Dear Aunty Beryl,
In writing to you another of my little missives at this time I feel that I am keeping you up to date with my recently busy schedule. Things have been rather hectic of late, and although it is rather less than a week since Pussy and I last penned some words of my adventures for your and Uncle Nobby’s eyes, so much of import has occurred I feel that I would not be challenging your attention or interests by informing you of my continued travels at this juncture. Indeed it seems that I should grasp the opportunity by the horns as it were, fore I have found little time to evaluate the events of these recently passed days. And leaving all bovine punnery aside I feel that in scribbling my thoughts to my beloved family I may be able to cogitate and process these tumultuous occurrences into an acceptable and resolved form, thus leading my rather stretched emotional state back into repose and equilibrium. At least that’s how Pussy describes it. I’m just happy enough to tell you about the smashing time that I’m having over here in the parallel dimensions.
When last I wrote Pussy, myself and my extraordinary companions in the Order of Initiative, of whom I count almost each and everyone to be a sterling fellow of exquisite demeanour and breeding, had rejoined our fated journey south. Our inevitable destination being the glorious city of Suzail, the capital city and indeed the veritable jewel in the crown of the great and noble nation of Cormyr, fore as august and distinguished as our company appeared we were humble enough to insist on continuing to chaperon the Goodman Walter and the Pure Maid Deirdre to their home town. I myself am giddy with the thought of seeing this majestic city in all of its ingenious human build glory. Although I was a little disconcerted as Mister Coleridge told me that it was a ‘bit of dump’.
Pussy and I do so like humans, they’re so very eager, and it’s terribly endearing to watch them scurry around in their funny monkey ways as if they were the centre of everything. And it’s frightfully nice that they’ve taken that step up from living in mud huts and smearing themselves in their own excrement before going for a naked dance around the local menhir while adorning themselves in bloody animal skins and decorating their hair with the bones of their vanquished foes. Well, mostly they seem to have. It’s almost as if they’re on the verge of beginning to form developed and responsible societies and joining a larger and more mature multiverse. Though on the whole they are still wrapped up in their petty little Kingdoms and Tribes and they do still so love to rut like farm yard animals in that base and rather sticky and grunty way that they have. Despite this both Pussy and I agree that on the whole they have great potential for good. And any species that has invented both Chocolate and Boiled Sweeties surely cannot be all bad, surely?
Yes dear Aunty, Human society on this world is very different to our Elven culture on Cerilia. Although perhaps the difference lies in the nature of this very world, although there a many similarities between our worlds there are also many differences, take our Faerunian Elven cousins for example. Faerunian Elves are not noticeably different in their physiology or psychology to our own race. Though we both look and behave in a largely identical manner the Faerunian Elves are mortal. Though rather long lived in human terms their half a millennium or so of natural life span is a fleeting ‘mayfly’ of an existence compared to the age our Sidhelien Elders on Cerilia. I have often wondered why this is. After some cogitation upon the matter I have come to believe that the very land of Cerilia must have some special magical nature that is so powerful that it imbues special abilities to the peoples living there. This would explain the Immortality of the Elves and indeed the Bloodline and Regency powers that link the Human ruling families to the land. This is a little worrying to me, as it may mean that while I remain on Faerun I will age as the natives this land do. I don’t want to get old and lose control of my faculties Dear Aunty. What if I lose those natural boyish good looks that Uncle Nobby always told me I had while he taught me to play the biscuit game and assured me it’d be ‘our little secret’? What if I lose my teeth and hair? I don’t want to be a bald gummy Wizard. Pussy will laugh at me. And I know he doesn’t like the stink of stale Urine, he often tells me so, so he’d probably leave me too.
Anyway enough about such things let me carry on with my letter. Where were we? Oh yes. Pussy, I and the Order of Initiative were continuing south while escorting Goodman Walter and the Fair Maid Deirdre.
