Old Shalo Kadius bio dump... pretty cool.

Thirty Fifth Year of the 70th age; kryl attack the argosy



Imbedded into the mind of Sharlo Kadius is a series tale that he

penned many years ago.



*the curling lines of arcane symbols that follow have been hastily

and sloppily scrolled across the pages of the book. Smudged ash,

grease splotches, and mysterious stains are interspersed throughout

the pages*



I found this book while pillaging my ex-cousin Auralia's room. So, I

decided I would use it to record some recent events intermingled with

memories and my thoughts on some matters.



It's the thirty fifth year of the 70? Age. I am Sharlo Kadius, of thirty

seven years, a master craftsman and a senior within my family's agentry.



***dye has been used to color the image of a metal signet ring here***



I had spent too long in Allanak. And while there, to be certain, I

learned far too much. Far more than I have ever known about that

which is supernatural was gleaned within but a week. I was hammered

by unfathomable information when I had a long sit-down with Midge in

which Zaea's past was thoroughly discussed. That's the least of it,

unfortunately. Many hours were spent immobile and transfixed by

the two most bizarre, frightening and otherworldly books that I have

ever read: the journals of my cousin, Senior Agent Markua Kadius.



In short order: I received confirmation a world-shattering cataclysm is

looming, and I now realize that my family has been directly

involved with staving off the destruction of civilization as we know

it. I am amazed that my cousins have survived after encounters

with magickal beings and even other planes of existence. Never

in my wildest dreams did I imagine such things to even be possible.



*a few crude, charcoal sketches are here: one is of what seems to

be a pregnant, humanoid silt horror with tentacles writhing about on

its back, one depicts the upper body of a monolithic figure carved

from solid granite, and the third is an illustration of an army of

elemental beings wielding blades which are seemingly encased

with fire*



Despite the fact Zaea didn't want me to go and Markua needed

a ride, I said fuck it, made an executive decision, and left Allanak.

Kommandant Murk, Bleys' beloved peg-legged mul and devoted

lead hunter, was waiting outside on the Ivory-Salt Road; he is

unable to enter Naki city proper until the Auralia situation has been

resolved. I could fill a whole tome alone with that fucking story

alone, krath. What a mess.



Our crew for the mission included the Hunter Silif, Kommandant

Murk, Hunter Mikal, and Hunter Nadim. There were two falcons

aboard, the half-giant slave Dori, Guard Kopek, and the one female guard

I wouldn't mind taking upstairs sometime. Mmm.



*the image of a huge, peg-legged mul wielding a broad scimitar

has been drawn here. He stands rigidly, clad in a full silt horror

armor, atop a boarding platform. The faded tattoo of a wyvern

covers his face and blue and purple armbands barely contain his

massive, veiny forearms. The massive mul hunches below

a tall, fuzzy-haired, older-looking human man adorned with inky

black leathers. The older man appears to be scanning the

dunes, his wrinkled features drawn taut with wariness. A

bronze, crimson-skinned man stands near the base of the

loading ramp with a shitfaced grin on his features, waving

happily. Near the entrance to the argosy, a lightly-armored

and dark-skinned man stands leaning on a large, sharp wooden

spear. The figures are peering down from atop a wagon's

boarding plank into a seemingly endless expanse of bleak

red desert*



I headed due east then until coming across that strange fucking

dwarven fortress. There must be an Oasis in there. The strangest

thing about that fortress: while en route to Cenyr one day several

weeks ago, Sergeant Dar -- now deceased, slain by the Faithful Vraj --

called out to those dwarves. He apparently knew them, though

could say nothing to me about the subject due to some kind of Byn

confidentiality kankshit. Fucking shitcloaks.



*here, the image of a rugged, sword-wielding man on beetleback,

an obsidian-masked figure riding an inix, and a large, silk-clad

man wearing a top-hat riding a ratlon at the base of a fire-blackened

wall has been drawn. The sketch includes the terrain, which is

made up of pech grass thrusting up through a layw a set of high,

fire-blackened walls surrounded by pech-dotted salt crystal-laden

earth has been drawn*



First Hunter Ita reported a decade ago that she managed to

break into the fortress. She reported seeing rampant vegetation and

many, many dwarves. Ita will find her eternity here, in these

small recollections, smidges of my fond memories of her.

