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<blockquote data-quote="Alexander Bryant1" data-source="post: 7641393" data-attributes="member: 6916184"><p><strong>Journal of Etona 26</strong></p><p></p><p>We are returning to the wizard’s city-castle as we chat.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “The Worm Crawl Fissure? That sounds bloody miserable,” says Egan.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “May we take avengers and a dozen sun priests with us?” I offer. “It could be a piece of pie.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “Cake,” says Rey. “Piece of cake, is the expression.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “That’ll be some time to assemble,” says Treig. “I don’t have those resources. Probably none of you do either? Yeah. Need to take this back to Tenser, see what wants to do. In the meantime, sounds like we’re going to a spoiled prince’s fancy party.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The invitations to this event are magical in nature: at least part of the celebration will be held in the Fey. These scrolls aid in physically transporting us there. I will rely on Verdre – and My Mistress – to lead us through any trouble navigating through – and out of – wherever this place might be. The Fey is not tiny.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Our new identities will be as follows:</p><p> </p><ul> <li data-xf-list-type="ul">Trieg – Himself: The Gray Fox, leader of a crack team of mercenaries, there to pay tribute and also offer services to the prince </li> <li data-xf-list-type="ul">Me – Selina, Treig’s toy-of-the-week as he is mine; also Rey’s barker; also the one responsible for drawing out Lashonna </li> <li data-xf-list-type="ul">Rey – Herself: Champion of the Greyhawk Arena, Slayer of the Worm, demigod. Her most difficult assignment will be speaking well of her own deeds. </li> <li data-xf-list-type="ul">Verdre: Rey’s irascible alley cat and our primary spy </li> <li data-xf-list-type="ul">Jodan – Posing as Darius who, it turns out, looks just like him? I guess? I had not noticed, though most human males look approximately alike to me </li> </ul><p></p><p> </p><p> Our mission is to find out what happened to Balacard. He came here investigating the Ebon Triad but switched the focus of that inquiry to Dragotha once he got here. I believe Treig and Jodan have their own motives as well, but I leave them to their own schemes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Tenser is able to not only produce the invitations but transport us, via teleportation circle, to the Al Haster, complete with a phantasmal re-creation of Rey slaying the worm in the Arena!</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Al-Halster seems a typical human town of this size: walled from the world, cleansed of natural environment so that it is all human in every direction but up, offering many of the same scenes and scents as Greyhawk. What is less typical are the winged devil guards on all the battlements. We were warned the presence from Hell was…ostentatious.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> As we march down the central avenue leading to the castle currently occupied by Prince Zeech, we notice a tall, dark, unfinished building rising from the cobblestone in the corner of the city not far from the castle. It resembles in some ways the temple we had just smashed in the jungle thousands of leagues away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “I am compelled to build it!” Zeech will tell Treig later on in describing his affinity for a being called Hextor.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> There are two parties, apparently. One is the celebration for the prince. The other, the one in the Fey, is a trap for the prince’s enemies. Jodan’s face and adopted mannerism – Darious’ – get us to the correct one complete with both my bow and aunt. Our entrance is announced and splashy.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Of all the members of our troop, Zeech is impressed most by Treig and spends time talking to him. I flit about chatting with others among the dozen or so assembled here, drawing attention to myself or occasionally to a scowling Rey who seems content to mainly assume poses of might. Our ‘cat’ trails my conversations listening for gossip. We are awaiting the arrival of Lashonna who was sent to take care of the group of guests: take care to thoroughly lose them in the Fey or possibly even massacre them, it is not clear.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Shag is here! My big orange dragon chess teacher and gentle friend from Diamond Lake’s Emporeum. He has made it out alive and is, of all places, at this event! I cannot allow him to, to, er, ‘blow my cover’, yes, so I direct many hand signals to him pleading that he not notice me. Fortunately Rey, who may be known to all, engages him, asking him to act the part along in our little play.