Honorable Priestess of Melora,
Since our last correspondence, we arrived in the city of Ris and began to hunt for a guide to lead us into the mountains, where we could find a way into the Station of Samhain.
As we searched for a guide, it became apparent that no one was willing to lead us up the mountains. It was unclear why everyone was reluctant to help us on our quest.
After much effort, we finally found someone willing to bring us there. He seemed to be a person of questionable character (the Dwarven Cleric "Tiny" -- as we call him -- had some insight into this man's true nature), who seemed to have much knowledge about this area. He said we had to go to The Widowmaker in order to get to the entrance to the Station of Samhain.
The man demanded a sizable payment for his services ("5 gold pieces!"). Ever the diplomat (and the voice of reason for our party), the Half-Elven Paladin Firinne managed to barter him down to 4 gold pieces. Carlagnious, the Dragonborn Fighter, roared at the man and argued that 4 gold pieces was too high a price, but the man would not budge.
We finally agreed on that price, and we followed the man up the winding mountain road. The sides of the road were surrounded by sheer 40 foot walls. My instinct told me that malevolent creatures could use this rocky terrain to their advantage, and I kept my eyes open for areas in which we could be ambushed.
As we were turning around a bend, I felt we were being watched and were about to be attacked. I strode forward ahead of the party and partly around the bend, where I could see the entrance to a cave. In front of the cave, there were two angry, snarling Griffins.
I pulled out my bow and shot two deadly arrows at one of the Griffins -- completely missing it. (Melora was not with me today. I would go on to miss many more shots in this battle...) As I finished shooting, a number of Gnolls moved into view and proceeded to inundate me with crossbow bolts. I would have died, if it had not been for the powerful healing spells cast by the Paladin Firinne and the words of healing from the Half-Elven Warlord Garg.
Firinne instilled the party with the furious wrath of Melora, which made our strikes against the Griffins and Gnolls far more deadly. My comrades moved in and began to battle the Griffins face-to-face.
The Human Mage Kale, our master strategist, had an ingenious way to prevent the rest of us from becoming the easy targets of the Gnoll archers. He created a huge cloud of noxious vapors that obscured their view and blocked the entire passage. None of the Gnolls could shoot us, and the longer they stayed in the cloud, the sicker they became. The only way to escape the deathly cloud was to climb up.
Some of the Gnolls climbed up above the walls before us. More Gnolls appeared above the walls right next to us.
Zrynfari, the Eladrin Warlock, moved swiftly and silently through space, vanishing from his position next to the wall and appearing above the wall. He made one of the Gnolls move in the same unearthly way, except that the Gnoll was left with no ground beneath him -- 40 feet in the air. The Gnoll plummeted to the ground.
The Mage Kale moved the noxious cloud up above the walls, forcing the Gnolls back down to the ground. At one point, amazingly, he had made the cloud hover enough above the ground for us to see and move.
My comrades slew one of the Griffins and beat the second one until it was bleeding badly and screeching. It was then that the Fighter Carlagnious curled his Dragonborn maw into an angry, glaring face. He shouted at the Griffin, threatening to take its life, and the Griffin flew away in sheer fright. We all turned to Carlangious and, with puzzled expressions, asked him why he chose to scare the creature, rather than kill it. Carlangious insisted that he could have forced the creature to become his mount. There was much rolling of eyes, as we tried to explain to the Dragonborn that savage creatures like the Griffin could never be ridden by any other creature. Griffins are too wild and uncontrollable -- they could never serve as mounts.
Not long after this, the Griffin returned -- with a Gnoll archer riding on its back.
And Carlagnious gave us all an eye oozing with more stink than the Mage Kale's noxious cloud could ever emit...
The Warlock Zrynfari noticed that the Griffin was badly injured and was barely able to keep afloat. He struck the Griffin with a deadly force and instantly killed it, sending its Gnoll rider tumbling downward.
Meanwhile, Bran Tredegar, the Halfling Rogue, sliced through several Gnolls in a spinning stroke down to the ground. Carlagnious unleashed what could only be seen as a rain of steel strikes against more of the Gnolls. He chased them further into the cave and burned their flesh with the searing flames from his mouth.
In the end, the few Gnolls remaining chose to fled, and we searched through the cavern to find an unusual neck ornament. The learned Mage Kale mentioned that this could help to protect one of us against creatures that try to savage our minds, our health, and our speed.
