The Book of Gossan Dacite – page 30
Damn Baroness must be on drugs. Whomever heard of getting an Inquisitor of the Blood God to bring order to a situation? What else can you expect from having a woman in charge?
I’ve met my “companions”: Dusk, Big Daddy, and Lore. Before taking this motley crew under my tutelage, they needed to be tested. A noise complaint and suggestion of a possible oil fire was enough to start a battle between my “companions” upstairs and the bartender.
So far, the testing has gone well. The bartender appears to have had more experience tending his sword then his bar giving my possible new allies a greater test then just some country tough would.
Recruit 1: Big Daddy
Appears of to possess immense physical strength, sturdy constitution. Has a propensity for violence and appears to develop dependent relationships. Though wielding a blunt weapon, his immense strength results in most flesh and blood foes bursting like blood sausages. I fear l’ll still be finding horse guts in my armor for weeks to come. A most suitable recruit for the Shadow Beast.
Recruit 2: Dusk
Dusk is as my mentor would put it, a damned, dirty drow. Yet for some reason I seem to like the fellow. Detect magic spells don’t seem to show any enchantment or charm spells on my body, so it appears to be the natural charisma of the drow at work rather than spells. My lack of trust concerning him seems to also point to that fact that no spell is at work. Seems a capable sorcerer with some skill with a crossbow. Converting him to the worship of the Shadow Beast if possible could be useful. The question of how remains, until then he can be used as a means to increase my spell penetration.
Recruit 3: Lore
A shadow loving sneak named Lore and a mage named Dusk! I should eviscerate both their parents for naming their children thus. Lore has demonstrated a willingness to allow his blood to be shed and feed the Blood God, but at the same time shed the blood of his enemies. Very much like the unholy flagellants of the Blood God. He wields an exotic and magical weapon. I would arrange for his death in order to possess it, if I didn’t think I’d trip myself trying to use it. He appears to be a master of stealth and disguises. Beware a knife in the back from this one. His chosen god is surely a mismatch as he too could prove to be a most useful convert. Of the three it is possibly Lore who offers me the greatest variety of abilities to mimic or boost.
A cry of “Where he go?” interrupts Gossan’s thoughts.
Have they still not killed him? Have they not thought to look for a blood trail? I may have to revise my initial assessments of them if they don’t catch him soon. Or simply burn them all in the Inn. After all, it is getting a little chilly out here.
“Let’s Make this Fast. I’m Hungry!”
Dusk inwardly chortled at Fenril’s words uttered before entering the Wayward Inn. Who would have thought that a quick bite to eat and a wipe over with some hot water could bring such trouble?
In just a few minutes, he and his fellow adventurers had awkwardly stumbled on some plot involving Underkiln, been drawn into combat with two thugs, one of whom tried to run away with all their treasure in the carriage waiting downstairs, and now were in a deadly game of cat and mouse with the world’ most devious barman. Dusk was quite proud of the way he managed to halt the coach and retrieve the treasure, bringing it back with the help of this newcomer. I wonder who he REALLY is Dusk thought, and then: We really SHOULD get a Bag of Holding for that stuff soon.
But there was no time for questions now. Not until they had captured or killed this slippery eel Barman. Wayward Inn, eh? Let’s not ever stop HERE again!
After a long journey, Elkintra orders some hot water and asks his comrades to help scrub his back.
If anything, a drow likes to be clean. And there is nothing more satisfying for wiping the stench of the world from one’s person than the luxurious form of one of the world’s most common substances – hot water.
Bath time for a drow in Olath Jess usually involves slaves, sometimes servants, and frequently, sex. However, the main purpose of the bathtime is never forgotten, for a drow likes to be clean.
Hot water clears the grime in ways that cold water can only dream of. Cold water dreams of being drunk by the parched throat of the thirsty warrior. Hot water dreams of being smeared over the sweaty body of a bather that revels in its cleansing power. For a drow likes to be clean.
Hot water can also be a metaphor for trouble in the world of politics and strategy. A substance that clears out dark secrets and creates cauldrons of difficulty for those cave shrimps that fall into the soup. It is not a substance that a drow likes to drown in. No, indeed! A drow likes to be clean!
Finally given the time to collect my thoughts I expected so much to enjoy in this town so many things to see and do. but so much mixture of fun and unfun. My head is still spinning. I was so excited to get some new toys and tools. and then a band of horses gets in my way. It may have been a bit of an over-reaction (and possibly an unwise overreaction at that) but it seemed like the only natural thing to do was to cause bodily damage to the horses. In doing so I was nearly killed myself. but as they say “live and let live…at least until you find them again and utterly destroy their pathetic lives”.
