this was a line battle typical of war, and just bloody.

Taking wounds and fray to all sides, the fight was long and brutal.

We were joined part way through by a passing Drustman, armed with enchanted weapons and a furious hatred for the coven, he fell into our ranks and aided diligently, our numbers grew whilst theirs waned.

Maelforth, the bastard, strafed us, cursed us, like a coward from the back of the lines he charged forth, throwing hexes and swinging that cruel war scythe, more of my men lost strength and blood to him then to his soldiers.

Through might, perseverance and good of fashioned steel and lead, we emerged from the battle worse for the ware, but alive, which is more than can be said of our foes.

The Bulwark on the bridge parted that their leader might retreat, cursing at us and taunting as he did so, the shield bearers then resumed their position, holding fast a few moments.

We did what we could for the wounded, re-forming our lines and taking what few ragged cold breathes we could in the reprieve, for I knew as well as those under me that soon the Bulwark, which by now had started to march would be upon us.

It was time to do something.

We couldn’t take another beating like that and expect to continue our mission. But amongst my men were good Kul Tiran rifles and pistols, and I knew full well that if they were worth any salt, they’d know how to use them.

Barking the orders that all would know, I set up a firing line and we bore down on the approaching Hex-thralled Bulwark.

Those words that were the last so many ever heard. “Ready, AIM and FIRE.” The volley was swift and expert, shot after shot, the acrid smoke filling the air and obscuring our already limited, blood bathed view.

They returned fire with their own handguns but the volley had them dead to two men, myself and one of the Mainlanders, a Worgen lead a charge to finish them off and did so expediently, I will… Spare the details.

We pressed onto the bridge but it was at this point that we needed a shift in direction, the combat had been harrowing and if we were to press on we needed to lose the outside element, to send the wounded home.

I tasked one of the Mainlanders, a Knight, to return to the stand, and deliver word of the assault, and to escort the wounded back to safety, she herself was wounded so this was the wisest course.

The moon hung above, hugged by fat clouds, nurturing its bloated mass, the crass blood glow still radiating down on us, the distant screams, drums and chanting ahead left the already ominous air full and thick with dread.

Those of us who remained stood on the bridge, myself at the lead, gathering out bearings, our strength.

The descent into the crimson forest was ahead and already the detritus and glowing blue lights danced around the bases of the rot fed trees.

[End of Part 1 - Part 2 Tomorrow or sooner]

[inquisitoraberfort-blog]

Under the shadows of a blood drunk moon, part 2...

The trees are sick, the roots taste blood and leaves grow thick and anachronous, like those of an older, sicker, unordered world.

I had been deep in these woods before, seen this rot and felt the rippling sickness of the land. But for the Mainlanders, the Ambassador, who is a night elf, this sight and feeling was … New, and sickening.

We pushed deeper into the forest, we saw the decorations and the effigies of the Coven and their ilk, the beating drums and monstrous rituals in the night illuminated the distances and the canopy above.

We moved quietly, slowly, carefully. I knew we were in the nest of the vipers and acted accordingly.

In the distant clearing, we saw the object of my expedition, a ruined, destroyed house, the trail lead here and I knew that this “Unborn King” as I had taken to calling him would not be far away.

It was then that I heard it, the gushing whispering wind rush, - I knew - in my bones that we needed to hide.

After a scramble, out feet planted into the loamy earth of a long dead tree trunk, fallen across a river. The rushing beat of wings was answered.

A monsterous being slammed into the earth ahead of us, nearby the house that we’d been moving toward, this was a creature of pure nightmare…

I had never seen anything like it, and I don’t believe any of my party had either.

A huge, hulking thing, of many limbs, pale skin and ravens rings, the head of a crow, or a hellish approximation of it, leered and peered around the clearing as if looking for us… Or something else.

We stayed there in total silence. We knew what would happen should we move. We watched and we waited.

The thing towered above, its shoulders easily reaching the roof of the building, atop was a casque, a place for the rider, the thing I was hunting, but to attack now would be a fool's errand.

It tore the door from the home, stretching and cracking the doorway as it thrust its bulk inside, soon after we heard feverish screams and shrieks as the thing set about its bloody work.

No sooner had the beast landed, it was gone… Taking my prey with it. Things would have to wait.

We couldn’t abandon the mission, traces of the movements, of rituals or some other clue might be left behind and there was still Maelforth to account for the damn traitor had to be apprehended.