We now continue on the road to the Widowmaker. I am hoping that the Great Goddess Melora will watch over us in our continuing travels. May she help my arrows find their targets and help our party to find the Mad Mage.
Your servant,
Aelar
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
A Letter to Sta Sokeus
The following was composed during our brief rest in Put. I include it in its entirety, as its contents may form a useful summary of our activities thus far.
Professor Sokeus:
I write from Put, to which I have recently returned. Progress has been swift, but in unexpected ways. I have traveled far and learned much. There is much to write of, but little time. Even now the party prepares for a further expedition. I do not know what parts of my correspondence have been lost to unreliable channels, so I will summarize the situation, starting from our departure in early April.
I write from Put, to which I have recently returned. Progress has been swift, but in unexpected ways. I have traveled far and learned much. There is much to write of, but little time. Even now the party prepares for a further expedition. I do not know what parts of my correspondence have been lost to unreliable channels, so I will summarize the situation, starting from our departure in early April.
We left Put to follow a lead in the city of Polpettu, realm of the Orc King. The intelligence proved true, and we located and liberated a warrior from the old Put campaign, Dangargal. This rescue effort involved, much to my professional satisfaction, the operation of a ancient shore battery of considerable eldritch power. Operating the device, colloquially termed "The Bone Cannon," provided great insight into an ingeniously constructed magical focus (see attached figure 1a for a more detailed description-- eladrin mount, focus material of unknown origin). Our escape made good by the cannon's wake of destruction, we proceeded via naval transport (provided to us by the so-called "Book Club") to other locations of interest along the upper coast. Our means of transport bears further mentioning: it is a treeship, perhaps similar to one of the elven constructs I have read of (c.f. Rosenthal et al), whose construction was effected by a powerful transmutation potion. Our next destination of interest was the vault of the 101st immortal, also called "The Assassin."
But I reach too far. I should relate the fundamentals of what we have learned in the vault1 and other places. The Old War society was ruled by a far-reaching system of magical law, officiated by "Judges" (a monastic order of magi) and enforced by a caste of "Executors." Elaborate rituals and spells formed the basis of this system. We discovered magical constructs ("animata") of complexity far surpassing even the golems of the Fey courts. I should mention the highly advanced mathematics of this society, which merit further study. The Sworn which you earlier discovered are those bound by an arcane ritual termed, naturally enough, The Swearing. The Swearing is a metamagical binding of great power, tying the Sworn's will to some creed of the swearer's choosing. It is a dark magic, and requires the swearer give his life to complete the ritual.
This system of law, however, did not persist. At some point this society was overthrown by a coup, the military leaders of which were called The 100. The Old War society was recast under this new leadership, no doubt in fundamental ways.
Here is where things become less clear but all the more interesting. Each of the 100 somehow achieved immortality. In this or in other affairs, I believe they entered into a pact with The Lover. At some point The Lover turned against them, and began to lay waste to their civilization. Defeated, the 100 fled. They used their chthona to enter a different world. By this I mean do not mean an unknown place, but rather that they crossed over to this world: the 100 and their entire retinue are in truth outsiders to our plane.
This event is referred to as The Convolution. I cannot yet conceive of its exact metaphysical mechanics, but now I suspect that all the evidence of the Old War society in this world- all of the ruins, the focus houses, the vault, the keep, the monastery- may in fact be the extraplanar debris of the 100's exodus.2
The most remarkable facts of all stem from the urgency of the current situation. The 100 exist in our world even today. Indeed, we have had direct contact with several of them, and much of what we have learned has come from their own mouths. One of the immortals is the Assassin, 101, himself-- he seems to have gained his immortality in defiance of the 100, and opposes them. He has offered us considerable guidance in uncovering these mysteries, but his own agenda is far from clear. The other 100 were apparently imprisoned, since the time of the Convolution, within the mysterious pale trees known commonly as featherwood. Now these trees have begun to die one by one, and the immortals walk our lands. There are divine forces at work here as well. Both Melora and Moradin have taken an active interest in the situation-- the featherwood trees were apparently a bid by Melora to protect this world, and it was Moradin's agents who healed the rift that the Convolution3 produced.This event is referred to as The Convolution. I cannot yet conceive of its exact metaphysical mechanics, but now I suspect that all the evidence of the Old War society in this world- all of the ruins, the focus houses, the vault, the keep, the monastery- may in fact be the extraplanar debris of the 100's exodus.2
Finally, a more personal piece of information relating to our current quest. We now seek out your erstwhile pupil, the entity called the Mad Mage, to discover what he knows of the situation. I must ask you about an artifact that we believe he possesses: the Lens. Having retraced the steps of the expedition4 beneath Hokelithan, your stewardship of the Lens was revealed. I have learned that the Mad Mage came to possess this device himself, by thievery. I do not understand its exact purpose-- is its function that of communication? The Mad Mage reportedly managed to learn things from it. Was he taught, as I fear, by The Lover? I trust my inquiries are not too forward. This mage is by all measures a highly dangerous individual, and any information will help. We learned more of his use of The Forgetting -- and how it ultimately it led to his downfall. The spell employs an ornate knot as its focus, and only one who holds the knot is exempt from the enchantment, caster included. In an altercation during the campaign this knot was lost to the mage, and with it his identity itself. The magics we seek are dangerous indeed: both alien and awesome.
