Chronicle Day: 154–155 Where the road grows long, the horses grow stubborn, and the night grows teeth.

Abercrombie’s Note

Though I was present for these events, I didnae keep my usual notes. Illness had left me fog‑headed and slow o’ hand, so I trusted the others tae keep record. Throsh, ever diligent, wrote a full account in his ain voice. What follows is my Chronicle, shaped frae his recollection, wi’ a few clarifications o’ my ain.

Day 154 — Leaving Mount Druitt

Our time in Mount Druitt came tae an end, and wi’ it the comfort o’ stone halls. We boarded carriages bound for the elven lands — Dun Rell Sulca, though humans insist on calling it Rooty Hill. Throsh grumbled about places having mair than one name. I cannae fault him.

Sergei ran alongside the carriage for a time afore climbing aboard. We stopped at an Ibis inn. Throsh insisted on explaining the bird’s proper name in his tongue — something like drong‑szin’vepeks xathi — which I willnae attempt tae pronounce.

Sergei went aff tae punch trees. Kaz joined him. Then they punched each other. Rudy assured us it was “training.” It ended wi’ Kaz bleeding, Sergei confused, and Kaz’s mizzium trinket flaring wi’ a burst o’ yellow light. Whatever magic stirred in it inspired Kaz tae flip the very ground up and smash Sergei wi’ it. A clever move, though I doubt he could repeat it without divine intervention.

We slept at the inn, grateful for a quiet night.

Day 155 — The Horse Lord and the Road Ahead

We traded carriages for horses — fine grey beasts kept in a stable run jointly by elves and dwarves. Kaz nearly walked aff wi’ them afore Sergei and Throsh intervened.

The stablemaster introduced himself as the Horse Lord, a title Throsh found both impressive and confusing. He explained the merit system again: three towns — Tor’Elyr, Tor’Achare, and Tor’Dynal — each offering a merit needed tae enter Dun Rell Sulca.

He enlarged two horses magically tae bear Kaz and Sergei. The party named their mounts:

• Kifel’Jivi (“Grey Horse”) for Throsh
• Grumpy for Rudy
• Horsey for Kaz

Throsh admired the handlers’ hats and attempted tae acquire one. He was denied. He hasnae forgiven this.

We set aff and made excellent time. At sunset, Throsh conjured his magical hut, and watches were set.

The Watches — Conversations and Shadows

Ryn and I took first watch. Quiet, peaceful. Throsh later noted he saw us in a “familial embrace.” The lad has been through much; I’m glad he finds comfort where he can.

Rudy and Kaz took second watch. No one kens what happened. No one asked.

Throsh and Sergei took third watch, and this is where the tale deepens.

They spoke o’ home. O’ tribes. O’ deserts and trade. O’ the Charir lizardfolk — “nippy,” Sergei called them, which Throsh assures me is a grave insult. They spoke o’ loss. Sergei’s expedition wiped out. Throsh’s tribe slaughtered by the nak’xiekivi — the rat‑folk — and Thratsnik in particular.

Throsh confessed his fear that the fires o’ anger inside him might consume him. Sergei offered tae teach him meditation.

But afore he could, the night split wi’ a familiar, hateful sound.

Gnolls.

Teeth in the Night — The Gnoll Ambush

We woke tae find ourselves surrounded.

Two leaders. One savage brute covered in blood and markings. The rest snarling, hungry, eager.

Rudy struck first, killing a gnoll outright wi’ his water daggers and moving tae protect the horses.

Arrows flew at Sergei. He deflected one. The savage gnoll charged the horses, but Kaz intercepted it. Throsh inspired us wi’ magic and rebuked one o’ the leaders, though it shrugged aff the scolding.

Kaz raged. Sergei fought surrounded. I fired bolts where I could. Ryn enlarged himself and smashed a gnoll wi’ his force demolisher. Throsh cast Haste on Kaz, who promptly missed every attack — “perhaps I made him too fast,” he wrote.

The savage gnoll bit Kaz repeatedly, then turned on Sergei, sinking venomous fangs intae him. Throsh healed us all and sent a Starry Wisp intae the brute.

Then Sergei’s mizzium trinket flared.

Time slowed.

He unleashed a storm o’ blows, reducing one leader tae pulp, then deflecting an arrow back intae the archer who fired it, killing it instantly. Throsh quoted an old forest saying: Those who live by the sword must be prepared tae die by the sword.

Kaz cleaved the savage in two, then used Misty Step tae appear above a slab o’ earth he’d torn up, smashing it down onto the remaining leader and a nearby gnoll, killing both.

The last gnolls fought on, heedless o’ their fallen. Sergei knocked one prone. Rudy killed another. Ryn crushed one but left it twitching. Kaz finished the last where it lay.

And then it was quiet.

The kind o’ quiet that follows violence, where breath feels too loud.

We healed. We rested. And for the first time since Glynn and the Cat fell tae gnolls, there was a sense — not o’ triumph, but o’ closure.

Final Thoughts — Abercrombie Whalan

There is a weight tae Throsh’s telling o’ this night. Not just the battle — though that was fierce enough — but the conversation afore it. The shared grief. The shared fear. The shared fire.

I’ve seen many warriors. Many tribes. Many ways o’ carrying pain. But there is something in Throsh and Sergei both — a quiet strength, a stubborn hope, a refusal tae let the world turn them cruel.

The gnolls brought back memories none o’ us wanted. Blood on the stones. Friends lost. Teeth in the dark. But this time, we stood together. This time, we were ready.

The road tae Tor’Elyr stretches ahead. And wi’ it, the next chapter o’ the Whalan Chronicles.