Okay, now that I've confirmed this email address isn't valid I have some things to say. I don't want any physical evidence that can be used against me in the future, and I don't need the journal entries to stick around. I just need to get some thoughts out of my head and this seems like a good way to get that done.
So.
Everything is gone.
Dad's shady business manager fucked us all over and now we're living in a run down motel in what might somehow be both the weirdest and most boring town in Canada.
Alexis is a disaster since she found out Stavros won't actually be rescuing her any time soon. Mom and dad are dealing with things about as well as can be expected (mom has threatened to kill herself at least 3 times since we've been here. Don't worry, she won't. She lives for drama and what better drama than her own shattered life?)
I'm just trying very hard not to connect with anyone right now, and hopefully I'll figure something out and get the hell out of this place sooner rather than later.
[Email undeliverable]
tagging @lizzie-bennetdarcy @goodiecornbread @alysiswriting @tyfinn and anyone else with WIPs to share!
We got some new staff at the Library, or rather one new member (one Sebastian Tyrne) and one old temp hire now reinstated (Schnoz, the firlbolg). In the midst of all of this, the new edition of the Waterdeep Enquirer came — delayed by all the snow, it’s still the news from this past Uktar. The main article was on the Gralhund Villa, written by a Rolf Typsetter who seems to know a great deal about all of this! (He also wrote an interesting article about Luna, which I think I will enjoy using for tinder.) Tilly, Schnoz, Sebastian and I went out to pay Mr. Rolf a visit.
He seems interested in the case and is willing to assist in the investigation. We walked back to the Library to discuss things further and on more official terms. While he and Lydia talked, Sebastian called his hawk. Lovely! Perhaps I could talk with him about familiars, which the animal most certainly is.
After a long discussion, we (myself, Tilly, Sebastian, Schnoz, and Rolf) then walked all the way to the Vila — a necessary sacrifice. It was pissing down rain.
We saw Nim’s child in an alley nearby and quickly engaged. Rolf seemed hesitant, but no matter. It did quickly become clear that Schnoz is the only one among us who primarily uses weapons. I’ve gotten used to Widdershins, but I have been neglecting to familiarize myself with armor. Ultimately, it was Sebastian who stunned the nimblewright: I caught the barest flash of an illusion but the nimblewright was absolutely hypnotized. We deliberated on what to do with it for some time (I offered to freeze its joints — they’re fiddly and delicate things, waterlogged as they were) before deciding to take it back to the Library for interrogation. Tilly removed its legs (so that it couldn’t run) and in the process caused a map to fall out of its coat.
After some paperwork, we set up in the iron room on the Fae Floor. It is sparse and uncomfortable, yet still I nearly fell asleep on my feet. Bluevolt managed to calm the thing down (it couldn’t speak at all) and did us the favor of asking questions, as the nimblewright would only respond to Bea. I will admit, I did not pay the most attention, as exciting as the interview was.
I managed to catch a quick rest before Rolf, high on the chase it seemed, urged us to continue. We went first (obviously) to the house that the nimblewright had circled on the map, that of Mr. Fenerus Stormcastle. Xanathar’s Guild had arrived before us, however, leaving a broken door and their gorey insignia. Whilst several of us debated in the house as to what we should do, Sebastian (who was waiting outside) had an intriguing conversation.
He met with someone disguised as Lareal Silverhand, who gave him a map. Initially Sebastian claimed that he had conversed with the Open Lord herself, and only under Rolf’s (very familiar) persuasion divulged the details. While his behaviour was strange, far be it from I to condemn Sebastian. I think Schnoz is the only one among us without secrets. (Perhaps I will talk to Rolf about his patron later...)
Nevertheless, we continued, following someone or other’s lead (I forget whom it was that lead the group) into the sewers. Tilly helpfully pointed out the doorways hidden in the walls.
Naturely, combat ensued. I made the mistake of stepping into the room and was quickly knocked unconscious — not before catching a glimpse of a metal Beholder in the next room. Tilly was kind enough to heal me just in time for Rolf to cast some soothing magic. He speaks undercommon, interestingly enough. I used the resulting calm to shoo my coworkers out of the room (unfortunately, the duregar took the hint as well) to do some spellcasting.
