Magic School Cart - 10/10/2023 - Arilian's Journal
Oct 12, 2023 11:50:26 GMT
Riah, Velania Kalugina, and 2 more like this
Post by carlosdosbrickos on Oct 12, 2023 11:50:26 GMT
The Journal of Arilian Evensong, entry 34
I'm finding it hard to put today’s experience into words, diary mine. I remain uncertain whether the recalled events actually occurred, or whether the whole thing was just some florid delusion, a fever dream born of that Summer Court popinjay’s cake-administered hallucinogens. I’m leaning heavily towards the latter interpretation.
Things started out mundanely enough. Another rag-tag bunch of adventurers gathered at the allotted spot near Castleside; an insufferably chirpy Summer Court eladrin named Yinaris, a tiefling woman by the name of Lilith, Thurhor, a large ambulatory fluffball (bugbear, possibly?), and that enormous oaf from my previous excursion, Ronkk.
Further inauspicious developments followed hard on the heels of this inauspicious beginning. A gaudily-daubed wagon filled with screeching, snot-nosed urchins clattered up the hill, took us on board, and then descended it again at such ferocious velocity that it was frankly a miracle that all aboard were not tipped out and dashed to their deaths. Reckless irresponsibility on the part of the driver, Eleanor something-or other. Once I can afford a lawyer, she'll be hearing from them.
And that was by no means the worst of it. Our destination was a forest (yes, diary mine, an actual forest, filled with trees and plants and everything! Ugh! I shudder even now to think on it), and upon arrival that Summer fop distributed cup cakes to all present. More reckless irresponsibility; I don’t claim to know much about children, but I do know that the last thing you should do before leading them into a hideous tangle of fauna and flora is to fill them full of sugar.
No-one seemed to mind though; one and all were too engrossed in the wild and vivid hallucinations that kicked in at this point. For surely what I experienced next had to have been narcotic-induced. Some sort of woody angel creature stepped out of a tree, shrunk us to the size of hands, and sent us and our tiny wagon into the branches of a great oak where we started conversing with rabbits and birds. I was forced to convince these latter joint imaginative figments that we were not, in fact, worms, and they informed us in turn that the oak was being terrorised by a king squirrel by the name of, and I jest thee not here, diary mine, Nutroaster. Oh, how the children sniggered.
Onwards we quested, until at last we faced the creature at the heart of the matter, the aforementioned Nutroaster, a regal rodent in the process of turning himself into (ye Gods, I can scarcely bring myself to write the words) a despotic dragon-squirrel. And at his side? A shadowy fart demon, no less. The children were, by now, in danger of wetting themselves with mirth.
This flatulent fiend, who had been whispering insidious poison into the squirrel king’s tufty ear, was swiftly dispatched by judicious application of sunlight, whereafter Nutroaster himself was steered back to the righteous path by the combined eloquence, music and charms of our cheery troupe. And I must confess, in that joining of forces, I did feel a certain thrill of something I can't quite define. Though no doubt I'm overthinking; it was probably just the drugs.
Regardless, we made our descent, the narcotics wore off, and we were returned, with payment, to our starting location and starting size. The feral pack of brats were carted off, hooting and squawking, no doubt to inflict their diminutive unholy terrors on some other poor unfortunates, and we doughty adventurers were left alone once more.
I remain genuinely confounded by what happened on that excursion, though I am reasonably certain it's all that flouncy mountebank’s fault. Frivolous, gushing and impossibly irritating, that Yinaris really did live up to every scathing stereotype I've ever heard about the Court of Summer. Quite impossibly insufferable.
Perhaps I should talk to him a little bit more, just to make sure.
I'm finding it hard to put today’s experience into words, diary mine. I remain uncertain whether the recalled events actually occurred, or whether the whole thing was just some florid delusion, a fever dream born of that Summer Court popinjay’s cake-administered hallucinogens. I’m leaning heavily towards the latter interpretation.
Things started out mundanely enough. Another rag-tag bunch of adventurers gathered at the allotted spot near Castleside; an insufferably chirpy Summer Court eladrin named Yinaris, a tiefling woman by the name of Lilith, Thurhor, a large ambulatory fluffball (bugbear, possibly?), and that enormous oaf from my previous excursion, Ronkk.
Further inauspicious developments followed hard on the heels of this inauspicious beginning. A gaudily-daubed wagon filled with screeching, snot-nosed urchins clattered up the hill, took us on board, and then descended it again at such ferocious velocity that it was frankly a miracle that all aboard were not tipped out and dashed to their deaths. Reckless irresponsibility on the part of the driver, Eleanor something-or other. Once I can afford a lawyer, she'll be hearing from them.
And that was by no means the worst of it. Our destination was a forest (yes, diary mine, an actual forest, filled with trees and plants and everything! Ugh! I shudder even now to think on it), and upon arrival that Summer fop distributed cup cakes to all present. More reckless irresponsibility; I don’t claim to know much about children, but I do know that the last thing you should do before leading them into a hideous tangle of fauna and flora is to fill them full of sugar.
No-one seemed to mind though; one and all were too engrossed in the wild and vivid hallucinations that kicked in at this point. For surely what I experienced next had to have been narcotic-induced. Some sort of woody angel creature stepped out of a tree, shrunk us to the size of hands, and sent us and our tiny wagon into the branches of a great oak where we started conversing with rabbits and birds. I was forced to convince these latter joint imaginative figments that we were not, in fact, worms, and they informed us in turn that the oak was being terrorised by a king squirrel by the name of, and I jest thee not here, diary mine, Nutroaster. Oh, how the children sniggered.
Onwards we quested, until at last we faced the creature at the heart of the matter, the aforementioned Nutroaster, a regal rodent in the process of turning himself into (ye Gods, I can scarcely bring myself to write the words) a despotic dragon-squirrel. And at his side? A shadowy fart demon, no less. The children were, by now, in danger of wetting themselves with mirth.
This flatulent fiend, who had been whispering insidious poison into the squirrel king’s tufty ear, was swiftly dispatched by judicious application of sunlight, whereafter Nutroaster himself was steered back to the righteous path by the combined eloquence, music and charms of our cheery troupe. And I must confess, in that joining of forces, I did feel a certain thrill of something I can't quite define. Though no doubt I'm overthinking; it was probably just the drugs.
Regardless, we made our descent, the narcotics wore off, and we were returned, with payment, to our starting location and starting size. The feral pack of brats were carted off, hooting and squawking, no doubt to inflict their diminutive unholy terrors on some other poor unfortunates, and we doughty adventurers were left alone once more.
I remain genuinely confounded by what happened on that excursion, though I am reasonably certain it's all that flouncy mountebank’s fault. Frivolous, gushing and impossibly irritating, that Yinaris really did live up to every scathing stereotype I've ever heard about the Court of Summer. Quite impossibly insufferable.
Perhaps I should talk to him a little bit more, just to make sure.