Off we set into the frigid cold on the next leg of our journey. I handed out some of the tasteful and stylish woolly hats that I had made previously to keep the party warm. Mister Rizzit was particularly taken with the Orange and Lime green Balaklava that I gave him. And both he and our new member Mister Bibabobalobalos put in orders for matching mittens and gloves. That will keep me busy. You’d have very much enjoyed the sight of adventurers trekking through the snowy wilds, being kept lovely and snugly warm by the colourful fruits of your nephews’ labours. I know I did, and Pussy was absolutely thrilled. Although I must admit that a Kobold in a fluorescent woolly hat is a little incongruous to say the least. Perhaps it counts as a post-modern statement of something or other. I must remember to ask Mister Coleridge about it, he is an artist and will thus surely know all about that sort of thing.
As we travelled down the southern road we came across a mysterious set of tracks that lead to an even more mysterious, and not to mention slightly ominous, pool of blood. Being thrill seeking adrenaline junkies it was quickly agreed that we would follow the tracks, though there was a little out of character dissent from Mister Coleridge. Following the tracks brought us to an abandoned mine complex which seemed to please Mister Rizzit and Mister Bibabobalobalos immensely, this was probably because they were both of a subterranean bent.
I wonder why some races feel the need to live their entire lives underground? I always thought that creatures that live permanently underground eventually adapt to that environment physically, losing an emphasis on the important of the visual sense and become improved at the other senses. Bats can find their way using only sound. There are fish that have adapted to have no eyes at all. In short it can be said that beasts adapt to their environment. However there are whole swathes of subterranean sentient and monster races out there that live their entire lives underground and still have effective eyes. In fact many of them have ever BETTER eyesight, Dwarves see well during the day AND at night, how does that work? If tales of the Underdark are to be believed, Faerun has whole nations under the ground where creatures, societies and cultures exist side by side. They even have a race of subterranean creatures called beholders that are ALL eyeball, big floating eyes that live underground. It makes no sense. Big floating ears maybe. But eyes? Pull the other one; it has bells on it, as Uncle Nobby used to say.
So after Mister Rizzit and Mister Bibabobalobalos had spent a bit of time waxing lyrical about the qualities and wonders of Dwarven mine construction we entered the mine. The purpose of a mine, being to dig into the earth to extract a predetermined substance from the earth such as Coal or metal ore, is obvious. They’re dangerous places to work as they are often unstable and need to be shored with wooden beams; the air in them is limited and often toxic and on the whole they are dirty and inhospitable places. So naturally most abandoned mines in Faerun seem to be the home of one variety of monster or another. Indeed the mine has third position on the list of ‘place most likely to be inhabited by a monster’, beating ‘mysterious caves’ into fourth position and only narrowly missing out on second place to ‘ancient temple’ though obviously coming no where near the category leader of ‘dungeon’. It will come as absolutely no surprise to you at all to find that upon entering the cave we rather promptly came across a large group of Goblins.
Goblins are a funny species dear aunty. Pussy tells me that they usually live in groups varying in size from gangs of 4-9 to tribes of up to as many as 400, they are often are ruled by the strongest goblin in the group. Many larger tribes have wolves or dire wolves as mounts, or ally themselves with worgs, which are larger more intelligent wolves. Goblin tribes usually settle near civilized areas to raid for food, livestock, tools, weapons, and supplies. Some goblin clans will come under the control of stronger goblinoids or other creatures such as powerful evil Villains, Despots or meglomaniacal Overlords, who will generally use and abuse the goblins for their own purposes, often placing them in the vangard of their evil army, where they usually take up the position of ‘catapult fodder’. So a goblins lot is not often a happy one. And as you can see they are ruled my might and power, their culture seems to have little respect for anything other than strength. They are also really rather unfriendly. Which is a shame, because I’m sure they have their own individual qualities. I have never met a species that wouldn’t have a pleasant chat over a nice hot cup of tea if the circumstances were right. Sadly this situation didn’t seem to be one which would be resolved with hot deverages.