She was a hard, hard worker and an even harder lover.



From the fortress, we headed due north and in short time found

ourselves in Cenyr. I had some of Layn's jewelry with me,

fortunately, and we were able to glean about fifteen small.



Pardon me while I digress from this story, the memory

of Layn has sparked memories and thoughts of her and

the hunters in general.



*a veiled, scale-covered female figure has been sketched here.

She crouches, staring out across a rolling plainscape with a hawkblade

In each hand.*



Poor Layn, she had /just/ finished her first year before being

eaten by that beetle. And, ah, Tamir, he was there. I'm sure he

regrets not being able to save her, somehow. Neh. I would

be as rich as a noble if I had a small for every hunter that has

ever died on me.



Despite their relatively short life spans, hunters are one of the

most crucial sections of a Kadian unit.



They are a large source of our security, and they are the foundation of

any profit that is to be made within a unit. They are our livelihood.

They are my family's livelihood. The inability to draw men and women

to them has been the downfall of many of my blood; minions must

not only be drawn in, but they must also be fully indoctrinated and made

as one with the House. It is one thing to hire a man as a hunter and

another to make him a Kadian hunter.



Back to the route. We head north from Cenyr until we met a

large sandstone cliff. The cliff was followed until we spotted

the entrance to the old Ten'Sarak site. Murk guided me to the

northeast section of the site, where a canyon broke off from

the lowlands.



I had only gone a few leagues through the canyon when I

came upon a pair of kryl feasting on a raptor. Panicking,

I snapped the reins like I was snorting Melem Tuek, hoping

the urging might incite one of the meks to take a bite out

of one of those dark-shelled fuckos as we rode by. Neh,

but it might have given him an upset stomach, at the least.



The fuckers gave chase. I saw at least one burst through

the boarding ramp down below and heard an awful shrieking

and the sounds of battle down below, muffled through several

feet of wood. The worst thing about the whole ordeal was

their less overt means of getting past the brightly-lacquered

wooden shell of the argosy into its interior, where the tasty,

silver-clad morsel that we all know and love sat. As I rounded

a bend in the canyon and headed north out toward the scrub,

the clattering of chitin against wood surrounded me on both sides

of the pilot's deck. It's a wonder those fuckers didn't jump right

through the window in my driving chamber.



No, instead they smashed through the stepladder leading

up to the observation deck and attacked the Falcon guard

stationed upstairs. He was swiftly paralyzed by their long,

barbed tails. They had began to eat him when Murk and Silif

burst upstairs. The fight lasted longer than I cared for it

to; I stood peeking through a small crack in the door to my

chamber. Murk took on both of the beasts head-on, while

Silif kept circling to their side, his dagger slipping between

the cracks of their dusky carapaces at every opportunity.



When the kryl were slain, I pressed on then paused in the

scrub after a while to offload their smouldering carcasses.

Their acid was burned a six-cord wide hole in our wooden

boarding platform. It ate a four-cord wide hole straight through

the fucking deck. "Surprise, surprise." The hunters

offloaded the carcasses and skinned them, a typical affair.



What's atypical is what they found: the kryl were laden with

grubs.



Kryl larvae.



The rest of the trip went without advent until we made it

into the Tuluki warrens. Murk was up at the pilot's deck

discussing some matters with me when we heard a

scuttling noise, the sound of chitin against wood. Out of the

corner of my eye I saw a fucking kryl launch from the argosy's

top to the roof of a nearby ramshackle building. It disappeared

into the night. The hunters were sent out to seek and

destroy it, yet their efforts proved to be of no avail. With

Lyksae, the militia, and Kadius searching for the beast

for going on three weeks now, I seriously doubt that it will

be found before people die.



And what if that thing is carrying the larvae of its kind? What

if the thing were to make a nest in the bowels of the State someplace?

What if I were to be held responsible for all of this? At this

thought, I believe I will bring the entry to a close. Perhaps in the

future I will have more extra time to record the goings-on

of myself and my unit.



**a sloppy signature reading Shalo Kadius has been signed here*



*an impossible, crude depiction of an immense, one-legged

mul banging a small human woman over a cluttered table

has been sketched here*