Sealed by the codex of the Lyceum Arcana,
Kale Metis, Apprentice
1This vault was designed to imprison the immortal 101 (by chaining the man underwater, no less), but upon our arrival we found only demonic guardians and an empty prison. Evidence of the Assassin's escape was scant but conclusive.
2Perhaps an even more extensive exchange of the realities was effected-- I cannot be sure. During my travels I became involved in a ritual of Moradin to re-mend the rift left by this event. It seems that a number of dwarves from this plane were displaced during the Convolution, finding themselves on the other side. This outland is now apparently overrun by the forces of the Lover.
3The ritual spoken of before was originally performed by an ancient dwarven warpriest of Moradin named Po Betterum. I know little of the histories surrounding this figure.
4I note the slaying of a surviving dragon (alas, but one) in this affair, as well as the recovery of a map which led us to a lost teleporter network surrounding the northern swamps, denoted The Circle of Melora.
The Road to Ris
Honorable Priestess of Melora,
I am writing to you as we near the city of Ris.
This morning, we met again with Falan, the uncle of the Halfling Rogue, Bran Tredegar. Falan has agreed to trust us with the Knot (the Knot that holds the memory of the identity of the Mad Mage), and Bran wisely suggested that Falan tell him about the Mad Mage while they hold the knot. Then, as long as Bran holds the Knot, he will be able to identify the Mad Mage.
After they did this, Falan proceeded to direct us to the location of the Mad Mage. We were to travel to Ris and find a guide there to take us to the mountains, where we can get into the Station of Samhain in the Temple of the Featherwood. (While there were obstacles blocking the Great Goddess of Melora's doorways of Life and Death that led from the other Stations to Samhain and the Winter Solstice, we could still get to these Stations from the mountains.)
Once we were in the Station of Samhain, we could follow the doorway to the Station of the Winter Solstice. From there, we are to head out North, where we will find a town and a guide there who can lead us to the Mad Mage. Falan was not clear about how we would be able to find that guide, but we all agreed to proceed in any case.
On the road from Put to Ris, we encountered a very strange creature. It was a large (almost giant) man who wore no clothes. He had uprooted a tree in order to cover parts of his body from sight. As an Elf who understands and lives in harmony with nature, the idea that a living, breathing, vibrant tree would be torn away from its soil -- for this! I felt horribly distraught. Especially since a short, fallen branch could have easily covered the region in question.
We tried to speak with the man, but most of us could not understand the gibberish coming from his mouth. However, Kale Metis, the brilliant Human Mage, deduced that the man was speaking in Old War language. Kale was able to understand the man's words and confirmed his suspicions that this man was one of the 100.
The man knew Logrid and the other member of the 100, who we encountered when trapped in that enemy camp earlier. The man did not remember how he got here or when he got here (much like Logrid). He did remember that in his world (the one before this one), the Lover of the Raven Queen had made everything a living hell. He was constantly attacked by monsters, and his world was full of death. It sounded much like the experience that some of our party members had when seeing through Logrid's eyes (Tiny's refugee's eyes) in their journey to the tower with the Bone Cannon.
We asked the man about the 101, and he said they considered the 101 to be a nuisance. The 100 captured and confined the 101 a few times in the past, but the 101 always seemed to have escaped.