We pushed forward toward the house, staying low and slow as was proper.

I won’t go into extensive detail as far as what was inside, but Maelforth was no more…

Clinging to life, he began to laugh and the blood that was smeared around the room begun to be pulled toward him, some kind of disgusting congealing, twisting mass.

What happened next was wholly unexpected and in equal measure horrific.

We were blown from the house that quickly started to fall into ruin. Choking vines and foul magic bound us, petrified and otherwise subdued us.

From the bloody mass, a being stepped forth. A hideous, lanky think that vaguely aproximated a human form, with antlers and teeth protruding from the head, three blue eyes set across the visage.

Miss Taylor, the Archmage, who was quickly becoming a necessary accompaniment to our expeditions seemed to earn the things ire somehow.

We were stuck fast, bound, unable to move or assist her.

The thing had somehow paralyzed her, moving forward to distend its jaws opening wider than any mouth of natural beast would be able to do so. It licked her with some foul serrated tongue and would have devoured her had it not been for a chance, a twist of luck.

She had, braided into her hair a silver ring. I reflect that the chances of its tongue touching the object, or her having it in the first place are so slim as to almost show providence.

Whatever the factor, the thing recoiled spitting and cursing in its ancient tongue, its spell falling from us, the roots dying and being pulled from the soil, it was our chance to strike.

Not for me.

As soon as the frantic combat begun, I was struck by one of the things spiked, thickly coiled limbs… They penetrated my chest and threw me clear, I crashed into the cliff side, the trees. I don’t recall, all I remember was the blackness that took me.

How long was I unconscious? I can’t say and what had happened in the interval between my waking moments? I would include them in the report but I was unable to debrief my men efficiently to do so.

I remember waking to a strange but familiar feeling. I can’t say why, or what. Perhaps it was a dream. It was as if the lips of waking life itself were upon mine, warm and moist.

The sensation was captivating and all encompassing, it was then that I felt the jolt.

There was something surging inside me, a preternatural strength, speed and vigor. My eyes snapped open and there was a face.

Miss Taylor’s face. Curious, considering but I could hardly dwell on it in the moment.  

I sprung to life, like the arm of a rats trap, propelled forward with only a singular goal in mind. A desire to rid the world of my assailant, to kill.

I remember vaguely being airborn, my sword in hand, I pinned the thing to the wall of the building, sinking the silver deep into it. The others joined the fray, reinvigorated by my revival perhaps.

Flashing and scorching reports of vivid purple magic blasted into the thing, swords, gunfire. The combined works of my men, who were - quickly - becoming expert combatants against the the coven and their monstrosities.

In short order the thing was recoiling, screaming and desperately fighting back, it struck at my men and got in front of me, pulling away from the wall.

I ran at it again, jumping onto the things back, sinking my silver dagger into the back to make a hand hold, I was continuing to climb. The others cut at its legs, forcing it down. As it quivered and breathed, and I hope begged, I prepared my pistol.

Under normal circumstances I would never have used witch-rend shot at so close a range, but the rage and adrenaline that were surging through be clouded my good sense.  

The report was deafening, the fire blazed and in a shower of shattered gore the thing was defeated, and our mission concluded.

Without unnecessary detail we returned to the Stand, dogged and harassed on the way by the coven and their airborne beast, forcing us to at points hide.

When we returned the Field hospital had been fully staffed and set up, our comrades who had left us earlier to thank. We took to mending, to healing and to reconciliation.

Soon I will return to that ruined house, to resume the trail.

WE WILL have our justice, and we will end this “Unborn King.”

By fire, by silver, and by the sweat of our brow.

For House Waycrest.

Lord Inquisitor, Carver T. Aberfort.

[inquisitoraberfort-blog]

The Drowned Slopes.

Field Report; Lord Inquisitor Carver T. Aberfort, Order of Embers.

        Not for common viewing, nor reproduction.

The following report is of a sensitive nature, thussly the reading, distribution or duplication of this document without proper approval will result in full criminal prosecution

Detailing events for the evening of the tenth month, twenty second day, Kings Calendar year six twenty five.

On the evening of the twenty second, Around four hours past noon, my ship was loaded and ready to depart from the Proudmoore Barracks docks in Boralus.

The Persistence was fully loaded and crewed by her usual Waycrest sailors, cargo included relief supplies for the nearby villages, weapons and defensive equipment.

Along with the crew of six a group of troops from the Admiralty would be accompanying myself, and two of my fellow Inquisitors namely Selyse Carlisle and {redacted}.