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The festivities begin. First, dinner. Zeech’s kitchens offer us all manner of eel, insects, and slime: dishes that would seem to be more at home in the corner of a dungeon just within reach of an ancient prisoner than gracing the table of the lord. Perhaps this is a royal custom among this tribe of humans? Lower oneself to eating barely-edible foods as a connection to the wretched? Or is it an amusing joke? I find some of it overly seasoned and other plates plain enough to warrant my adding my own spices. The slime dish is the worst and causes me to leave the table and expel it from my body. And I am not the only one. Jodan loves it, though: perhaps it is served as pudding in Gehenna.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Games are next, contests of various sorts where Zeech attempts to beat his guests. The first is target practice with crossbows. I dislike these machines, these bastardizations of a true bow, so I demur. Treig wins handily using a technique to refill his machine that keeps his hands almost a blur of reloading bolts.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Next is an odd game where two players – Zeech and Rey – magically take over a pair of chickens. These are let loose among a gang of cats in a pit and…. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> How did Verdre get down there?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Goddess! They are cockatrice!</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Cockatrice are wizard-created monsters that peck their targets to stone. Given how these dinner-sized, otherwise harmless raptors view the world, they are clearly the product of a human wizard’s sense of humor. How they multiplied to be found in more than one place in the world is beyond telling.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> There are two here now. Does Verdre know? Why is she down there? Surely Rey knows that the green-tailed, largest cat is her own?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Surely Zeech knows….</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I watch in fascinated horror as one by one the cats are turned to stone. Rey, I see, certainly sees what is happening and is trying some strategy to let Verdre know? My aunt sees it differently down there and attacks Rey’s cockatrice. Cat statue after cat statue are created until there are few left, Verdre leaping again and again at Rey – she must think it is Zeech – until finally….</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Thank the Fates.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Afterward, with the prince sulking from his latest loss, Rey yells at “her cat”. Verdre snarls back. I interpose picking up my aunt – she tolerates this sulkily – and placing her in another corner of the room.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I would tell Rey later: “She does not care about other cats as you do. She assumed you were the other one, picking and pecking her targets and ignoring you in order to win and end the game while she takes care of Zeech. Druids in my tribe are not soft-hearted about other animals: they are prey, and the druids are ever the hunters.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “I though druids were guardians of the forest.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “They are. We are, all of us. Elves of Emersanine honor our prey for both the chase and the meat knowing it could be us in their jaws, and rightfully so if they are able to hunt us down. It is The Way of Things. So you see why she would have thought that you were Prince Zeech’s animal.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She relents. She is stubborn, my Rey, but not unreasonable.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I chat with a devil guard, complimenting her and asking her about her wardrobe: do you get undressed for bed and wear a nightie or some sort of pajama or do you sleep in leather and chains? Do you sleep? Do you wear anything underneath your armor? What do you use for the dye? It’s magical, I assume, so do each of you make your own armor? When do you learn that? If so, is every devil able to create magic armor or does it come from a few who do? Do you use money or is it from those who have to those who need? Do you have money? Are the coins hot all the time? Are you hot all the time? So are you born or created or forged from other life?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She leaves in a huff which puzzles me: I thought I was taking an interest.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I finally get to talk to Shag. I pull him aside, hug, and we catch up. He left Diamond Lake after he was unable to do anything about its destruction or save the life of Madame Z.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “How did you end up here?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> He smiles. “I am interesting to people, I guess.” I am sure the money he was able to save also helped. He wouldn’t elaborate, however, and I did not pry.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p>Lashonna finally arrives.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Hers is an older soul than I or Verdre: an elf of some five centuries or more. I approach her once she is done greeting all of the guests: “making the rounds” is the excellent human expression. I strike up a conversation – this is my assignment – with an air of flighty curiosity.