Journal Entry #15
Twenty Third August 1814

Today we fought a beast that was as wonderful as it was terrifying. I think the only way I find to describe it is as the dead that walks. Not something so fanciful as a zombie, but still terrible. A beast whose hide was toughened and hardened that even the magic in my blood empowered claws did nothing. A beast who, even beyond death, their body resisted and repelled my magic as if it were naught more than mere parlor tricks. The condition of two of my compatriots was put into grave peril as we fought, with mister Taiyo left at death’s door.

Though I’ve recieved much training at the Society on the medical realms, I found, in my haste, that I had let my knowledge fall to the wayside, and healed mister Taiyo impulsively, allowing his wounds to close on foreign matter. Much as I am loathe to continue to aid him, considering his insistence on calling me by detestible terms, I feel I am responsible, as it is my own action and inaction that allowed for such sloppy healing. Quite justifiably, miss Drogheda was quite cross with me, and I will need to take her words to heart.

That said, those of this caravan are rather unneccesarily obstinate. Even when I’d nothing to do with my magic, she nearly did not allow me to heal her quite grevious wounds. I frankly cannot stand such obstinance at the cost of ones own health. Regardless, I do need to rest. I do ever so miss my morning runs.

Journal Entry #14
Twenty Second August 1814

Returned to camp of the Moon Loons. We ended up trading goods for a singular simple healing spell. Further, we gathered information on a potential fey related occurrence in the forest by the Great Mirror Lake. It could provide some excitement, especially with mother’s interest in the fey, however, the talk of those visiting the festivities finding themselves waylaid is… Troubling, to say the least. Information was also gathered on the Great Kitty Snakes, and a mysterious giant beast which may sleep within the lake. I am not, however, sure of what to make of these. Still need to speak with Miss Annina’s friend, the princess Aponi. I also need to speak with someone about my chronic exhaustion of late. Perhaps Professor Ambrose. Regardless, for now, I feel I must rest.

A Far Lost Dream

I think it was my room. It was a long time ago, but I can still remember the smell of reagents floating on the air. Under the door, a small light was flickering, the signs of a fire, perhaps from a lab.

I can’t be certain. Nothing seems vivid nor clear, but yet…

I’m confident this is real. I stand up, crawling out of my bed. Everything is so big… Or maybe I’m just small. I hear voices on the other side. I want to go closer. They’re a comfort, I think, or perhaps not… Maybe a terror. An ill omen of things to come. Still, I creep towards the door, toddling slightly.

_"He’s not of any use…"

“How can you say that? He’s your son? He’s not even — years old!”

“He doesn’t have the spark, and he’s nowhere near clever enough to pull it off without! He’d be a failure as my inheritor!”

“How can you say that! He’s our son!”

“That is no son of mine.”_

I don’t understand the words being said. The first voice seems frustrated, and the second distraught. It’s strange. I hear the words, but don’t know what they mean. I lean on the door, pushing it slightly…


One of the voices says something. I don’t know what it means.

I think it was my room. It was a long time ago, but I can still remember the smell of reagents floating on the air. Under the door, a small light was flickering, the signs of a fire, perhaps from a lab.

I can hear a young girl crying. She’s not more than a year or two old, but I still share her room. Surely they hear her. Surely they’ll come to quiet her…

The crying continues, and I crawl from my bed. I have to get them. Surely they’ll be able to soothe her.

_"So… What is it then?"

“She has it… She can be my successor.”

“That’s wonderful! Then we don’t have to worry about-”

“We just have to clean up the loose end. A second son would be able to succeed me without question, but…”

“W-what are you saying…?”

“… The spare needs to be rid of.”_

I only barely understand the words being spoken. I lean on the door, pushing it slightly.


I think it was a field. It was raining. I don’t know how I got here… I only remember a crying face… This is real. I remember this, if nothing else.

As I open my eyes, I find myself in a medical tent. My nose is immediately assaulted by the smells of blood and feces. Every bit of my body aches, and yet… I try to think. I try to remember how I got here…

“What happened… Where is this?” I ask, my voice still raspy as my strength returns to me.

Last I remember was a swamp…

Meanwhile, Back at the Campfire

The children sob quietly as the old man finishes, a silence all his own falling over him in the night.

“Why do we have to tell this part?” asks the little girl,
“Why do we have to tell all the parts that make us cry?”

The old man pauses while the children crow their own reply.

The shades sit heavy on him too, a silence of old memories, things that hang on the old in ways the young cannot yet see. They are a silence only grows deeper with age, and eats the world.

“But why?
No! It can’t happen! Why?! Why…
Why must good people…” echoes the little girl’s voice in his head,

She was so little then…

“…yeah! Let’s get to the fun stuff! New Kings and Dragons and Greenskin…”

“Because we can’t yet!” shouts the old man snapping back to reality,

“Because good stories come with the bad parts, not just the good. Times then were hard too, in someways they were harder…

None of us knew what was coming back then, how big the world was. They really didn’t know.

And I tell you these stories, I tell all of you these stories, so that you can be ready for what’s to come, and so you don’t repeat the same mistakes that hurt your family all those years back.