Also in tow was one of my go to freelancers from the Mainland.

Also having arranged to join us later on in the field would be consultant mage Miss Verdy Taylor of Dalaran and her escort Miss McNamara, a Paladin from the mainland of some stripe or the other.

We set out for an hour of light sailing, our destination was the dock at the ruined Fletcher’s Hollow.

The seas were choppy that evening, the uncharacteristically cold wind that always seems to mark my path stalked us, catching in the black sails of our Cutter.

There was a palpable mood amongst the crew, and the soldiers on board… Foreboding I would say.

The the Persistence drew closer to the Isle of Drustvar, the mountain hung in the sky, the clouds were fat and dark with snow, the sun was just setting, casting our once beautiful isles into a fiery red hue, it wasn’t to last however as night was drawing in.

With a lurch, thud and calling of the crew we’d hit the dockside, we tied the ship up and begun to disembark.

In the nearby village, the bells were signaling the beginning of the curfew and the local militia came to greet us.

Once the hand off of supplies and weapons was complete, the men were mustered onto the dock as I took account of the nights tasks at hand.

First I addressed my immediate companions, the Inquisitors. I relayed their tasks for the evening, and had them set about their work, after which I took attention of the soldiers

In the address I explained that which I am about to put to page, so will not go into strenuous detail about the specifics of the dockside speech.

The task at hand was reasonably simple. Continue along the trail that had been established in our previous outing, we were hot on the scent of a Witch, a coven leader perhaps.

Having thwarted her fledgling cult it was pressing that we find her and strike before another could rear its ugly head.

Through a few expeditions into the woods on my own I had established a likely path of travel for the foul creature and believed that she was moving into the mountains, toward Gol Koval.

A harrowing prospect but one we would have to make peace with.

And with that, we begun.

Our trail into the woods was slow, steady and cautious.

One Inquisitor to the rear, one to the fore, myself ahead.

The troops held weapons ready and we were their guides as has become the standard drill for Admiralty forces operating with us in Drustvar.

As we delved deeper into the woods, the atypical lights, howling and whispering winds we’d come to expect as the night draws deeper began in earnest once again.

The dancing lights in the darkness and creatures of the woods trailed us just out of sight, not daring to confront not one, but three Inquisitors directly.

The trees grew thick around us and the upward slopes began, we were in the foothills at the base of the three peaks, the ground was cold and thick with slick mud, ruined weapons and bones.

I stopped the column upon noticing something odd. Engraved into a nearby tree, beside the path was exactly what I’d been looking for. Etchings, carvings… Runes, the language of the Coven. I had Inquisitor {redacted} inspect the markings.

We discussed his interpretation of the wording, linguistics being one of his specialties.

See attached translation notes, they will be sent to archive.

Once we’d established the that we were on the right trail, we pressed on in earnest, Inquisitor {redacted} Resumed his position, following up at our rear, His peculiar pistol trained at his hip.

We moved now into the hills in earnest, rocky outcrops on all sides, the slopes grew steeper and in the distance we distinctly heard the roar of the eastern falls. We knew that we had a river crossing coming up and that sound marked it, so we pushed on into the night.

There was a distinct rumble in the earth, I checked with my men to find it wasn’t just myself that had felt it. This would be a sign of things to come, and set us all on edge.

The path became more rocky, soon we were walking amongst moss covered stones and hanging vines, the gravelly earth beneath our feet quickly became slick and we had to take great pains to watch our footing.

The falls sounded the endless tides crashing into cliff side rocks as we approached them, the torrent of water was immense.

We re-gathered in earnest at the river-bank, now a good few miles up the cliffs, the view down into the forest below and sea beyond would have been breathtaking had it not been for the oppressive darkness and sour, cruel winds.

As I crossed into the river, being the first to do so I could have swore I saw something in the water, a brief flash of light, I stopped to inspect but was unable to find anything, and so carried on across.

Soon to be joined by a few of the men, there was that rumble, closer, more distinct and accompanied by the most terrible sound, it felt as if the earth beneath our feet were beginning to tear itself apart.

It had begun. It emerged from the rocks like some kind of birth from the mountainside. From behind the waterfall that birthed the river we were crossing an immense stone arm burst forth.

The column was in a shambles, we were caught completely off guard. In hindsight I should have been more careful, nonetheless there was nothing to be done about it.