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “You came from an errand in the Fey, did you not?” I open with. “I had thought the party was going to be there. I was surprised when it wasn’t. I haven’t visited the Fey in some time and had hoped to return.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “I was on an errand for our governor, Zeech, which put me in the Fey for part of the celebration.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “Where are all the other guests?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I have to say, Lashonna is very frank.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “Most of them escaped in an unexpected cave-in, but a couple of them were crushed by falling rock and snow. I left the scene. I believe Zeech had intended them to be devoured by angry dire apes, however that did not happen as planned due to the unstable caves that he chose to transport them to.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Wide-eyed, all feigned innocence, I pursue: “Were any of these people your acquaintances?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “No, they were political opponents of Zeech. I did not know them.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I look to her tone, her eyes, her body language, but there seems to be no regret there. She is cool and pleasant, even-tempered, from the southern forests. These and her slightly distracted air remind me of Tamyl, my people’s <em>shaev’e</em>, (this loosely translating to “leader” though more a first among equals, an elder, but Tamyl also leads us when we must fight as a single people). Lashonna’s discussion of the trapping of other humans is matter-of-fact, though she ends each statement with a small smile, one that doesn’t rise to her eyes. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I let her go a while and catch up to her again as she makes her way to the balcony. No one speaks with her long, I see.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “What do you think of the new building the prince is having erected near here?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “He has grand aspirations of ascending to demigod status by pleasing Hextor with a grand temple and gaining power and influence over the bandit kings. I have no doubt that his attempt will be recognized by his faith, but likely will fall short of his aspirations.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I lean in conspiratorially: “What do we think of Hextor?” I ask.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She produces a wry smile: “Like many deities, they require humans to fill their cups only to dump them out again. I have no allegiance to Hextor, nor do I support the goals of conquest or dominion that it purports. Consider me a steward to the city. If his temple threatens the livelihood of the people, then I would intervene.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “Champion Rey told me about her trials in a jungle somewhere where she and some other heroes fought slimy things? Of some kind? In a temple that she says looked like this new one. As I mentioned before, I would like to spend some of Treig's money and potentially acquire a site here – visit it on occasion – and do not want some evil god perched over my new land.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “Mm, then I would consider a different town, unless Gray Fox has financial interest in the place. Leaders here are shallow in most instances and choose faiths that serve their selfish needs. Someone has to help preserve the lifeblood of the town, and it isn’t the aristocracy.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “So why you, if you do not mind me asking? What is your bond with this human town?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “My ties are, historically, as matron. I raised this village from the swamp, and I intend to live long in its history or not, but while I am here I am a benevolent clock maker.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “Oh, these humans and their busy, busy plans. They carve their initials into the world and then die not even knowing whether their ideas are any good, what the ramifications are, thinking only in mere years.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> She agrees, and I turn my questions to Balacard. She freely tells me that pages of his journal along with a map of Nyr Div are all he left behind. Definitely a sign post for us, a beckoning to keep following. These documents are carefully tucked away in her human-built home among the other manors of the Al-Halster respected. Asked if we could go to her home and retrieve these, she assented with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The party winds down. I leave believing I’ve made at least a couple new friends. Everyone was most guarded there, so it is difficult to say for certain. Prince Zeech struck me me not as the vain, arrogant imbecile I had assumed I would find, but more a vain, arrogant, lost little boy. He will not leave a mark so much as a small stain on the world – indeed, he is being manipulated by Hextor even now – but perhaps Lashonna can influence him after all.