He did say something else interesting about the 101. When we asked why the 101 didn't track down and kill the 100, the man replied that the 101 cannot kill without a judgement. (This seemed quite consistent with the Judge's Oath that we found earlier in the abandoned campus of the Judges.)
It seems as though more of the Featherwood trees are dying and more of the 100 are becoming the freed and walking this world. It does not seem to bode well that the 100 and 101 are here again. Perhaps this is an omen of a coming war.
Your servant and faithful follower of the Great Goddess Melora,
Aelar
I am writing to you as we near the city of Ris.
This morning, we met again with Falan, the uncle of the Halfling Rogue, Bran Tredegar. Falan has agreed to trust us with the Knot (the Knot that holds the memory of the identity of the Mad Mage), and Bran wisely suggested that Falan tell him about the Mad Mage while they hold the knot. Then, as long as Bran holds the Knot, he will be able to identify the Mad Mage.
After they did this, Falan proceeded to direct us to the location of the Mad Mage. We were to travel to Ris and find a guide there to take us to the mountains, where we can get into the Station of Samhain in the Temple of the Featherwood. (While there were obstacles blocking the Great Goddess of Melora's doorways of Life and Death that led from the other Stations to Samhain and the Winter Solstice, we could still get to these Stations from the mountains.)
Once we were in the Station of Samhain, we could follow the doorway to the Station of the Winter Solstice. From there, we are to head out North, where we will find a town and a guide there who can lead us to the Mad Mage. Falan was not clear about how we would be able to find that guide, but we all agreed to proceed in any case.
On the road from Put to Ris, we encountered a very strange creature. It was a large (almost giant) man who wore no clothes. He had uprooted a tree in order to cover parts of his body from sight. As an Elf who understands and lives in harmony with nature, the idea that a living, breathing, vibrant tree would be torn away from its soil -- for this! I felt horribly distraught. Especially since a short, fallen branch could have easily covered the region in question.
We tried to speak with the man, but most of us could not understand the gibberish coming from his mouth. However, Kale Metis, the brilliant Human Mage, deduced that the man was speaking in Old War language. Kale was able to understand the man's words and confirmed his suspicions that this man was one of the 100.
The man knew Logrid and the other member of the 100, who we encountered when trapped in that enemy camp earlier. The man did not remember how he got here or when he got here (much like Logrid). He did remember that in his world (the one before this one), the Lover of the Raven Queen had made everything a living hell. He was constantly attacked by monsters, and his world was full of death. It sounded much like the experience that some of our party members had when seeing through Logrid's eyes (Tiny's refugee's eyes) in their journey to the tower with the Bone Cannon.
We asked the man about the 101, and he said they considered the 101 to be a nuisance. The 100 captured and confined the 101 a few times in the past, but the 101 always seemed to have escaped.
He did say something else interesting about the 101. When we asked why the 101 didn't track down and kill the 100, the man replied that the 101 cannot kill without a judgement. (This seemed quite consistent with the Judge's Oath that we found earlier in the abandoned campus of the Judges.)
It seems as though more of the Featherwood trees are dying and more of the 100 are becoming the freed and walking this world. It does not seem to bode well that the 100 and 101 are here again. Perhaps this is an omen of a coming war.
Your servant and faithful follower of the Great Goddess Melora,
Aelar
Return to Put
To the Honorable Priestess of Melora:
It has been too long since I have corresponded with you, for which I apologize. We have been busily engaged in tracking down the Temple of the Featherwood. We did find it (which is a tale for another time), and we aided our comrade Tiny in his quest to heal the cracks that would tear apart our worlds (which is also a tale for another time).
We followed Falan back to Put, where he went to consult with someone to see if he could entrust the knot to us. While we waited, we happened upon Brother John in one of the local taverns.
Once again, Honorable Priestess, I must apologize for not mentioning Brother John in my earlier correspondence with you. We are not yet renown, and there are no bards willing to capture and sing of our travels and adventures. (Perhaps, though, bards are not needed to sing of our tales. Kale Metis, the Mage of Human ancestry, and Zrynfari, the Eladrin Warlock, sometimes speak of some legendary instruments of a magical nature that can allow those who are untrained in the musical arts to play as though they were a -- how could I describe this -- a band of skilled musicians. These powerful arcane instruments are known to some as "Bard Guild." The wonders of the magical arts never cease to amaze me.)