It was a Rune-wraith, of some kind by my estimation, but far larger and made of square stones. Hadn’t seen anything quite like it before, even in the peaks. The moss and sea-vines hung from it as if it had sat behind that fall for a thousand years.

As it emerged it blasted out torrents of water, rocks and mud, some of my men were caught, and one of the Mainland Auxiliaries, a huntress was sent falling from the tributary falls.

I honestly thought she was dead in that moment but I had no time to reflect on it because the torrent was on its way to me as well, I was pinned against a nearby rock, up to my waist in mud and grime.

I could hear the others, over the gasps for breath and the sound of the falls the muffled shouting was then punctuated by a series of gunshots, in quick succession. First to fire was Inquisitor {redacted} Followed by Falconer Denion of the Waycrest Guard.

Their timely intervention allowed myself and the others to recover from the onslaught of water, and bring our own weapons to bear.

Inquisitor Selyse Carlisle in the meantime had deployed ropes down the nearby cliff face in an attempt to rescue the fallen Auxiliary, who, according to her calm but strained shouting was very much still alive.

The hulking stone monstrosities had a face, and glinting blue eyes as is customary for the constructs of the Drust. It was curious to be given a mouth, and the lichens and vines hung about its face like a beard.

It roared and spoke in it is putrid ancient tongue, before it came at us, thrashing, swinging and hewing. The first into the fray at its feet was one of the Admiralties men, one Darnor Purefaith who brought his warhammer ot bear on the legs of the thing.

Unfortunately, not even the considerable strength of the plated soldier was enough to halt the advance as it kicked, thrashed and nearly crushed many of the column! It was time for the second volley.

Like rapturous thunder our guns went off again, this time mine joined them. The harrowing fire of myself and my men seemed to create a sort of confusion (Or pain?) in the beast, its advance halting briefly. That was a fatal mistake.

In that moment of clarity, Inquisitor Carlisle had managed to save her charge, her silver daggers drawn.

She danced about like a siren and within a few moments she’d managed to get her Storm-silver daggers into it, cutting away as if it were made of clay.

Myself and the others fired another volley as the stone giant coursed forward, it stumbled and stood weakly, before it began to fall.

Inquisitor Carlisle had disengaged and fallen into the river behind the thing, watching it through gasping breaths. It began to shatter and collapse, falling out down the falls, but not before it took an almost mournful look at the sea.

I was, and still am curious about that moment. It was as if the rocks felt, what? Remorse? But how can such a foul creature feel such a thing? Can it feel at all? … Baseless speculation, for another time.

The banks of the river were now cast about with rune carved stones, fallen from the thing, kicked up kelp and river plants as well. I gathered the column and had them begin to cross the river. I took a perch on a rocky outcrop and began to check my charts, trying to appraise myself of where we were.

As I did so, Inquisitor {redacted} Gestured to the side of the river we’d just come from, a few of the strangling troops still getting ready to begin their crossing, two more figures had joined them, just visible in the dim light cast by the torches of the men.

I dispatched him to investigate the newcomers, but after some deliberation I joined him to see for myself.

To my surprise Verdy, .. I should say, Miss Taylor, the consulting mage from Dalaran had caught up with us with her escort in tow.

They were far behind our rendezvous point, it was our intention to meet up with them at the base of the foothills, but they had apparently been delayed..

After some brief explanations and niceties we had them join the column and cross the river, the men seemed emboldened to have the … Eccentric … mage to aid us, others weren’t so warm, Inquisitor Carlisle and {redacted} were naturally cautious and wary of the new faces, particularly the escort in question.

The now rocky hills grew significantly steeper, the Mainlanders and even a few of the Admiralty men struggled to keep up. Myself and the other Inquisitors, having the lay of the land made good speed and scouted ahead as the rest caught up.

The cold, howling air kept up and the beginnings of snow sprinkled down mountain, as I noted on the day, it’s never a good sign to have snow so low down the mountains. In Hindsight, perhaps we should have turned back.

But if we paid attention to all the superstitions and omens, we’d never leave the Stand.

As the path turned up and into the mountains, there was a pass on either side that narrowed around us and forced us to group up together, as it widened out we were greeted by an expected, but no less harrowing sight.

A brook stood nearby, lined by trees. The pool was still and black, reflecting in it were the hundreds of blue lit candles we’d just discovered.

The candles ringed all the way around the pond, and near the bank there was some kind of ritual site. The effigies and wicker bundles of their craft were scattered around the cold, sandy bank, the snowflakes gathering on them slowly.