Well we finally get to the weapon shop and so many nice things for a young fetchling to play with. I almost lose the proprietors interest with a small joke of mine, but in the end i get many nice things for some fun times ahead. Oh i can’t wait to try them out, we make it to the coach and we get extorted for money. and Octavia leaves us and just all around no fun.
Oh its times like this that I almost miss my home. oh i hope we can get out of this place soon. My mind even drifts to suicide at times….well not my own suicide of course. where’s the fun in that? but i really think someone killing themselves would really cheer me up.
As ever, Elkintra Rilyn Duskryn used the loose strands of thought flying around in the protocosmos of his brain to attune himself to his protean powers and relax his now healed muscles into attaining their optimum state. However, during this process a few random thoughts popped into his consciousness.
He had felt particularly wary regarding the tough they had encountered at the last bar in Midergard. Dusk couldn’t quite put his finger on it though. He had felt like taking out his anger with the town of Midergard on the very next offender, and the tough, with his threatening speech and rude behaviour had been a prime target, especially since he had been trying to extract an extortionate fee for his base efforts. But something deep inside Dusk had resisted the urge to attack and had prompted him to find another way. It was this feeling that Dusk was finding difficult to understand. It was not fear. Dusk did not fear any arbitrary surface tough that he didn’t even know, but something about the thug had made him rethink his initial reaction.
It was almost as if a drow cleric had been barking out her orders. Sometimes, he recalled, when that sort of thing happened, a drow warrior would not bother to think his own thoughts, but would act quickly and unthinkingly on behalf of the cleric. It was just a way those clerics had about them, and Dusk presumed somehow that the tough they had met had a similar ability.
Well, in the end, it had all worked out well enough. At the time, three party members had been wounded, so a battle could have gone ill. The most offending detail was that the thug had probably been overpaid, but perhaps that was a small price in exchange for leaving the stinking Goody-Two Shoes town of Midergard behind without further injury.
The unexpected healing from that horrid imp had been most welcome too. Dusk hated the smug attitude of the creature and was glad that it had to stay in town to complete some other task, but somehow, Dusk doubted whether his friends had seen the last of the tiny devil. Ah, well, he HAD his uses….
THE JOURNEY 2
The journey is long. To determine its start is easier than to guess at its end. But it rides with you all the way. Periods of rest may appear deceptively as journey’s ends, but they are little more than reprieves, for the journey continues with every breath. On into the long night, and through the torturous day, the journey extends its path, presenting many facets of life, some new, some old, some familiar as old pains, some foreign as stars.
Along the journey, people are met, songs are remembered, paintings are lost, weapons and wounds are acquired. Knowledge is both hidden and revealed. Perceptions wax and wane in variable amounts. Is there rhythm? Is there reason? Patterns sway like underlake mists in an ever unfolding rhapsody of experience.
The journey touches the heart. It touches the soul. It is the neverending companion of your life.
Yea, Leoric, you are the master of tricks, and I salute you!
You show us our weaknesses and force us to pit our wits against adversity.
Midergard has many dangers, I sense, yet still, there are avenues through which a wily drow may travel.
Thank you for delivering your humble servant from the wicked snare of the paladins,
and for concealing his intentions from the goody-two shoes thugs.
Thank you for the solidarity of the present party, and for keeping infernal contracts at bay.
Hear your humble servant’s wish for his most humble hand weapon, which was denied to him, when he had to leave Olath Jess in such a hurry, and please curse that wicked cleric!
Thank you for the wisdom to choose the spells that will be useful to your most humble servant,
and thank you for showing him a most wonderful specimen of weaponry, to have something to strive for.
Your humble servant is no art dealer and you have made this plain, but he beseeches that further funds may become available through other methods, and that his acquisition may be acheived before leaving this city of Midergard.
Keep your servant on the path towards the acquisition of poison, and give him the strength to be patient, allowing him at least a non poisonous alternative until he is in a better financial position.
Yea, Great Loric, give your wounded servant the power to overcome his grievous wounds,
Give him the rest he requires, and keep his companions safe, that they may better keep your servant safe.
May all who work against you shrivel up and die.
Your will be done!