But I do digress. Brother John was someone we had met early in our adventures. Months ago, during our travels to aid Bran Tredegar (the Halfling Rogue) on his quest to deliver a message to his uncle Falan, we encountered Brother John on the road. He seemed to live his life like we do -- in harmony with nature. He warned us of a creature heading in our direction. The creature was a white bear, who was possessed by an unnatural spirit (an animata, we were told). We had no choice but to kill the bear. Brother John aided us and we managed to defeat the animata. Brother John wanted only the bear pelt as a gift, which we agreed to give to him.
Much later in our adventures, we learned that Brother John was a participant in the old campaign. Lakos, the father of our Half-Elven Warlord Garg, discovered the body of Brother John during the campaign. Brother John had been killed with a knife. And yet we saw him alive in our early adventures, and we see him alive here and now in the present!
The Mage Kale suspects that Brother John might be the executor of the Judges -- the assassin who led the rebellion against the 100 -- the one who speaks to us through the box -- the 101.
With this suspicion deeply in our hearts, we sat with him in this tavern in Put, and we attempted to ascertain the truth of the matter.
The Warlord Garg first suggested to Brother John that they get a "private room", which Brother John and the others in our party somehow misinterpreted in a very strange way. (I still do not understand the ways of humans and why they feel embarrassed about certain aspects of the natural cycle of life.)
The Mage Kale surreptitiously took the box with him to the outhouse. As we found out later, he sent a message to the 101 and waited but received no reply. He joined us again in the tavern, and we proceeded to question Brother John.
Brother John remained very quiet and gave short, unenlightening responses. As the night wore on, Carlagnious (the Dragonborn Fighter) insisted on ordering more and more rounds of drinks, which had little effect beyond dulling all of our brains and giving us hangovers as large as his Vicious Battle Axe. But there was a point when I seem to remember Brother John making an interesting comment. We asked him if he knew Logrid, but he feigned ignorance. He wanted to know who she was, so we explained our encounter with her and how she had almost killed Bran. Brother John commented that she sounded like quite a "bastard". "Bastard" was the same word that 101 used to describe Logrid, when we asked him.
So this is all we know at the present. I'm writing this to you on the morning after we questioned Brother John in the tavern. My head is pounding as though my skull is being hammered by a rain of steel, and for this I blame my own indulgences in ale and the Dragonborn for insisting on "just another round".
Today, we will meet with Falan again in the hopes that he will give us the knot and direct us to find the Mad Mage.
If my writing is less than intelligible or my accounts of our travels less than true, I apologize for the previous night's excesses. Nature has blessed me with much wisdom but taken from my intelligence to make up for it.
I hope this letter finds you well. I will write you again from the road today.
Your servant and faithful follower of our Great Goddess Melora,
Aelar
A Short Postscript: The Warlord Garg has requested that I mention that ... how shall I say this? ... His Dad sends his greetings to you, wishes you well, and ... says that ... you are still a ... a ... fine woman. I hope that do not take offense. I am passing along this message in accordance to the wishes of my comrade.
It has been too long since I have corresponded with you, for which I apologize. We have been busily engaged in tracking down the Temple of the Featherwood. We did find it (which is a tale for another time), and we aided our comrade Tiny in his quest to heal the cracks that would tear apart our worlds (which is also a tale for another time).
We followed Falan back to Put, where he went to consult with someone to see if he could entrust the knot to us. While we waited, we happened upon Brother John in one of the local taverns.
Once again, Honorable Priestess, I must apologize for not mentioning Brother John in my earlier correspondence with you. We are not yet renown, and there are no bards willing to capture and sing of our travels and adventures. (Perhaps, though, bards are not needed to sing of our tales. Kale Metis, the Mage of Human ancestry, and Zrynfari, the Eladrin Warlock, sometimes speak of some legendary instruments of a magical nature that can allow those who are untrained in the musical arts to play as though they were a -- how could I describe this -- a band of skilled musicians. These powerful arcane instruments are known to some as "Bard Guild." The wonders of the magical arts never cease to amaze me.)
But I do digress. Brother John was someone we had met early in our adventures. Months ago, during our travels to aid Bran Tredegar (the Halfling Rogue) on his quest to deliver a message to his uncle Falan, we encountered Brother John on the road. He seemed to live his life like we do -- in harmony with nature. He warned us of a creature heading in our direction. The creature was a white bear, who was possessed by an unnatural spirit (an animata, we were told). We had no choice but to kill the bear. Brother John aided us and we managed to defeat the animata. Brother John wanted only the bear pelt as a gift, which we agreed to give to him.
