Date: 28 Mairch 2025
Chronicle Day: Day 1
Abercrombie’s recollection, frae the first supper that set it all in motion.
Da called Glynn, Ryn, and Masel tae dinner. As we aye do, ower a warm plate, we spoke o’ family matters. Gilbert—our eldest brither—serves on the council, and Da’s mind was set: we were tae travel tae Port Macquarie and open a shop. A front, aye, but also a bastion, as he called it—a foothold for pushin’ intae Seven Hills.
He laid the task plain: recover the lost runes, the auld runes. Runes that’d raise the Whalan name above the rest o’ The Collective’s clans. All we had tae do was convince our kin tae come wi’ us.
Most agreed, nae fuss. Save for young Hilde—Glynn’s eldest. She stayed behind, bound for weddin’.
On the road, we were flanked by two guards o’ The Collective—Patrick and Sheamus. Able lads, but brittle in battle. Their gear failed them, and so did their luck. Winged abominations—kobolds, twisted and cruel—set upon us. Both men fell.
Thalia—ma dochter—was keen tae muck in. She near single-handedly rigged the tannery: racks, vats, and all the gear. Even Moradin’s shrine found a place.
I’d a notion tae befriend the local fishmonger. I’d read in ma journeyman years that sharks and whales could be skinned and tanned. I sought him oot, made ma introductions. But he brushed me off, like I’d interrupted the tide.
“That was the first day. The first step. The Whalan name was cast like a stone intae deeper waters. And the runes—aye, they waited.”