It’s what they wanted I think.

Or maybe, so they make more sense to you now then they did when you just had the half from after you came to the scene."

The kids get silent again. The girl with the pigtails wipes her eyes,

“Okay. Tell me how 魔女ちゃん gets home.”

The old man smiles,

“Well… it all started with Annina rushing back to camp…”

Goodnight Kids:
Annina's Song

“Alright kids that’s all for tonight.” says the old man standing up from his log, his bones creaking as he rises to his feet. The children moan as the old man rises,

“But we were just getting started!”

“What happens to Annina!?”

“Will Tog be okay?!”

“All your questions will be answered in time. We all get here earlier, we’ll get to hear more.”

“Can’t you just tell us one more?” cooed one of the little girls, her green finger twirling in her pigtails,

the old man pauses and smiles as his legs creak,

“Alright just one. Annina The Weird.”

The sad little girl Annina The Weird,
How far must you roam?
Searching high for your family,
looking long for a home.

2 eyes of different colors,
One red and one blue.

One eye only looks to the past,
searching for a mother.
The other for a family of another.

Alone but her magic borne,

she seeks to bend fate done.

But with no eyes left,

How will she see the widening path,

and that there is another?

Shallow grave tended by her…"

Songs of Oki

There are many songs that flit about the taverns, opera houses, and campfires of the ever expanding frontier. From bawdy lymmerics to sweeping epics, here’s but a few of the songs one can hear on the winds.

The 8 Seasons: A classic song of festivals, campfires, and homes, The 8 Seasons is the story of the 8 seasons of life: Summer, Winter, Spring, Fall, Day, Night, Life, and Death. Every exile has likely heard this happy, then somber ballad at some point in their lives.

The Rake: A tavern song if there ever was one, The Rake, sometimes called The Rogue, is the story of a young cavalier thief who wanders through a series of capers and daring adventures. He absconds with wealth of evil barons, outsmarts petulant warlocks, and steals the hearts of many beautiful women. Many towns & villages have their own plays on the story, adding their own verses and local history into their tellings.

The 7 Heroes: An old classic, The 7 Heroes tells the story of the 7 original heroes who traveled Oki and explored all the expanse. It’s so old everyone likely knows it.

The March: The marching song of the Octavian (and by extension the empire’s) military. Every military brat and tin head in the forces knows the walk, and can probably recite it from memory. Many veterans still do when they march, and many taverns with veteran patrons will sing it at least once a week.

The Greenbooks:
Ch. 1: Old Bones

The old house creaks as he climbs the stairs, floorboards swaying as the long stilts sway in the current. The gators circle in the black water below, idly weaving between the stilts that seem to barely hold his house aloft.

Old killers looking for an old killer.

The thought of it made him smile. Better to them than anyone else. He winced as he climbed, his legs creaked as bad as these stairs. Old age was always eating away at the youth of the past. He kept his eyes down as he climbed, watching the stairs and his legs wabble as the beasts circle idlly below.

In one hand he gripped the railing, his ashy knuckles clenching the crooked timbers, in the other the crumpled vellum scroll. It took forever to climb these stairs, and without his cane…
He looked to the old ebony shaft tied to his waist, the silver serpent knob bobbing along as shambled up his increasingly too long stairs.
“You better have something amazing old man.” he mumbled as reached his door and shoved it open, the old slats sticking as he half pushed, half lifted the damn thing from the rutt it had dug in his floor.

The old room clattered as the door wedged itself shut, old moonlight filtering into the room. He plopped himself down at the old wooden desk by the window and slung the paper across the uneven counter. It rolls to a stop in a rut decades old, next to the burned out candle, the half charred skull with the bit of white hair and pointed teeth from that old from that old hag, and the 4 books he’d ever owned. It was sealed with a deep purple wax, and a symbol of a Sphinx

The Greenbooks
Table of Contents

Part 1: Stormpup

Ch. 1: The Aquila and the Apprentice

Ch. 2: Wolfmother

Ch. 3: The Long Walk

Ch. 4: Lizardman

List of Important NPCs I'm working on by Code Names
Hints at things in your Immediate Future

Quilts: Almost done
He Who Always Walks In Front: Do final check
The Fencer: Probably needs restating,, check if his race has an alt that’s better for the build
Cape and Cowl:
Sassy and Smiling: Need to check the edits
Chipmunk: Same as S&S
Inhabitant of the 100 Acre Wood: I think he needs to be made
Swamp Stories: Fuck I need to build her
What’re You Buyin’?: Need to Build/Maybe I don’t?
Uncle Ruckus & Biff’s Bastard Child:
Things that Will make Thoorin wish he was Alive:
The Warrant, The Cool Drink of Water, The Cherry Pie:
What Does this Button Do?:
Nomad Blanks:
Tinker, Twiddle, BOOM!:


Why do we fight? You’re strong. I can recognize that. I respect that.

Still, as one whose hands have been stained red, I have to wonder…

Have you been forced to make that choice?

Are you ready for that if the time comes?

It’s not the same as to slay a beast or a monster. It is something that will follow you forever.

Are you prepared for that responsibility?

Are you still innocent?


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