Much later in our adventures, we learned that Brother John was a participant in the old campaign. Lakos, the father of our Half-Elven Warlord Garg, discovered the body of Brother John during the campaign. Brother John had been killed with a knife. And yet we saw him alive in our early adventures, and we see him alive here and now in the present!
The Mage Kale suspects that Brother John might be the executor of the Judges -- the assassin who led the rebellion against the 100 -- the one who speaks to us through the box -- the 101.
With this suspicion deeply in our hearts, we sat with him in this tavern in Put, and we attempted to ascertain the truth of the matter.
The Warlord Garg first suggested to Brother John that they get a "private room", which Brother John and the others in our party somehow misinterpreted in a very strange way. (I still do not understand the ways of humans and why they feel embarrassed about certain aspects of the natural cycle of life.)
The Mage Kale surreptitiously took the box with him to the outhouse. As we found out later, he sent a message to the 101 and waited but received no reply. He joined us again in the tavern, and we proceeded to question Brother John.
Brother John remained very quiet and gave short, unenlightening responses. As the night wore on, Carlagnious (the Dragonborn Fighter) insisted on ordering more and more rounds of drinks, which had little effect beyond dulling all of our brains and giving us hangovers as large as his Vicious Battle Axe. But there was a point when I seem to remember Brother John making an interesting comment. We asked him if he knew Logrid, but he feigned ignorance. He wanted to know who she was, so we explained our encounter with her and how she had almost killed Bran. Brother John commented that she sounded like quite a "bastard". "Bastard" was the same word that 101 used to describe Logrid, when we asked him.
So this is all we know at the present. I'm writing this to you on the morning after we questioned Brother John in the tavern. My head is pounding as though my skull is being hammered by a rain of steel, and for this I blame my own indulgences in ale and the Dragonborn for insisting on "just another round".
Today, we will meet with Falan again in the hopes that he will give us the knot and direct us to find the Mad Mage.
If my writing is less than intelligible or my accounts of our travels less than true, I apologize for the previous night's excesses. Nature has blessed me with much wisdom but taken from my intelligence to make up for it.
I hope this letter finds you well. I will write you again from the road today.
Your servant and faithful follower of our Great Goddess Melora,
Aelar
A Short Postscript: The Warlord Garg has requested that I mention that ... how shall I say this? ... His Dad sends his greetings to you, wishes you well, and ... says that ... you are still a ... a ... fine woman. I hope that do not take offense. I am passing along this message in accordance to the wishes of my comrade.
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Confluence
Dear Mom,
Today proved to be a very interesting day. As Grandma used to say, these are the days when one learns how to make stones. I didn't make any stones, but I encountered one of the stone men again. It seems that these stone men exist outside of time and space. They are in some pocket of time-space between here and elsewhere. Though now I think I know where the elsewhere might be. It seems that there is more than one plane of existence, and they are held apart by the Will of Moradin (praise be His Name). I got a chance to see His Will in Action. It was Neat.
After giving the stone man my divine symbol of Moradin -- you know, the one I found in that last cave ... this time I was also in a cave ... I think Moradin has a thing for caves, which either explains why dwarves live there or why dwarves like Moradin ... or maybe these qualities are mutually causative -- he granted my passage. This seems to prove what you always told me: it is better to give than to receive except on one's birthday. It's not my birthday. As you know, it's the wrong time of year for that.
The passage took us to an inbetween place, the term for which I think I now know: confluence. An confluence is where two or more realities (or planes of existence) push up into each other. It's kind of tingly. At least when crossing.
This inbetween place was a holy place of Moradin. A place I think last visited by the Reverend Po Betterum a thousand years ago. It maintains the space between these different realities. But it was full of surprises. I met this nice young woman. She explained that this space was damaged a long time ago by the crossing of the 100. So, it turns out that the 100 are actually illegal aliens -- uninvited to this world. It makes the message clear. The 100 must be eliminated or sent back. They clearly have a reckless disregard for the sanctity of the order of the worlds, and don't belong in this world. Order must be restored. Though I wonder if after so long in this world whether removing their presence would actually disrupt stability even more. I guess I won't know until I try.
