October 19, 3042

Dearest Fea...

Did you ever get the feeling that you just couldn't win? That you were just Doomed no matter how hard you tried to choose the best path?

Well, we're at it again. We were given two options after our reasonably successful bout with the Underdark—to go back into the mountains in the wintertime to trail the Travelers and deal with them once and for all, or to go on a diplomatic mission to sunny Arthinon. Which do you think we chose? Sigh ... well, as it turns out, it's snowing here in Arthinon, too, so as I said, I just can't win. It hasn't been terribly dangerous so far, just dreadfully cold, occasionally frustrating, and generally abysmally silly. Well. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

Our little scrying conversation took place just after we had all reconvened in Glenzor. Shortly after that we went to a meeting regardng a diplomatic mission to the d******. Sorry, the d******. Hmm. Something wrong with this pen. Well, Ya*****—what's-her-name, the golden girl, you know—asked us to travel to Arthinon to meet with some other friends of hers who needed the services of "young folk" with our skills. After suitable reassurance that this actually was a military mission (Mikhael insisted on getting written orders with Emperor Chullin's signature and seal, or a reasonable facsimile thereof; I think he was afraid we'd be working more for the Flintlockers than for the government), we accepted. So now Y****** is our new c********* o******, above Daniel, and she teleported us (via mirror, very nifty) to the city of Arthinon, where we were briefed by another b**** d***** named B******. (Sorry; we didn't have time to look you up.) Seems her daughter and son-in-law have been assassinated, and their ***** (or ***) kidnapped. So we have to go find them.

What we know so far is both scanty and less than encouraging. The son, who was plainly quite powerful in his own right, was killed about two years ago, while out hunting, by a party of evil adventurers. B******'s research at that point turned up the fact that her son-in-law had been Rested Eternally to a certain princely figure whom we will refer to as DG. This is quite an unhappy fate for a good d*****, as you may well guess. The odd thing was that the fiends made no attempt to find his h****, nor to desecrate his body in search of spell components, as adventurers are usually wont to do. B****** went on to track down the party, and took no chances with them—she attacked immediately, preferring to ask questions after the fact. Apparently, however, the priest in the party had arranged to have all of their souls consecrated to DG, and thus she was unable to speak with dead to discover their motivation, or a possible employer. B****** was saddened and angry, but since the murderers were now dead, she went on with her life.

However, B******'s daughter was also killed, just two months ago, while she was in the process of giving birth, and her newborn was kidnapped. Her home should have been impenetrable, but since the deed has been done, someone obviously got through, and it's our job to find out who. Our only real clue, so far, is that the daughter's best friend was a lesser genie named Uni, I think, or something like that. At any rate, he was seen to visit her shortly before the tragedy, and has been acting strangely (for a genie) ever since; i.e., hanging around on the Prime Material Plane for extended periods. The mother had a ring belonging to this genie, and was able to scry on him briefly and locate him in the Hoarmoruth Hills (a name which occasionally mutates into the Whoremouth Hills, in this group), which are located at the base of the Dancing Cloud Giant Mountains, and are infested with Hoar Foxes and Winter Wolves and other sweet and lovely winter creatures. Including, I must add, a distinctive species of "mountain man" which lives by trapping these animals for fur. Their most, ah, noticeable feature is their odor, which I think a year of perfumed baths could not cure.

Anyway, we were told to investigate this apalling incident, and that the best place to start would be to find this genie. So we made our preparations in the city. Mikhael went to the opera with Daniel, I went shopping, Simon went out "fund-raising," and Sindaraen and Callous set to squabbling. Oh, and B****** tried to provide us with a pair of disguise experts (read: assassins) named Giordan and Franzel (promptly renamed Hanzel & Franzel). We took the disguises, but left the assassins behind. Yes, of course alive—what do you think we are, stupid? (Don't answer that.)