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> We all meet, after the festivities are over, at Lashonna’s house. She takes us right to Balacard’s map and journal and seems tolerant of my little white lie enabling me to look through her other rooms, which we do. We discover nothing of interest, though I think Jodan found an aura he didn’t like somewhere near a basement.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The map directs us to <strong>Tillagos</strong> where still stands a library on an island on a lake under a tremendous ever-raging storm. It was set there by the First Watch, my same distant cousins who erected the wall around the ziggurat. It is possible the island itself, from their magiks, even moves around.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> In the library is apparently information about Dragotha’s <em>phylactery, </em>her secret-of-secrets life force kept in an unknown receptacle.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> We must thus not only outfit ourselves appropriately but also find a ship and crew willing to brave the journey. Treig attends to it. Useful, that human.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> A man named <strong>Matthias</strong> is owner of such a craft, called <em>Eye of the Storm</em>. He and his trio of daughters, all of them strong and friendly, do business on this huge lake – more like an inland sea but for the fresh water – and they are ready and able to take us in.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I strike up quick friendships with each of them – <strong>Myra</strong>, <strong>Cleo</strong> and <strong>Lachle</strong> – though particularly with Myra, the pilot. She gives me lessons. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> I know how to pilot a boat already thanks to my upbringing on the Mirror, but those are elven craft. This heavy human one requires different skills, though I feel like I pick them up readily enough.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p></p><p> It is a beautiful, cloudless day when we set out. I will reflect, later on, that there are so many reasons I am glad my aunt is here, but among them, certainly, is her druidcraft.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> The storm, when we come to it, is vast and impenetrable. She assesses our situation and enacts two plans, one for heading in and one for getting out again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> For the first, she summons the largest shark I have ever seen to pull us. It simply tows the boat as I steer us across shifting currents through rocks that seem designed to rip ships, and everyone else but greening Jodan – not a lot of water in Hell, I guess – row their hearts out. In this fashion we work through the maelstrom to the island, navigating thirty-foot waves, a hungry-lookingwhirlpool and boat-chewing shoals.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> Verdre has assumed the boat would not make it all the way, either anchoring or foundering, so she meditated half a day to beseech Our Mistress of Gifts With Strings Attached for an alternate way out. An enormous silver feather floated down from the heavens to land her arms.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> “We may run on the wind itself,” is all she says, smiling. That sounds exhilarating – I almost hope we will have to use it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p style="text-align: center">***</p><p>We pass vast numbers of shipwrecks and skeletons to get to the eye of the hurricane under which sits the island. An entire city’s ruins stretch to the horizon.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> We have neighbors sharing the shoreline with us: orcs, by the look of them, washed up on shore and wringing their clawed hands about the condition of their broken vessel. Verdre hops to her feet to remind Rey that orcish annihilation is not our mission today. Anyway, it seems clear they not interested in us and in fact might not even know we’re here.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> We leave the ship and daughters with Verdre to protect them from any incursion by the local fauna. The rest of us head inland to seek this fabled library….