Fnord's Journals - Part II

To the Elf King's Moot

Owing to my spectacular degree of laziness, I left it a very long time before writing this section. Its accuracy may therefore be somewhat suspect.

October 19th

Left Cereb's village after a reasonably amicable breakfast, and made my way further into the mountains by means of my very excellent Wings of Flying. Assuming my navigation is up to par, I expect about another three days travel before I get to the region I'm aiming for.

The directions I was given included a drawing of a distinctive mountain formation to look for, but it was drawn as if seen from ground level so I have to fly low or risk missing it.

On my way I spy more ominous smoke plumes in the distance, but all far off my course so I leave them uninvestigated.

October 23rd

Find the peculiar mountains, and am met by some elves. I show them the letter, and they escort me the rest of the way to Faédrél's mountain retreat — nice enough I suppose, but elvish architecture isn't really much to my taste; it's all a bit too.... frilly, or something. Still, I suppose when you're immortal it's easy to get carried away with the decorations.

The hospitality is great though. Baths and everything.

October 28th

The last of the expected guests arrive, and we are all summoned to Faédrél's council.

Apparently Bartholomew was brought up on some island by reptile-women, who eventually gave him to some human pirates. I suspect he has issues. Anyway, he appears to have some unpleasantly tentacly chthulhoid demon associates, and actually lives under the Angelsmere.

The gist of it is that some crazy (and inconveniently unscryable) wizardy type by the name of Bartholomew Bertosci is busily engaging in one of those darned plots for world domination, involving lots of scaly bug-eyed fish-men just like the ones I slaughtered on my way up here. I don't know the full plan, but at the moment he's busily trying to raise the level of the Great Lakes and flood everything; plus he's doing something nasty to the water. The environmentally-irresponsible fiend! He's also trying to breed a hybrid race from his googly-eyed chums and human women, which explains the kidnappings.

The full dastardlyness of the plot is revealed to us all by one Phædre, a hideously scarred, surly and taciturn ranger — some sort of relation of Faédrél's (brother? cousin? second cousin once removed on his mother's side? Don't recall). He has been there and seen what the wizard is up to, and wants to go back with some heroic idiot to put paid to it. Naturally, I volunteer at once.

One of the participants at the moot was a very tall, beautiful, well-built, super-hot warrior queen named Evita Lasealle who holds a keep in one of the northern passes. We got on very well indeed, if you know what I mean, nudge nudge wink wink. Apparently my heroic demeanor in volunteering for almost certain death just impressed the pants off her. Yay!

Other human notables at the moot:

November 1st

Set out with Phædre after some preparatory briefing and magical preparations. They inserted a Scrying Focus of some sort into our bellies with a large and frightening needle (though the process was curiously pleasant — kinky!) so that Faédrél can keep track of us, and I replaced the spells in my Ring of Spell Storing with:

They also gave each of us a Bracelet of Healing (12 charges of 2d6 Healing in each), a Torc of Protection from Madness which will also cure an existing lunacy if it's put on a sufferer, and a Bracelet of Shapechanging which will allow us to take the form of one of the amphibian critters for 12 hours. I also got a Ring of Sneakiness which will mask the rattling and clanging of my armour and what-not for a minute at a time (3 charges).

Evita also gave me a red ribbon thing which is magical, but I don't know what it does yet.

November 4th

Coming down out of the mountains we see a caravan being attacked by orcs. Phædre and I fought them off without any particular difficulty (they're only orcs after all) and I killed what appeared to be a shaman of some kind. Phædre proved to be a remarkable and deadly archer. The caravaneers were reasonably grateful I suppose, but they could have been a bit more effusive — a chap likes to know that his good violent deeds don't go unnoticed.

November 5th

We carried on down the valley; as we got closer to the lake the stream we were following started showing signs of pollution — some of the little pools are actually hot to the touch, and there's an unpleasant metallic smell in the air. We started finding dead pixies, and then two dead naiads floating in the stream. I resurrected one (briefly) with the Rod, but she succumbed again shortly after; I suppose I'd have to clean up her stream before she could be properly resurrected. Anyway, she was appropriately grateful for my efforts and gave me a gift: a little round river stone; most underwater things won't attack the bearer and it allows one to talk with them. If one holds it in one's mouth one can breathe underwater as long as one remains calm and passive (I think I prefer my Helm of Underwater Action, since it does the same thing while allowing one to be violent and exciteable).