I had the men take to a stop and stepped forward, the other Inquisitors did the same, spreading out to inspect the area, there was a heavy feeling in the air, the winds whispers picked up and the dancing lights of flashing blue streaked the snow filled clouds above us.

Inquisitor Carlisle took her time to inspect the ritual sight, picking through the bloody remains, bones and trinkets with a stark grimace on her face.

Inquisitor {redacted} moved forward toward the bank, claiming he’d seen something in the water. His hand rested easily on the grip of his pistol, his posture was tense and I sensed a certain feeling from him, something was wrong.

I called him back from the bank, but it was as if something had a hold of his mind.

One of the men from the column, a Waycrest man by the name of Morgan Brightcrest, a Lieutenant had sensed the danger, his {redacted} nature and {redacted} leading him to have a certain … How would one say? … Sense, for such things. He took a perch high up on a nearby outcrop, loading his rifle with a rather distinct ammunition.

I returned my attention to the Inquisitor beside the bank, he’d fallen to one knee, he stared into the water, .. “A face.” I thought I heard him say, within a second there was a crash of water, from the dark black pool a pair of pale arms had lunged, and pulled him under.

Carlisle was quick to her feet, yelling his name into the darkness, the column instinctively took a broad step back, I circle about and had them rally into formation, telling them to ready themselves.

A few moments later Inquisitor {redacted} emerged from the pool, he scrambled, white faced out from the bank running into the formation as Inquisitor Carlisle joined the ranks also, drawing her distinctive silver daggers.

Our Marksman and Falconer, Denion and the Armsman, Darnor were eagerly preparing their weapons and the Mage and her escort seems… on edge, trepidatious. Not that I can blame them, least of all the poor mage, her experiences on our last outing were… Not pleasant, to put it mildly.

We rallied ourselves, and took a moment to catch our breath. The tension in the air was palpable but there was something else as well. Some unmentionable force was gathering, some power in the air. Something dark.

Naturally, I had my suspicions and the other Inquisitors did as well, we stood. Waiting.

Then we saw two blue orbs rise from the distant black surface, glistening that foul hex-blue that all these accursed things seem to be bound by.

There was a pale figure, rising from the water. If I had to summarize its description succinctly I’d just say it was a drowned man. Thinned, covered in algae and pond scum. A dead farmer, I believe, due to the scythe in his hand.

The Drowned man wasn’t alone, and a wretched cackle and call broke the surface. The witch called out to us from the mountain side, taunting us. As she did, more eyes rose from the still black water, and then more.

Soon the water was a frothing, roiling torrent of arms, teeth and crawling limbs.

If I had to guess, I would say they numbered in about forty or fifty individuals.

The drowned hoard consisted of dead villagers, drowned men, women, even some children. I won’t speak of the children. The creatures were in various states of disrepair, some armed others not, a few larger amongst the group wore rusted, tattered Waycrest armour.

As soon as the first of the pale things had set foot on the bank there was a deafening sound as the Lieutenant's munitions detonated in the shambling group. He’d fired one of the azurite cylinders to great effect.

Myself and my men were splattered with mud, pond water and … rotten remains. This didn’t however seem to deter their advance, and did incur their ire, for they surged toward us and to Lieutenant Brightcrest on his perch.

Within a moment, they all moved. As one. It was like nothing I have ever seen. A twisting mass of pale rot and limbs, just, surging as if they were one organism. They pulled Inquisitor {redacted} from our formation. Inquisitor Carlisle turned white, and I roared his name, to no avail.

Either he was dead, or unable to hear our calls. He He was submerged in them, pulled into the writhing mass as if being pulled away by some foul current.

Efforts and investigations into the recovery of Inquisitor {redacted} are ongoing. I refuse to believe that I watched him die. I have filed him as missing in action, and the Order and my fellow Inquisitors are doing and will continue to do everything in our power until he is returned to us.

Silver Preserve him, if he yet lives.

The harrowing sight had taken a toll on the men, they fidgeted and whisperings of fear and retreat peaked my ears. The time for action was now.

I leveled my gun at the enemy, fired, and drew my blade. They came to us by the glout, endless they seemed. The others, the men, the Mage and her escort, all were engaged in the forray and there was no shortage of fighting.

Gunfire rang out like the call of a distant storm and steel and silver clashed. Lieutenant Brightcrest was forced into retreat and the pale things managed to get into our ranks and slash, bite and crow.