</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Alexander Bryant1, post: 7641393, member: 6916184"] [b]Journal of Etona 26[/b] We are returning to the wizard’s city-castle as we chat. “The Worm Crawl Fissure? That sounds bloody miserable,” says Egan. “May we take avengers and a dozen sun priests with us?” I offer. “It could be a piece of pie.” “Cake,” says Rey. “Piece of cake, is the expression.” “That’ll be some time to assemble,” says Treig. “I don’t have those resources. Probably none of you do either? Yeah. Need to take this back to Tenser, see what wants to do. In the meantime, sounds like we’re going to a spoiled prince’s fancy party.” The invitations to this event are magical in nature: at least part of the celebration will be held in the Fey. These scrolls aid in physically transporting us there. I will rely on Verdre – and My Mistress – to lead us through any trouble navigating through – and out of – wherever this place might be. The Fey is not tiny. Our new identities will be as follows: [LIST] [*]Trieg – Himself: The Gray Fox, leader of a crack team of mercenaries, there to pay tribute and also offer services to the prince [*]Me – Selina, Treig’s toy-of-the-week as he is mine; also Rey’s barker; also the one responsible for drawing out Lashonna [*]Rey – Herself: Champion of the Greyhawk Arena, Slayer of the Worm, demigod. Her most difficult assignment will be speaking well of her own deeds. [*]Verdre: Rey’s irascible alley cat and our primary spy [*]Jodan – Posing as Darius who, it turns out, looks just like him? I guess? I had not noticed, though most human males look approximately alike to me [/LIST] Our mission is to find out what happened to Balacard. He came here investigating the Ebon Triad but switched the focus of that inquiry to Dragotha once he got here. I believe Treig and Jodan have their own motives as well, but I leave them to their own schemes. Tenser is able to not only produce the invitations but transport us, via teleportation circle, to the Al Haster, complete with a phantasmal re-creation of Rey slaying the worm in the Arena! Al-Halster seems a typical human town of this size: walled from the world, cleansed of natural environment so that it is all human in every direction but up, offering many of the same scenes and scents as Greyhawk. What is less typical are the winged devil guards on all the battlements. We were warned the presence from Hell was…ostentatious. As we march down the central avenue leading to the castle currently occupied by Prince Zeech, we notice a tall, dark, unfinished building rising from the cobblestone in the corner of the city not far from the castle. It resembles in some ways the temple we had just smashed in the jungle thousands of leagues away. “I am compelled to build it!” Zeech will tell Treig later on in describing his affinity for a being called Hextor. There are two parties, apparently. One is the celebration for the prince. The other, the one in the Fey, is a trap for the prince’s enemies. Jodan’s face and adopted mannerism – Darious’ – get us to the correct one complete with both my bow and aunt. Our entrance is announced and splashy. Of all the members of our troop, Zeech is impressed most by Treig and spends time talking to him. I flit about chatting with others among the dozen or so assembled here, drawing attention to myself or occasionally to a scowling Rey who seems content to mainly assume poses of might. Our ‘cat’ trails my conversations listening for gossip. We are awaiting the arrival of Lashonna who was sent to take care of the group of guests: take care to thoroughly lose them in the Fey or possibly even massacre them, it is not clear. Shag is here! My big orange dragon chess teacher and gentle friend from Diamond Lake’s Emporeum. He has made it out alive and is, of all places, at this event! I cannot allow him to, to, er, ‘blow my cover’, yes, so I direct many hand signals to him pleading that he not notice me. Fortunately Rey, who may be known to all, engages him, asking him to act the part along in our little play. The festivities begin. First, dinner. Zeech’s kitchens offer us all manner of eel, insects, and slime: dishes that would seem to be more at home in the corner of a dungeon just within reach of an ancient prisoner than gracing the table of the lord. Perhaps this is a royal custom among this tribe of humans? Lower oneself to eating barely-edible foods as a connection to the wretched? Or is it an amusing joke? I find some of it overly seasoned and other plates plain enough to warrant my adding my own spices. The slime dish is the worst and causes me to leave the table and expel it from my body. And I am not the only one. Jodan loves it, though: perhaps it is served as pudding in Gehenna. Games are next, contests of various sorts where Zeech attempts to beat his guests. The first is target practice with crossbows. I dislike these machines, these bastardizations of a true bow, so I demur. Treig wins handily using a technique to refill his machine that keeps his hands almost a blur of reloading bolts. Next is an odd game where two players – Zeech and Rey – magically take over a pair of chickens. These are let loose among a gang of cats in a pit and…. How did Verdre get down there? Goddess! They are cockatrice! Cockatrice are wizard-created monsters that peck their targets to stone. Given how these dinner-sized, otherwise harmless raptors view the world, they are clearly the product of a human wizard’s sense of humor. How they multiplied to be found in more than one place in the world is beyond telling. There are two here now. Does Verdre know? Why is she down there? Surely Rey knows that the green-tailed, largest cat is her own? Surely Zeech knows…. I watch in fascinated horror as one by one the cats are turned to stone. Rey, I see, certainly sees what is happening and is trying some strategy to let Verdre