When we offered them a chance to surrender (well actually only I offered them a chance to surrender,the rest of the Order of Initiative were busy preparing themselves for slaughter) they ignored my peaceful advances. In fact as our group was of mixed race they seemed particularly eager to attack a number of us. Mister Rizzit was an instant target for their ire, as was Mister Bibabobalobalos, being of Kobold and Dwarven race respectively. Although that feeling of hatred seemed to be reciprocated by a number of our group too. It is so sad to see such racism still alive in the world today, you’d have thought that folk would learn to set aside their bigotries and interspecies animosities and take a step along the path of mature diplomacy and negotiation. But, alas no. Mister Bibabobalobalos, whom seemed such a lovely little chap who I would have no trouble introducing to you at a garden party or other society function Dear Aunty, was transformed in to a slavering Goblin hating bile machine. In fact I almost believe that he actually gained some form of advantage in his combat due to the excessive nature of his loathing. And Mister Feng, who I wouldn’t really be comfortable introducing to you in any social situation in which he was not gagged and tethered, became incandescent with pure fury. They were both filled with in irrational hostility towards the goblins that seemed purely cultural in nature. I wonder if this sort of thing is systematically taught to them in school, presuming, perhaps foolishly, that Mister Feng ever went to one.
So as the chance of a diplomatic solution slipped away into the furor of clashing weapons and combatatively directed incantations I joined with my companions in the slaughter to be. The Goblins attacked us from both the west and south. As Mister Rizzit enchanted a large group of the goblins into an arcane sleep while Mister Feng and Mister Coleridge took advantage of this and began flailing about themselves with a variety of sharpened metal implements dispatching their slumbering foes with the efficiency of butchers. To the south a group of goblin shaman and their apparent leader lead an assault against us. The shaman formed an area of magical silence around us to confound our thaumaturgical retaliations, this is quite a simple spell, and often very effective against an adversary with arcane powers. However I quickly managed to step out of this field. Bringing forth a pre-prepared spell I summoned a giant beetle of the nether planes to assist in our assault, I also, I am sad to say, brought forth a magical missile to damage one of the poor goblins. I know we were fighting in self-defense Dear Aunty, and I am aware of the nature of goblins and their cultural ties to violent and aggressive behaviours, but it never seems to get any easier, this taking of life. Perhaps that is a good thing.
Mister Coleridge, Mister Feng and the Sorcerous Kobold Rizzit, supported by the Good Priest Beltain were making a solid and devastating assault upon the largely unconscious goblin force to the west. Mister Bibabobalobalos, Noble Sparhawk, Myself and the honourable, if slightly inappropriately dressed priestess Limara attacked the goblin shaman and the leader to the south. While the others took care of the few goblin warriors in the southern group I completed an incantation and ejaculated forth a large mass of sticky material to entrap and restrict the shaman and the leader. This appeared quite a successful tactic and both were securely and safely trapped by my sticky conjuration. I hoped that both would be peacefully taken captive from that position. Alas, as things transpired Dear Aunty, that was not to be.
We we’re getting to the end of the goblins. The two shaman we’re dead, alas I had to burn one with an evoked ball of flame. Not a pretty way to go, but necessary I feel. However that is little consolation when I wake up at night because I can still hear his screams of agony. The leader was still trapped in the web and the large group to the west was steadily being culled by the team in that area. Then suddenly we were beset by a new foe. A team of Dark Dwarves, or Duergar, suddenly leapt at us from under a shroud of invisibility.