Before long we drove them back with our combined arms, the Order, The Admiralties men and the Mainlanders we punished their faltering, ending their sickening march down to a few shambling men.

It was as if we’d broken the spine of some beast, the last few stumbled uselessly, moaning and hissing before they collapsed to their knees, the lights in their eyes floating up to join the chorus of spirits that had gathered to watch us, presumably wishing our defeat.

It was in these moments that these ever present, flickering lights of foul intent begun to surge and flow around us, amassing into some kind of … storm?

It’s hard to describe what they look like, or what they do. They are lights in the dark, they mislead men into danger, they dance around the coven like cats at a mothers feet.

But now, they were doing something else. Of our party there were two Mainlanders of strong faith in the light. (Fools, no light in Drustvar, I warned them.) Darnor Truefaith and Miss Mcnamara.

These dancing lights surged into them, filling them with cold and doubt and weakness, enfeebling them and stealing from them that which they cherished most. Their gifts. Though I doubt their faith was broken, it was certainly shaken.

I witnessed one of the Paladins, try with all his might to summon up his fiery gold, but to no avail. I imagine that if made public, this information would be highly troubling for some of the Mainlanders, but it’s best we not try to find out.

It was then that we heard the waters disturbed again, just as we thought we were graced with some form of reprieve. As I was trying to take stock of my men, assess their injuries and account for Inquisitor {redacted}’s loss, the waters churned once more.

In this brief interval the Mainlanders Huntress foolishly decided that she would go after Inquisitor {redacted} or more so his last seen position. As he dove into the water, it was but a few moments before we heard her begin to scream.

She had been ravaged, slashed and otherwise torn by some unseen foe, the black water churned with blood, but they didn’t pull her under, or devour her for whatever reason as she staggered back to the shoreline to collapse. It wasn’t long until her asailents came into view, slinking from the black waters.

Four hex-hounds. Dogs, large ones. They weren’t like those you would usually encounter. I’ll be making a detail Bestiary entry on them when I get a moment, I have already had the remains of one recovered by a Waycrest field team.

In brief description: They were an amalgam of flesh and dead wood, similar to the old Thorn-speakers from the legends. Though, distinctly different, especially the largest. It had three of those foul blue eyes, one set into its head. Around its neck, like a lion's mane were ravens feathers.

They bore canine gate and attack patterns, but also used long tongues, lined with sharp spines.

They were otherwise similar to a wicker hound, besides their almost living fleshy bodies.

Sticking from their backs were long, sharp quills. I presume they were poisoned but we didn’t have the misfortune of finding that particular detail out.

They slinked out from the waters quietly and begun to circle us, taunting us. They barked and yipped in an uncharacteristic way, like many voices at once, it’s hard to describe and I wouldn’t waste the ink on such a triviality.

We’d already lost one man, the mainlander was down and bleeding. The hounds circled us like we were a wounded animal.

They all struck as one. They were fast, an unnatural speed, a speed they shouldn’t have had. It was only a few moments before they were within our ranks.

The battle before had worn down the men and now these things were raking and striking them freely. The Mainlanders Paladin, Mcnamara sustained some injuries, and our consultant Mage Miss Taylor’s calf was bitten severely.

We managed to dispatch three of the beasts in the bladed chaos, the fourth withdrawing to taunt us once again before the bleeding huntress did the unthinkable.

I was astounded to see her calling and taunting the monster. The thing was on her in seconds, if her previous injuries were bad this was something to behold.

I won’t go into details here to save the readers already no doubt churned stomach but suffice to say she looked like rag doll, crimson and filth sliding from the beasts jaws.

Inquisitor Carlisle was the first to react, surging forward and leaping onto the things back, and at this moment the huntress, who by now was bleeding out had managed to latch the beasts jaw in just such a way, that when the Inquisitor forced herself down on the thing, it’s jaw became dislodged.

As the rest of us surged forward the thing’s head was dismantled in a rather undignified and unpleasant way that I won’t remark upon further.

We’d done it, our trials at this waterborne ziggurat were over.

Now was the matter of dealing with the injured.  The huntress wasn’t going to make it unless she was taken back to the boat post haste. Our dear mages Escort was injured badly also but was able to walk and make use of her arms.

I assigned Inquisitor Carlisle to escort her down, back to the ship, McNamara had volunteered to carry her dying Mainland ally. The Paladins at first had derived to heal the fallen, but were unable to do so. (No Light.)