Unforunately, Sindaraen and Callous had to share a room at the inn—this was a big mistake. Sindaraen was insulting, and Callous put a fire trap on the door—with the command word "I'm sorry." Sindaraen dispelled it, and Callous hung his underwear to air out. Sindaraen tried to telekinese said items out the door for the laundryman, and set off another fire trap laid between Callous & Sindaraen's sides of the room. Sigh. And people think my brand of mischief is annoying.

So what came next? Well, we arranged a cover story for ourselves. Daniel was now Professor Agarwaen (I named him after Dad), a specialist in arctic breath weapons from the University of Arthinon. Mikhael became Macar, Nicholas became Sulisil, I was Dulinar, and Sindaraen was Luinar Shenanigan; all elven or half-elven students of the prof's. Callous and Simon became our bodyguards as we, the weak and defenseless students, went out for an exciting and dangerous research study on arctic canine breath weapons, or whatever; they were renamed, respectively, GrowlGut and Grima du Garth.

So this was the situation as we were mirrored out into the wide wilderness. Y****** stayed behind, thankfully. A nice girl...but. We have enough trouble accepting Daniel as our commanding officer, at times. We tried to scry on the genie again, and got a glimpse of him in the shape of a halfling, walking and whistling and munching on what was, apparently, an elven femur. Yeuh! This was our first clue that our quarry was not quite right in the head. Eventually, we stumbled into the little village of RŸndeel, trying to look like students who'd been out in the wilds for a couple of weeks, & went to the inn. We ordered hot drinks from the middle-aged waitress, Mikhael winked at the barbarian chain-mail bimbo, and shortly after we were greeted by the big, burly Nienor (read: Mayor) of the village. He told us about an elf that had been causing trouble in the town of Gethran up the way. We nodded, and made plans to head that way in the morning. Mikhael & Nicholas and I shared a room at the inn, and Daniel, brave man that he is, chose to room with Sindaraen, Callous and Simon—mainly to keep them out of trouble, I suspect.

Then we traveled on to the Mountain-Shadow Inn in Gethran, where we ordered hot drinks from the middle-aged waitress, Mikhael winked at the barbarian chain-mail bimbo, and shortly after we were greeted by the big, burly Nienor. He told us about some more trouble in the town of Loliath up the way. We nodded, and headed that way in the morning. We were momentarily delayed by a pack of arctic beast-men of some kind, but it only took a few moments to mop them up, and I believe only Daniel and Simon were injured at all. You'd be proud of me! My faux fireball was more potent than either of the real ones that were used. Anyway, we also found a quartet of very dead trappers in a tent along the way; more proof that we were close on the heels of our homicidal genie—if genii even have heels, that is.

Well, regardless, we went on to Loliath and the Iron Crown Inn, where we ordered hot drinks from the middle-aged waitress, Mikhael winked at the barbarian chain-mail bimbo, and shortly after we were greeted by the big, burly female Nienor, who told us to stay out of trouble. So we ate our dinners quietly, enjoyed some good wine for the first time in days, and invited the local bard to our table (a nice fellow, by the way). He told us a little more about thefts and fights in town, and a man who'd paid for his room with illusionary gold. He also told us a fascinating little tale about the village of Doracha—you guessed it, farther up in the mountains. Seems this little town was founded by some religious-minded frost-men who were devoted to Sweet Lady Loviatar. Over the years it had grown into a magnet for sufferers of every kind of ill— they don't inflict pain, you see, but care for all those who suffer, teach them to find spiritual meaning in their pain, and occasionally to work through their pain and go beyond it into a new and more fulfilling life in Loviatar's grace. Because so many of their pilgrims are stark raving mad, the priest/monks of Doracha have built a large hospital/prison to keep them from harming anyone else in the village—also, apparently, to keep them close by the priests who search their crazed rantings for revelations from the goddess. (Y-y-yeah.)