Being beset with a new and powerful foe seemed to galvanize our group. We redoubled our efforts and took the fight bravely to the Duergar. Duergar are a funny race Dear Aunty. Although they are apparently a stoic and hard-working race much like their racial cousins the Dwarves, they toiling under the gaze of Laduguer, their strict and unforgiving deity, who drives them to behave in harsh and cruel ways. Not the sort of chaps you’d like volunteering down at the orphanage on their weekends off, I think you will agree. Like many evil off shoot races they have a rather predictablly deep-seated grudge against the Dwarven race, due to their exile from their midst and legends stating that the rest of Dwarvenkind abandoned the duergar to mind flayer rule thousands of years ago. You know the sort of thing that gives racial hatreds and bigotries, the world seems full of them. Another perculiarity of Duergar is that they have two very special racial abilities. Both of which are quite odd. Firstly, they can turn invisible at will. Seemingly useful at first glance. However, for a species that likes entirely underground, ie in the complete blackness, surely the ability to make it so no one can see you is a bit pointless. But that will take us back to the whole adapting to the environment argument again. The Duergars other special ability is that they can temporarily grow to a large size. Which is just plain stupid. Dwarves that have adapted an ability to become, well, less Dwarfish. Really useful that. However, regardless of how nonsensicle the Duergar species appeared they were still dangerous foes, though it became quickly apparent that the Order of Initiative were more than up to the task, even if they kept growing larger in a comedy fashion. In fairly short order more death and destruction had been meted out by our valourous band and the Duergar threat had been vanquished.
Now ordinarily Dear Aunty I am appalled by acts of violence, though I do know that logically in the cause of defending ones self and/or the general populace against threats to life and limb a certain amount of defensive violence may sometimes be necessary. Though on the whole I find even this degree of aggression abhorrent. However despite the death and destruction being wreaked by my comrades, despite the slaughter of the poor goblins and the trouncing of the Duergar, despite the sounds of the injured and dying filling the cave, despite all of these things I found this particular combat all very thrilling. Perhaps it was because my ‘blood was up’ or that a battle frenzy had over taken me, or perhaps it was a bio-alchemical reaction in my body or a overloading of emotion washing out my normally logical cognitive abilities. Regardless of the reasons I was filled with an excitement and a pride to be fighting along side these brave heroes at that time. I was part of a finely oiled adventuring team fighting the good fight against the fell creatures of the night. And at the time it was smashing fun. I felt my blood surge and my senses become sharp and honed. I am quite ashamed to admit it now Dear Aunty, but I was enjoying myself. Even though Pussy tells me that I’m being silly I can’t help thinking that this makes me a terrible person.
Once the combat was over however it all became a little too much for me. My emotions got the better of me and I ran off from the party weeping, perhaps I had become overly tired and emotional. Or perhaps I was, as Mister Feng put it, being a big girl. Perhaps if I had not done so I could have stopped the atrocities that occurred next. Even though Pussy says again that I am being silly I cannot help thinking that if I had been with the party those terrible things would not have happened.
You see Dear Aunty some of the goblins had not been slaughtered mercilessly in their sleep. A few of them had been left to slumber and once the combat was over the remaining members of the group had bound them and taken them prisoner. Call me old fashioned Dear Aunty, but I am under the impression that once you take an enemy captive you take upon yourself a responsibility to that captive. You sign up to a moral compact that dictates a certain set of captor behaviours, such as fair treatment and good conduct, not subjecting your captives to torture or other cruel and unusual punishments. However when I had returned from my emotional outburst I found Mister Coleridge, Mister Rizzit and Mister Feng standing next to the dead bodies of several bound goblins. It appeared that they had captured, question then summarily executed the goblins. Surely this could not be I thought to my self. However Mister Coleridge was blatantly standing over the dead captives with a bloody dagger in his hand. Red handed as it were.
I shudder to think of it now Dear Aunty. That we can descend so quickly into the depths of evil from our vantage point of good. When I protested to them about their behaviour they genuinely did not see any problem with what they had done, Mister Coleridge stated very plainly that he had killed the goblins because the had ‘ not appreciated my song’ the look in Mister Coleridge’s eye when he said it will stay with me for ever. He simply looked like a man with complete detachment from his deed. He could have just as easily been talking about the weather. It was a look that will give me nightmares. Funnily enough, it reminded me a little of the look uncle Nobby has when he comes up from working in his sound proofed cellar. Funny that.