I rendered what aid I could to the rest of my compatriots handing out some alchemcical tinctures to clot blood and relieve pain. I called the Lieutenant down from his firing perch and addressed those who remained.

With heavy hearts we pressed on, our job was far from done but we’d certainly over-come the first two hurdles. We were still standing and mostly intact. Our number was small, few but brave. I admire their tenacity.

We were in the mountains proper now, a few miles to our north were the ruins of Gol Koval, one of the hotbeds of activity in the region, our incursion force was small and sharp, not well suited to engaging with the near unending hordes of risen bones and stone that lingered in those shattered temples. We made our pains to stay hidden, ditching our torches and relying on the scarce moonlight.

Behind us, following up the trail in the same direction as we’d dispatched our wounded, the Ranger Adelaise Mirthtide had joined us, a much welcome reinforcement and friendly face. Embolded we carried on, strident.

To either side of in the mountain pass were the distinct, black rune covered ruins of the old Drust. Those dancing lights and shadowed spirits that had been dogging us since the pond followed us eagerly, passing through the stones and into one of the ancient stone doorways.

Up ahead of us in the darkness the mouth of a cave was illuminated, with a path of candles and ruinous remains leading to it, our end goal was in sight but the ruins beside us begged further investigation.

We were here, and we might not get the opportunity to be again. In my gut, I knew something was wrong. I wasn’t alone, some of the men complained of hearing whispers, and there was a distinct, palpable disquiet in the air.

I will not describe what we saw. Not in this report, knowing that politicians, archivists and others might be privy. It would serve no purpose to be overly elaborate in detail.

It was a sight that myself and those under my command that night will not soon forget. I will say that it was a ritual site. A sight of sacrifice and disposal of near a villages worth of people.

We had to press on, lest I let the men succumb to the whispers that I heard them complain of hearing, or the grizzly sights we’d just left behind.

The cave was not far now, I felt it, she felt it. There was a powerful coalescing of power here, the innate forces of the land, the so called “Ley Lines” and the perverted death magics of the coven, all together as one.

This was of course not the only such place in these lands, but I felt it in my gut that we were on the right track, that same palpable turning I felt when last we faced this creature.

There she was. The Witch. In the shallow cave she stood above a tattered, writhing young man, drinking from him like some horror of myth, he quivered and gargled as if she had just sunk into him.

The Witch was not like she was when last we’d encountered her, she was not of haggard or gaunt form, gone was the tangled hair and ragged robe. She plucked some disgusting amalgam of flesh blue flesh and wispy blue smoke up from beneath the grizzly altar, putting it up to her blood soaked bosom, where it fed intently.

I would describe this creature in more detail, but to preserve the rationality of the reader and to keep what I consider to be a sensitive operational issue contained, I will not do so.

The being before us looked almost serene, like a young woman clad in white, her floating around her as if she were suspended under water. It was a disguise, a trick… so that we would lower our guard.

We did not.

I won’t repeat the malicious things this hag said to me and my men, she singled them out one by one, praying on their fears and desires, looking between them. We were paralyzed as if in some kind of trance… My hand would already have fallen for my pistol had we not been, I am sure of it.

I knew what was coming, and there I stood, powerless to prevent it. With her serene, hex-blue eyes she fixated on one of my men, then another, slowly and in tandem.

First was Vedy. Miss Taylor, the only mage of our party and easily the kindest on a normal day, no spite or wish to harm others in her… There was a flash of knowingness in her eyes as I bellowed my warning to shield her eyes, but it was too late.

then, was the newcomer, Adelaise, an experienced Ranger, local to Drustvar, she knew what she had to do but she was just not fast enough, as her eyes glazed over she raised her rifle.

Behind me a commotion began, to subdue the Ranger, the other men firing their weapons, the Paladin, Darnor raising his hammer high, as if to bring the cave down around the very witch. Lieutenant Brighcrest fired another of his screeching augmented munitions.

It felt as if time had slowed, as I took no pleasure in what I did next. In  one swift motion I stepped toward the mage before she could act to be our ruin. I drew my silver dagger and slipped it into her abdomen. I was careful to avoid her vitals, but the pain, the shock and sudden realization on her face took a part of me. To spill innocent blood, even to protect it is never an easy thing.

I set the wounded mage against the cave wall, before tearing away toward the ranger who had just shot a hole clean through my tricorn, a close call to say the very least.

