Journal of Lora Gedding- Sister of the Pure Flame

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Eleint 15, 1348: The order from the convent came today. I knew it would happen sooner or later, but the news of my upcoming pilgrimage still left my stomach in knots. I am to leave for Escalant the day after Highharvestide. I know the journey to the great desert will not be an easy one, but I must do Kossuth's bidding nonetheless.

Marpenoth 2, 1348: The journey to Escalant from the convent was uneventful which left my mind to wander about what lies before me. The other pilgrims have started to gather. The Captain says that we should enter the Dragon Reach in two weeks time, with a little luck. It's my first time aboard a galley such as this. I admit that I don't like the idea of being surrounded by water for two weeks, but the overland route would take much longer and the dangers far greater. The ship sails soon. I must go now.

Marpenoth 9, 1348: We have stopped to take on supplies in a weather beaten town called Spandeliyon before crossing the Sea of Fallen Stars. I guess this is where retired pirates go to live out their final days and hopefully avoid crossing paths with those they wronged is the past. Their lives are without purpose, faces as weather beaten as the shacks they now call home. Who knows when they fell out of favor with their god, and who cares. Ah, the ship leaves now. May Kossuth's fire shine brightly and guide us to our destination.

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Marpenoth 11, 1348: Pirates! The set upon us not two days out of Spandeliyon. Our galley was able to outrun them in the end, but not before they used the wind and current to ambush us. The first mate is dead and the Captain is wounded, though not enough to keep him off the wheel. We were lucky. I didn't come on this journey to end up a slave of a filthy pirate. I would have gladly died with my hammer in hand.

Marpenoth 17, 1348: We finally arrived in Ylraphon today. Just in time too because the Captain's wounds have turned black. My healing abilities sustained him for a time, but the sepsis has nearly reached his heart. His death is likely at hand, but I cannot dwell on it for I must leave on the morrow. A caravan leaves for Mulmaster on the shores of The Moonsea.

Marpenoth 26, 1348: The caravan was crowded and I did well to secure a place in a wagon, though it wasn't long before I figured out why. The wagon master thought I would pay him in flesh, but the first time he tried to slip his dirty hand up my thigh he discovered most painfully that a priestess of Kossuth is beholden only to the lord of fire. I would have walked at that point, but he seemed to prefer my company on the wagon to others. I had to stare down his filthy gaze often and had little privacy to write until now, but we have reached Mulmaster without incident. Safety in numbers.

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Marpenoth 28, 1348: Never have I seen a city so rotten with crime and corruption. I sought refuge in a temple last night after witnessing a rather grisly murder at the inn where I stayed my first night here. It seemed like a random act too, all for a measly bag of coin. Life is worth very little here. It is almost time to leave for Zhentil Keep. I have secured passage on a sailboat. The Elvish crew was suspicious of me, so it took more than a few well chosen words to convince them (Diplomacy: 38) that I am not a murderous villain like the denizens of this cursed town who loaf near the docks. They look more like half elf's, but after the human refuse I've been keeping company with as of late they are a welcome sight. Edgy and secretive they are, but those with Elven blood have a sense of honor that puts me at ease. My purse is getting light though. I hope I am able to acquire what I need for the rest of the journey once I get to Zhentil Keep. I've been told that I will find little refuge there, but I have had dealings with Clerics of Bane in the past and a young priest named Teldorn Darkhope in particular. Perhaps the utterance of that name will find me well received, at least enough to give me safe passage to the next leg of my journey, the Black Road.

Uktar 5, 1348: I've come far, but I still feel like my journey is just beginning. The Black Road lies in front of me and the journey across the desert will surely test my resolve, but I WILL make it, and I WILL still be standing when I reach the great temple of fire. I was well received and was able to get most of what I needed at Zhentil Keep, at least for a price, but the mule for which I traded my last few coins is slow and stubborn. Another traveler said not to worry since it will likely end up on my dinner plate before I reach my destination. I am not comforted by this.

Uktar 26, 1348: I've reached the edge of the desert. I find the heat comforting, though some of the others in this caravan do not share the feeling. Their faces are long and their will is weak. Some of them intend cross the desert in it's entirety with a village called Llorkh as their destination. I doubt they will make it. Some of them already look half dead. Kossuth will guide me and keep me safe, of this I am certain. An Oath of Fire Walking will be my gift once I reach the desert temple. I must focus now.

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Nightal 20, 1348: I hoped to arrive at the temple by now, but my mule fell dead not one day into the desert. The dust storms are relentless, but the Bedine nomads have given me shelter in exchange for my healing services. They seem more at ease around a Kossuth priestess than others in their midst, but they are battle weary and on edge. I will do my best to aid them, for they have given me safe passage in this harsh land. Yesterday, they raided a caravan near an oasis and among the captives was a woman who bore the sign of Istishia. What she was doing in such a dry place is a mystery indeed, but the horror in her face upon seeing my emblem was priceless. I relieved her of her duties to her most hated god by caving in her skull as she begged for her pathetic life. I burned her corpse as an unexpected offering to the fire lord. Her ashes are pure. I cast them into the desert wind as I prayed for a quick end to this arduous journey.

Nightal 29, 1348: The temple is in sight. My pilgrimage is at it's end. I will now prepare for the Oath. I must focus. No more writing for now.

Mirtul 4, 1349: The priest told me that my time here at the temple is complete. The Oath was.... I can't describe it, but I survived or I wouldn't be writing these words. Word has come that there is a raging battle to the east. Traffic on the Black Road from the east has all but stopped. Travelers coming from the west are camping near the temple trying to decide what to do, but I don't know what refuge they will find here for they are not followers of Kossuth. Nevertheless, I can't travel eastward so I only have one choice. The priest who presided over my Oath of Fire Walking told me of a Kossuth temple on the Sword Coast. He has given me a letter with his insignia stamped in blood red wax. I am to set out for this temple on the morrow.

Kythorn 8, 1349: I have reached the village of Llorkh which lies to the west of the great desert on the other side of a mountain range. The people of the village were eager to hear about my journey, but disheartened when I told them that the others who tried to cross the desert to reach their village fell along the way. I honored their spirits and great Kossuth by using my knowledge of fire to incinerate their bodies. For I did not leave them to rot and be picked at by vultures. I gave the villagers who inquired some personal effects of those who fell and in turn they gave me food and shelter so I could recover from the journey. Our small caravan was waylaid by giants in the Graypeak Mountains. They hurled stones at us and sent us fleeing down the mountainside. Some rock debris struck me and I suffered a broken arm among other things. At least it wasn't the arm I use to hold my hammer, but healing has been slow nonetheless.

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Flamerule 2, 1349: The people of Llorkh are mostly miners and I was able to use my healing services to help their cause. In turn, I was able to stay here for a time while my wounds mended. I must be leaving now though and I will set out for the Sword Coast on the morrow. I have secured river passage that should get me to Daggerford.

Flamerule 10, 1349: I have arrived in Daggerford, but do not plan to stay here long. The Trade Way lies before me and my next stop is Baldur's Gate. Once I arrive I will inquire about the location of the temple. I'm weary from this journey and I welcome the chance to observe my faith more and walk less.

Eleasias 13, 1349: The caravan from Daggerford was slow and not without incident, but again I found that there is safety in numbers. I stand at the entrance to Baldur's Gate. It has the air of civilization, something I have not seen much of since I left Escalant.



"Lora Gedding stands before the entrance to Baldur's Gate after a long, difficult journey"