After searching around a little in the mine area a room was found with some arcane symbols written on the floor. Upon checking the mystical runes it was observed that it was some sort of now broken portal of Drow origin. Mister Bibabobalobalos ascertained that the mine that we were in had to be an entrance to the Underdark and that we had to continue into the cave system and slay any other creatures that were there, Mister Feng and the magically talented Mister Rizzit agreed. It was at this point that the Honourable Sparhawk pointed out that we were supposed to be escorting Goodman Walter and the Fair maid Deidre to Suzail and that we did not have time to stop and carry out an extended dungeon crawl.
A certain amount of discussion upon the subject ensued and it was agreed that the party would temporarily split. Mister Feng, Mister Rizzit and Mister Bibabobalobalos would stay and check the mines out a little further, while myself, Mister Sparhawk, Mister Coleridge and the good priests Beltain and Limara would escort Walter and the wagon to the next settlement down the road where they would wait for us while we traveled back to continue the search of the mines with the others.
To be honest Dear Aunty I cared little for any of this, as I was just eager to get away from that terrible place and the memories of that terrible slaughter and how it made me feel. I know I must learn to harden myself against these things but such casual violence and cruelty seem such awful things to me. I am afraid that I will never get used to it. Though perhaps what really scares me is the thought that I will. That I will be come acclimatized to the butchery, desensitized to the violence, or even worse, that I might come to like it. I remember even now the joy of the battle that I felt in that cave, the surging of vital energy that ran though me and had made me feel so very alive, even as the foes around me leaked their life’s blood into the dirt. What if that feeling becomes a thing that I desire? What if I come to enjoy the killing? Will I too become the sort who would think nothing of killing my captives out of hand without a seconds thought about it? Pussy tells me not to be silly, and that the very fact that I worry so about these things indicates that they will not happen, but I am not so sure Dear Aunty. Not so sure at all.
As things stand we have split from Mister Feng, Mister Bibabobalobalos and The good Sorcerer Rizzit and have carried on down the Galantars Way to Immersea and have successfully dropped off our charges the Goodman Walter and the Fair Maid Deirdre at a friend of the good merchant. There he will await our return back from the Mine. I write this in the early hours of the morning as I sit in my Inn room awaiting the rest of our groups awaking, in an hour or so I will go down to the stables and saddle up Robison, who is such a good and noble steed, and prepare for our journey.
I tell myself that once we get there and begin fighting our way down into the Underdark we will be making the world a safer place. We will be fighting those who would surely venture out into the surface world and kill, capture and maim innocents. I tell my self that for every one Goblin, Orc, Duerger or Drow we kill we will be making the world safer for four or five actual, real and living humans, elves or halfling. By forging down into those subterranean kingdoms, with their populations of apparently ‘evil’ races, we are taking proactive and preemptive steps to protect ourselves and the world around us. Surely that is the case Dear Aunty? Surely that is the right way to look at it? Though what really worries me is that they live their lives down there thinking exactly the same thing about coming up to the surface world.
Well Dear Aunty I really must sign off and go see to Robinson. If I haven’t given him a good brushing before I set out he’ll be all upset with me. So please send my love to Uncle Nobby and the rest of the family.
Your Loving Nephew
The Wizard Nosnibor
... First i will Post the Brief Description of Nosnibor that i gave to tariff for our game... Then i will Post his first Letter, which is a quick summary of his background up to the point that he meets the party in the Order of Initiative game. I will Post further letters as things happen in our game. As we play Tariff's game in the Klooge Online Role playing Table top times of Post will Vary. Combat tends to take a while within the game and Interection happens swiftly. I'll Post further latters at appropriate time. So here goes, and i hope you enjoy it.))