It also has become clear that the Mad Mage is a gateway for the Lover of the Raven Queen. This means that while he isn't intrinsically evil, he poses a risk to the stability of this world as well. Plus, I don't think Grandma would approve of people being gateways for other people. It seems a little crass.
All of this makes me wonder a little about the nature of space and time. It's clear that things aren't quite as one might expect. From the perspective of the stone men, it seems likely that the Mad Mage never existed and has always existed. As if existence itself is more of a continuum, rather than a discrete concept. The 100 have a higher value of existence than a regular mortal, but less than a divine creature. This I think also explains the difference between divinity and simple immortality. If existence were expressed as a value between 0 and 1, then divinity is a 1, and immortality is something less than 1. Mortality approaches 0. I wonder if that's what the equations on the walls were derived from?
The group over overgrounders I'm travelling with continue to be kind, if a little odd. But as we both know, I've never really fit in well anywhere. But I've made a new friend too. His name is Loom. He is a warhammer. I hope you are well, and that the spiders aren't giving you too much trouble.
Love,
Ovim
P.S. Please find enclosed a small sum of money to help with the household.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Will and Testament
Falan,
I swore that I would never talk to you again in life, and this letter proves me right. You were a fool to leave and a greater fool not to return. But perhaps I can be forgiving in death. Try to be less of a fool, if nothing else.
I have held this knot, as you have asked, without question and without telling a soul these many years. I can only hope that in the afterlife my curiosity will be slaked. Perhaps it is worthless and it was merely your way of tormenting an old man. But that is not like you, despite your failings. I enclose it to you upon my death, for I don't know what it is and I sure as hell don't want it in my coffin with me.
I send it by way of Bran Tredegar, son of your sister's. He is looking for something in life, like you, and perhaps you can serve as a warning to him.
Grandfather Figtree
I swore that I would never talk to you again in life, and this letter proves me right. You were a fool to leave and a greater fool not to return. But perhaps I can be forgiving in death. Try to be less of a fool, if nothing else.
I have held this knot, as you have asked, without question and without telling a soul these many years. I can only hope that in the afterlife my curiosity will be slaked. Perhaps it is worthless and it was merely your way of tormenting an old man. But that is not like you, despite your failings. I enclose it to you upon my death, for I don't know what it is and I sure as hell don't want it in my coffin with me.
I send it by way of Bran Tredegar, son of your sister's. He is looking for something in life, like you, and perhaps you can serve as a warning to him.
Grandfather Figtree
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Melora, Great Circle
Melora, Great Circle
Passing Through Life and Dust
After we saw the lands outside through the eyes of Melora, we returned to the Station of the Summer Solstice and the room with the blinding torches. We stood before the relief of Life, closed our eyes, and walked forward.
We found ourselves in another station, almost like the one before. The relief of Life and the relief of Death were different than in the previous station. Both had empty holders for torches.
This station also had stairs going up and going down, except that the stairs were reversed:
(drawing to go here)
We went outside, and much time seemed to have passed in the world (a third of a day), even though we had take mere minutes to move from one station to the next.
We found a similar circle to the one at the Station of the Summer Solstice, and we looked again through the eyes of Melora.
(drawing)
We returned to the room with the reliefs. Firinne lit a torch and placed it before the relief of Life. She closed her eyes and walked through alone. We waited for a minute, and she did not return. We closed our eyes and walked through together.
We found ourselves in yet another station. The relief of Life and the relief of Death were also different here than in the previous stations. Both had empty torch holders. Firinne was nowhere to be seen.
The stairs were again reversed here:
(drawing)
The door to the stairs down was shut and was covered with dust. It seemed that no one had used the stairs for a long time. The floor as well was covered with dust and showed no signs of recent activity.
We heard some noises coming from the stairs. Bran stealthily crept up the stairway and peeked out. There were a number of orcs working in the rooms. It appeared that not much time had passed in the outside world -- perhaps only an hour.
We still had no idea where Firinne had gone. We decided to move forward, in case she had somehow gotten ahead without visiting this station. We stood before the relief of Life, lit the torch, closed our eyes, and walked through.
We found ourselves at yet another station. We found no signs of Firinne. There were no torches in the torch holders, and there were no signs of recent activity on the floor and at the stairway down.
In this station, the relief of Life was blocked behind a mound of stones. It was almost as if someone had gone through a lot of trouble to prevent anyone from going through that relief.
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