I bore down upon her with my dagger, but she was more prepared, fighting me off tooth and nail, possessed of a savage fury unlike her.

In that moment, miss Taylor, in a moment of brilliant clarity used her enchanted quill to stab at the now hex-thralled ranger, its silver tip burying itself deep into the nape of her neck, breaking the curse and snapping her back into her senses.

I dearly wish I could write that this was the end of her strife, sadly, Paladin Truefaith had seen her attacks on myself and the others and had endeavor to put an end to the threat in the only way he knew how. With his hammer.  

I remember seeing Adelaise’s face turn from hexborn anger, to shock and then to pain. There was a sickening crunch as the warhammer broke her femur, and she collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.

Amidst this chaos my men continued to fight the foul coven-mother. From what brief glimpses of her I could see in the chaos, the witch drifted like a mist, passing through my men only to materialize to strike them with hideous rending claws. The trick was over, the chaos was sewn. She had revealed her true form to us once again.

She cut my Falconer, Denion Swailes chest to ribbons in a flash of seconds, he clattered to the ground coughing, and wheezing. She bore down on the others, leaving them half as badly wounded.

She finally swooped down in mist to turn into her solid form again to I think, punish the champion that had failed her. As if Adelaise the errant ranger hadn't had enough, the witch rendered her as she had done the Falconer, juts of fresh blood leaving streaks of steam as they spattered through the air.

Seeing the witch made physical, I acted as quickly as I could, wanting to prevent her from turning back into that vaporous, hideous form. I drew my blade and stuck her with it, running her through from front to back, my blow soon accompanied by one by Darnor’s hammer.

Following that was the distinct explosion of an azurite round detonating twenty feet out. The Lieutenant had taken a shot but his weapon had over-penetrated, it still left a sizable hole in the witch that screamed out in rage and frustration.

Shortly after I lost sight of the Lieutenant. I presume he is alive as he was in reasonable shape when I lost his trail, but for the sake of this report I will also be declaring him missing in action.

All efforts are being made to locate and safely return Lieutenant Morgan Brightcrest.

As the pitched battle continued, the hag roared back into her cave, cursing us and weaving her twisted magic. The reason for her sudden retreat was unknown to me at the time, but now I do have my theories, but the less said on that the better.

As I turned to follow the witch as best I could with  my gaze, I saw the young miss Taylor had moved from where I’d left her, she now stood in the cave, what happened next still astounds me.

As if by some providence, or stroke of sheer luck, the Mage had managed to expertly tap into the same “Ley Lines” and latent energy that the witch had been using to power her own rituals, stripping them of their foul taint and using them against her.

I can’t say how long it took because the moment seemed to stretch forever, there was a high pitched screaming from the hag as she darted in for the kill, her blood soaked claws within a shaved second of miss Taylors soft and slender neck.

The flash of light was almost blinding. Ribbons of purple and light danced around after the explosion, I stumbled forward with my hand raised. There were showers of particles and flowing energy spirals, no sign of the hag or her foul progeny were anywhere to be seen.

It was then I looked at the roof after seeing a black droplet hit the tip of my boot. There it was. The witch had been smeared across the ceiling of the cave, de-constructed beyond recognition.

Not only had we found and defeated our mark, but the shrine she had been corrupting, and feeding from had been cleansed.

A total victory to say no less.

The victory was not without cost, at the end of our skirmish with the now dead witch-mother we’d lost another two soldiers to grievous wounds. They were not dead but they would be if we didn’t get them off the mountainside.

After administering what aid I could to the wounded, we devised a plan that involved the mage making use of the remaining energies in the shrine to summon a portal back to Arom’s Stand.

As you well know portals are unstable, and cannot be opened willy nilly, this would be difficult and under ordinary circumstances impossible.

I would carry Adelaise, Trufaith would carry our Falconer Swailes, Miss Taylor would carry herself.

I will not bore you further with details of travel, triage, sleeping arrangements or wounded soldiers.

Suffice to say we made it back, in due course and set about accounting for the details of the night, for the injured and of our discoveries.

As of this publishing the following forces are still missing, presumed alive.

Inquisitor T. {Redacted}

Lieutenant Morgan Brightcrest.

All endeavours that can be taken to return them safely to us, will be taken.

Endure, Persist, Repeat.

Silver Preserve you.

Lord Inquisitor Carver Tiberius Aberfort.

[Needs proofread further and some edits need to be made, but here it is raw so that I can say I published it today.]