know? My aunt sees it differently down there and attacks Rey’s cockatrice. Cat statue after cat statue are created until there are few left, Verdre leaping again and again at Rey – she must think it is Zeech – until finally…. Thank the Fates. Afterward, with the prince sulking from his latest loss, Rey yells at “her cat”. Verdre snarls back. I interpose picking up my aunt – she tolerates this sulkily – and placing her in another corner of the room. I would tell Rey later: “She does not care about other cats as you do. She assumed you were the other one, picking and pecking her targets and ignoring you in order to win and end the game while she takes care of Zeech. Druids in my tribe are not soft-hearted about other animals: they are prey, and the druids are ever the hunters.” “I though druids were guardians of the forest.” “They are. We are, all of us. Elves of Emersanine honor our prey for both the chase and the meat knowing it could be us in their jaws, and rightfully so if they are able to hunt us down. It is The Way of Things. So you see why she would have thought that you were Prince Zeech’s animal.” She relents. She is stubborn, my Rey, but not unreasonable. I chat with a devil guard, complimenting her and asking her about her wardrobe: do you get undressed for bed and wear a nightie or some sort of pajama or do you sleep in leather and chains? Do you sleep? Do you wear anything underneath your armor? What do you use for the dye? It’s magical, I assume, so do each of you make your own armor? When do you learn that? If so, is every devil able to create magic armor or does it come from a few who do? Do you use money or is it from those who have to those who need? Do you have money? Are the coins hot all the time? Are you hot all the time? So are you born or created or forged from other life? She leaves in a huff which puzzles me: I thought I was taking an interest. I finally get to talk to Shag. I pull him aside, hug, and we catch up. He left Diamond Lake after he was unable to do anything about its destruction or save the life of Madame Z. “How did you end up here?” He smiles. “I am interesting to people, I guess.” I am sure the money he was able to save also helped. He wouldn’t elaborate, however, and I did not pry. [CENTER]***[/CENTER] Lashonna finally arrives. Hers is an older soul than I or Verdre: an elf of some five centuries or more. I approach her once she is done greeting all of the guests: “making the rounds” is the excellent human expression. I strike up a conversation – this is my assignment – with an air of flighty curiosity. “You came from an errand in the Fey, did you not?” I open with. “I had thought the party was going to be there. I was surprised when it wasn’t. I haven’t visited the Fey in some time and had hoped to return.” “I was on an errand for our governor, Zeech, which put me in the Fey for part of the celebration.” “Where are all the other guests?” I have to say, Lashonna is very frank. “Most of them escaped in an unexpected cave-in, but a couple of them were crushed by falling rock and snow. I left the scene. I believe Zeech had intended them to be devoured by angry dire apes, however that did not happen as planned due to the unstable caves that he chose to transport them to.” Wide-eyed, all feigned innocence, I pursue: “Were any of these people your acquaintances?” “No, they were political opponents of Zeech. I did not know them.” I look to her tone, her eyes, her body language, but there seems to be no regret there. She is cool and pleasant, even-tempered, from the southern forests. These and her slightly distracted air remind me of Tamyl, my people’s [I]shaev’e[/I], (this loosely translating to “leader” though more a first among equals, an elder, but Tamyl also leads us when we must fight as a single people). Lashonna’s discussion of the trapping of other humans is matter-of-fact, though she ends each statement with a small smile, one that doesn’t rise to her eyes. I let her go a while and catch up to her again as she makes her way to the balcony. No one speaks with her long, I see. “What do you think of the new building the prince is having erected near here?” “He has grand aspirations of ascending to demigod status by pleasing Hextor with a grand temple and gaining power and influence over the bandit kings. I have no doubt that his attempt will be recognized by his faith, but likely will fall short of his aspirations.” I lean in conspiratorially: “What do we think of Hextor?” I ask. She produces a wry smile: “Like many deities, they require humans to fill their cups only to dump them out again. I have no allegiance to Hextor, nor do I support the goals of conquest or dominion that it purports. Consider me a steward to the city. If his temple threatens the livelihood of the people, then I would intervene.” “Champion Rey told me about her trials in a jungle somewhere where she and some other heroes fought slimy things? Of some kind? In a temple that she says looked like this new one. As I mentioned before, I would like to spend some of Treig's money and potentially acquire a site here – visit it on occasion – and do not want some evil god perched over my new