As you have undoubtedly concluded for yourself, we presumed that our genie was probably headed for Doracha himself. Our guess is that he was tricked, charmed, dominated, or otherwise manipulated into killing his best friend and delivering her progeny to an unknown party (perhaps—though I hope not—the aforementioned DG), and promptly went bonkers when he realized what he had done. From there he may have heard from the locals about this haven for those who suffer, or perhaps there is something about the place itself that draws the lost and the mad to it. (If so, it certainly explains why we are headed in that direction, doesn't it? One of Sind's favorite observations is that "we don't need an adventure—we need group therapy!")

So we made plans to head on to Doracha in the morning, and most of us retired for evening.* [* On a personal note, I have to confess to you that I finally got up the nerve to make a pass at Daniel. You've met him, haven't you? He really is uniquely charming. But he just dismissed me with a laugh. I'm still trying to decide if I'm actually crushed or not. It was such a foolish thing to do—I know I never would have offered in the first place if I hadn't been drinking. But I've probably destroyed his image of me completely now. I was trying so hard to be a good soldier, I really was! I don't want him to think I'm just a useless flirt - one with a tendency to get killed, even. I'll just have to work harder, I guess...] Mikhael, however, decided it was a good evening to relax, and Simon was the only one who was willing to stay up and smoke with him.

Well, we're still trying to sort out what exactly happened next. I would guess that Simon suggested that the genie was getting away, and that he and Mikhael should go after him. Mikhael, in his happy stupor, must have agreed, because the two of them ended up charging about in the snow without their boots or parkas. Somewhere along the way Simon stole a fur coat for Mikhael; somewhere else along the way, they got separated, and Mikhael came back to us nearly frozen to death, babbling something about four horsemen who had taken Simon away. Daniel, as you can guess, was quietly furious, and proceeded to confiscate all of his intoxicants. Mikhael continued to babble for a while, even, at one point, uttering the fateful phrase, "Y'know, Sind, you and I are closer alike than you might think..." I'm afraid Sindaraen is never going to let Mikhael live that down. Anyway, Callous finally cast Neutralize Poison on him, and he calmed down. Daniel went off to find Simon, leaving a dumbfounded Nicholas in command. ("Me?!? Why me?!?")

Well, I gather that Simon had been picked up by four local guards-women, whom he was quite happy to accompany (they were female, after all), until he realized they were taking him to the drunk tank. He gave them all his thanks, then took off on his Broom of Flying, heading out to wherever it was he thought Doracha was.

The rest of us, needless to say, left in the morning, trying to slip out of town without drawing any more attention to ourselves. (Unfortunately, in the process, I neglected to get any change for the 60-gold garnet I'd used to set up a tab for our rooms, meals and baths the night before. Ah well...I suppose I'm rich enough these days not to cry about it.) We located Simon through scrying and finally met up with him again, and the usual party squabbling started up again. It seems to have finally been too much for our dear Commander Archibald, however. He actually shouted at us, Fea! He pointed at each of the four mages in turn, and then at Simon, yelling at the top of his lungs: "Scry! Scry! Scry! Scry!" (deep breath...) "Sit Down!" I must say, I've never seen him in such a state before. I think perhaps this little incident with Mikhael shook him up a little more than he was letting on. Perhaps you were right, and there is more between the two of them than meets the eye...but it's impossible to say for sure.

At any rate, I'm writing you from the back of a Phantom Steed, at the moment, as we race through the snow trying to locate which village jail it was in which we saw the genie in our most recent scrying. If we don't find him soon, he will undoubtedly be sent to the prison at Doracha, and the last thing we need to be doing is trying to complete this little adventure in the halls of a religious insane asylum. Sigh... Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned dungeons? Give me sunken cities, ancient cavern systems, even mountain-top prisons... just something simple!!

Well, I will definitely be writing again soon. One way or another we will know soon where our search will take us next—given our theory, however, I sincerely doubt that finding the genie will be the end of it. Whoever planned this scheme is both intelligent and resourceful, and Borunda is not going to let us rest until he, she, or it is brought to justice.

Vive les Telperins!

Lairunya