Post by Varis/G'Lorth/Sundilar on Mar 1, 2020 14:19:56 GMT
From the Journal of Sundilar the Arcane, 19th Alturiak 1497DR
I am surrounded by fools and squalor.
A deeply unsatisfactory foray today into what some in this benighted place refer to as “adventuring” (a particularly unforgivable strain of romanticism). Reduced as I am to menial labour, I answered a note on one of the local job boards for assistance mapping a mountain.
I traveled to Port Ffirst, the festering coastal sore on this pathetic continent, and met with a gnome named Nappin Gyrowhistle, a cartographer of little note and even less patience. He engaged me - along with some of the local rabble - so map the location of a mountain to the south of the town. After some tedious negotiations he finally supplied us with the necessary tools and pointed us on our way.
Before leaving town, we met with another chap - a lackey of two local oligarchs, known as The Brothers - who solicited our aid in collecting medicinal herbs from the forest we must venture through. Putting aside the presumption of asking a battle tested warmage to pick flowers, the man did offer reasonable remuneration, and I deduced that it would be only minor inconvenience to summon a spirit to harvest the flowers as we traveled. Thus we agreed and proceeded to the edge of town.
The forest (Nappin called it the “Feythorne” - foolish name) was rather dense, and navigable only due to my use of a bird-form familiar to keep us on course. The navigational and cartographical devices Nappin had provided proved to be of little use. We trekked deep into the forest, and were accosted just before sundown by a fey spirit in the form of a fox. It called itself Reynard, and seemed most pleased with this moniker, though for what reason I could not ascertain.
The fey, after some coaxing, revealed that the mountain we sought was in another plane, and offered to return with a friend who would sell us a means of traversing the boundary. We agreed and set camp for the night. I caught and roasted a piglet, and in the morning, the spirit returned with a friend from whom one of my companions purchased some mushrooms.
Consuming the psychoactive fungi, we traveled to the Shadowfell, and immediately perceived the mountain before us. Having been required to measure its height by our employer, I sent my familiar up to the peak with one half of the device given us for that purpose. Some damnable local creature attacked it mid-flight and we were forced to traverse the slope ourselves.
Near the top, a great lupine beast appeared, but one of the savages accompanying me seemed to charm it, and the creature left us unmolested. Not so the inhabitants of the cave that topped the mountain. A trio of animated corpses attacked and were easily beaten back, prompting their creator, a wizened creature,to emerge and attempt to bargain for its life. I would not normally have tolerated any being making an attempt on my life, but my companions seemed bent on sparing the creature once they had robbed it - some strange masquerade of morality, perhaps.
We collected our measurements and returned to town, presenting the erstwhile botanist with our findings, which far surpassed anything he had anticipated. He thus presented us each with a minor healing draught and a small bag of coin. The gnome was suitably impressed with our work and paid us, though not what the work was worth.
Much more of this glorified rat catching and I may begin to lose patience with this place.
I am surrounded by fools and squalor.
A deeply unsatisfactory foray today into what some in this benighted place refer to as “adventuring” (a particularly unforgivable strain of romanticism). Reduced as I am to menial labour, I answered a note on one of the local job boards for assistance mapping a mountain.
I traveled to Port Ffirst, the festering coastal sore on this pathetic continent, and met with a gnome named Nappin Gyrowhistle, a cartographer of little note and even less patience. He engaged me - along with some of the local rabble - so map the location of a mountain to the south of the town. After some tedious negotiations he finally supplied us with the necessary tools and pointed us on our way.
Before leaving town, we met with another chap - a lackey of two local oligarchs, known as The Brothers - who solicited our aid in collecting medicinal herbs from the forest we must venture through. Putting aside the presumption of asking a battle tested warmage to pick flowers, the man did offer reasonable remuneration, and I deduced that it would be only minor inconvenience to summon a spirit to harvest the flowers as we traveled. Thus we agreed and proceeded to the edge of town.
The forest (Nappin called it the “Feythorne” - foolish name) was rather dense, and navigable only due to my use of a bird-form familiar to keep us on course. The navigational and cartographical devices Nappin had provided proved to be of little use. We trekked deep into the forest, and were accosted just before sundown by a fey spirit in the form of a fox. It called itself Reynard, and seemed most pleased with this moniker, though for what reason I could not ascertain.
The fey, after some coaxing, revealed that the mountain we sought was in another plane, and offered to return with a friend who would sell us a means of traversing the boundary. We agreed and set camp for the night. I caught and roasted a piglet, and in the morning, the spirit returned with a friend from whom one of my companions purchased some mushrooms.
Consuming the psychoactive fungi, we traveled to the Shadowfell, and immediately perceived the mountain before us. Having been required to measure its height by our employer, I sent my familiar up to the peak with one half of the device given us for that purpose. Some damnable local creature attacked it mid-flight and we were forced to traverse the slope ourselves.
Near the top, a great lupine beast appeared, but one of the savages accompanying me seemed to charm it, and the creature left us unmolested. Not so the inhabitants of the cave that topped the mountain. A trio of animated corpses attacked and were easily beaten back, prompting their creator, a wizened creature,to emerge and attempt to bargain for its life. I would not normally have tolerated any being making an attempt on my life, but my companions seemed bent on sparing the creature once they had robbed it - some strange masquerade of morality, perhaps.
We collected our measurements and returned to town, presenting the erstwhile botanist with our findings, which far surpassed anything he had anticipated. He thus presented us each with a minor healing draught and a small bag of coin. The gnome was suitably impressed with our work and paid us, though not what the work was worth.
Much more of this glorified rat catching and I may begin to lose patience with this place.