Well it seems like the Imp is lobbying again for a contract, how droll. It appears he has trust issues, I’m not sure why. He is so misguided. A contract is the enemy of freedom. Freedom is the foundation of fun. Therefore contract equals not fun.
Poor Saz he seems so … planned. “All work and no play makes jack a dull boy” or so I’ve been told. and if a lack of play can cause such an atrocious transformation for jack, who knows what it may do for the rest of us. It’s up to me to save my “friends?” (I sure hope I’m using that term correctly.) I must protect them from the shackles of commitment. Well, it’s not the imps fault that he’s so cut and dry about things. I hope that my demonstration will help him understand me. He may in turn he may help me understand the box, but I’ve done what I can.
but there was a new surprise in store for us. The human driver tells us there is a pretty little thing wishes to join our party. Well not missing an opportunity to play a little prank, I think the human should pay her another visit and see what I can get away with. SHe looks at me with belief but is seems my every word seems to confuse that certainty. I will have fun with this one. but as I gaze upon her ther is something I realize: Finally someone as good looking as me. I can’t help but feel like we have a connection. But is that just her feminine wiles at work? the confusion is exhilarating. I think she might like me, and I like being liked. Even it if it is somehow a lie, it makes little difference. Such a skilled and amusing deception is after my own heart. Oh I the fun we will have together. I must remember every detail of her form, it may be useful to replicate the image later.
When it appeared that my trickery hat run its amuzement. I reveal myself and we walk the street arm in arm. It seems I will have a hard time deciding who is kidding who, but I don’t really mind. a MUSE ment Awaits!
Elkintra Rilyn Duskryn settles into reverie. Unlike some other beings like humans and dwarves, elves of the dark and light do not actually sleep. Rather, they settle into a restful trance, meditating on the very fibre of their being to replenish lost reserves. In the case of a sorcerer, this requires especially acute meditation, so that his magic, his faer, is also replenished. All through the night while on the carriage, the dark elf had attempted to enter deep reverie but the carriage had jostled too much for him to acheive the eight hours required.
After a good meal, a couple of drinks and a good chat, Elkintra is ready to try again. He eases himself into the trance, meditating not only on the rejuvination and replenishment of Faer into his sinews, but also on the earlier conversations in the tavern.
A warrior’s status in this warparty of the surface world is more difficult to determine than the same position in a drow party from the Underkiln. In a drow party, there is a more definite structure of hierachy. There is always someone in charge and there is always someone in charge of them. Seldom are the warparty friends but mutual considerations are strengthened by the greater danger of opposing enemies and further supported by the chain of command, orders from above, and the dire consequences of disobedience or neglect of duty.
In his new party of acquaintances there is no such hierachy. At first, Elkintra had thought Fenril might be in charge, but although he does seem to have some authority, he generally seems to let the others decide what to do. More like a guide, he is. But still not one to be crossed, the dark elf surmises. Elkintra thinks he would probably trust Fenril more than some of the others….if “trust” was something he had in his reserves.
Big Daddy is straightforward and Elkintra regrets that he was unable to prevent BD’s signing of the IMP’s contract. A dangerous precedent! Early magical training had always taught the dark sorcerer about the dangers of signing pacts with outsiders. He hadn’t wanted to say this in front of the IMP for fear of alienating him, preferring instead to suggest basic logic. But it had not been enough. Now that a treaty existed between two, it would only be a matter of time before the disease spread. Still, he would continue to resist, while at least supported by some of his comrades. The party needed a healer, and the IMP had other invaluable skills to offer.
Well that odd sensation of waking up from another of the quasi-dreams befalls me. Although exactly what happened this time is a bit hazy, I can’t even recall which if any of my companions joined me. Still it would appear that we have somehow evaded the Bodak attack. We all gather our belongings and travel off to a strange town. I must admit I am enjoying the companionship of my fellows.
Upon arriving in town Fenrir, who is proving to quite the resource even for a human, guides us to a quaint little establishment. I shall resist the urge to burn it to the ground. As we settle in, My mind begins to do something that I sometimes despise. remembering the past. Although at this point my recent past is being recalled. Oh Sardon, how much I loved our little game. I was so glad to teach you one of life’s greatest lessons. A win can actually be a loss. Although the boar stuck in the wall is a bit confusing. why are the keeping the bulk of it’s body on the other side of the wall, surely if they are trying to brag, they would show how large the animal is. Also did they kill the beast as it was about to eat an apple?
Well we sit down it seems that Saz has something to say, well this should be interesting…