land.” “Mm, then I would consider a different town, unless Gray Fox has financial interest in the place. Leaders here are shallow in most instances and choose faiths that serve their selfish needs. Someone has to help preserve the lifeblood of the town, and it isn’t the aristocracy.” “So why you, if you do not mind me asking? What is your bond with this human town?” “My ties are, historically, as matron. I raised this village from the swamp, and I intend to live long in its history or not, but while I am here I am a benevolent clock maker.” “Oh, these humans and their busy, busy plans. They carve their initials into the world and then die not even knowing whether their ideas are any good, what the ramifications are, thinking only in mere years.” She agrees, and I turn my questions to Balacard. She freely tells me that pages of his journal along with a map of Nyr Div are all he left behind. Definitely a sign post for us, a beckoning to keep following. These documents are carefully tucked away in her human-built home among the other manors of the Al-Halster respected. Asked if we could go to her home and retrieve these, she assented with a shrug. The party winds down. I leave believing I’ve made at least a couple new friends. Everyone was most guarded there, so it is difficult to say for certain. Prince Zeech struck me me not as the vain, arrogant imbecile I had assumed I would find, but more a vain, arrogant, lost little boy. He will not leave a mark so much as a small stain on the world – indeed, he is being manipulated by Hextor even now – but perhaps Lashonna can influence him after all. We all meet, after the festivities are over, at Lashonna’s house. She takes us right to Balacard’s map and journal and seems tolerant of my little white lie enabling me to look through her other rooms, which we do. We discover nothing of interest, though I think Jodan found an aura he didn’t like somewhere near a basement. The map directs us to [B]Tillagos[/B] where still stands a library on an island on a lake under a tremendous ever-raging storm. It was set there by the First Watch, my same distant cousins who erected the wall around the ziggurat. It is possible the island itself, from their magiks, even moves around. In the library is apparently information about Dragotha’s [I]phylactery, [/I]her secret-of-secrets life force kept in an unknown receptacle. We must thus not only outfit ourselves appropriately but also find a ship and crew willing to brave the journey. Treig attends to it. Useful, that human. A man named [B]Matthias[/B] is owner of such a craft, called [I]Eye of the Storm[/I]. He and his trio of daughters, all of them strong and friendly, do business on this huge lake – more like an inland sea but for the fresh water – and they are ready and able to take us in. I strike up quick friendships with each of them – [B]Myra[/B], [B]Cleo[/B] and [B]Lachle[/B] – though particularly with Myra, the pilot. She gives me lessons. I know how to pilot a boat already thanks to my upbringing on the Mirror, but those are elven craft. This heavy human one requires different skills, though I feel like I pick them up readily enough. [CENTER]***[/CENTER] It is a beautiful, cloudless day when we set out. I will reflect, later on, that there are so many reasons I am glad my aunt is here, but among them, certainly, is her druidcraft. The storm, when we come to it, is vast and impenetrable. She assesses our situation and enacts two plans, one for heading in and one for getting out again. For the first, she summons the largest shark I have ever seen to pull us. It simply tows the boat as I steer us across shifting currents through rocks that seem designed to rip ships, and everyone else but greening Jodan – not a lot of water in Hell, I guess – row their hearts out. In this fashion we work through the maelstrom to the island, navigating thirty-foot waves, a hungry-lookingwhirlpool and boat-chewing shoals. Verdre has assumed the boat would not make it all the way, either anchoring or foundering, so she meditated half a day to beseech Our Mistress of Gifts With Strings Attached for an alternate way out. An enormous silver feather floated down from the heavens to land her arms. “We may run on the wind itself,” is all she says, smiling. That sounds exhilarating – I almost hope we will have to use it. [CENTER]***[/CENTER] We pass vast numbers of shipwrecks and skeletons to get to the eye of the hurricane under which sits the island. An entire city’s ruins stretch to the horizon. We have neighbors sharing the shoreline with us: orcs, by the look of them, washed up on shore and wringing their clawed hands about the condition of their broken vessel. Verdre hops to her feet to remind Rey that orcish annihilation is not our mission today. Anyway, it seems clear they not interested in us and in fact might not even know we’re here. We leave the ship and daughters with Verdre to protect them from any incursion by the local fauna. The rest of us head inland to seek this fabled library…. [/QUOTE]
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[5E] The Age of Worms - Solid Snake's Campaign
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