That was my first time casting Hunger... I aligned my sword with the Ioun stone and tried my best to channel the energies from the stone, not the sword; my connection with Hadar, not the fae. As natural as anything, the void flowed from Widdershins and appeared without a sound, rendering the area a pitch and lightless black! What a thrill! It had been so long since I last tried to connect with the Star, and to feel that power running through my body again was divine. My only regret was that I could not see the results.
I wandered over to Sebastian and Rolf (whose imp familiar, Deirdre, could see into the void) while waiting out the Hunger. Sebastian looked a little shaken, but not supremely affected. Schnoz befriended a kobold who named himself “tall.” I poked around in a nearby room and found only a small drawstring pouch. It pours out an endless stream of viscera and blood. Rolf seemed interested in it, so I gave it to him. I dismissed my spell when a goblin escaped and ran into Tilly. The three of us rushed over, and I dealt the final blow.
Rolf and I inspected the Beholder. I managed to turn it on and it lit up beautifuly before burning itself out. We briefly argued over ownership before deciding to give it to the House of Gond. I don’t know what I would’ve done with it myself, but I feel as though Lydia might’ve liked to tinker with it.
Schnoz found a rock (perhaps the Stone we’re looking for, although it is non-magical) and his friend informed us that there were “big lizards with swords” in the next area. Schnoz decided to forge ahead while the rest of us spellcasters waited behind. Eventually I stepped up to lend my aid, only to find that it was wholly unnecessary. Schnoz did not need our help until near the end of the battle; “tall” held his lantern as he downed troglodytes in one swing each.
Rolf warned us about a “big pile of flesh and teeth” in the area — a warning which only encouraged Schnoz. I recognized that this thing might be an abberation, similar to the Star but made of flesh, and decided that its remains would be worth the study.
We took a moment to heal before repositioning around the room. The... thing was disgusting. We played cat and mouse with it, shooting spells and retreating before Schnoz landed the final blow. Unfortunately, it disintegrated upon death(?).
Tilly found the chest it was guarding — the coins will go to the Library, but the pendant is hers. Sebastian whacked open a bricked up door so we could escape without going through the sewers again. Rolf left and went to his home while the rest of us walked back to the Library in the dead of night. Schnoz went to bed, but Sebastian and I talked briefly about possible leads before retiring.
I decided that I would accompany the outward party on their most recent dubiou definitely illegal outing. I sensed that it would not do for Lydia to go out in such ways.
The Gralhund Villa is a fort, surely. We entered through their stables (and concussed their stableboy) and Shard took whatever he found in the getaway horse. I wish we could’ve had Lance accompany us, as he could’ve asked the horses about the fortifications, considering his interest in horses. They at least would’ve warned us about the shadows in the courtyard — I nearly died.
We moved into the house, and into the fray. Zhents and guards were fighting but by the time we made it in, the battle had mostly calmed. I had an interaction with a strange dark elf with some sort of wand of blasting — nearly did me in a second time. Luna healed me, but my head was too cloudy to continue. Hiss walked me home to the library.
Over the past month, I’ve been telling my story to the goblins of clan Goblinfox as well as any interested coworkers, which I suppose at least some of the goblins might count as. I conduct these tales in the faemote house. As faintly upsetting as it is to be back in the Faewild, the familiarity of my old living space is comforting. The observatory is fine for spring and summer weather, but I fear that the colder months may render it wholly unsuitable.
Regardless, I told them of the small brushes with goblin culture in the marshes, of the splashing and of the rest house. I then told them another marsh story of that damned fish, the one that’s carved into my blade. At the end, I summoned it and let it swim through the air. Much to Clord’s displeasure.
He’s so suspicious of the sword. Yes, it was Lewellyn’s. Yes, he went crazy and died and now I have it. It’s not wiggly star stuff, and that displeases me too! And finally, I would NEVER release anything dangerous onto a gathering of my friends and coworkers! The fish is under my command, as my... weapon. It was of no risk whatsoever.
I really must find some way to compile these tales into something more easily accessable. They’re quite fascinating.
.
Much later in the month, one of the newer assistants (a changling who calls herself Baby-Eater — also a regular attendant of my stories) told us of a strange encounter at the docks. Some man had invited her and the rest of the library to dinner. I decided to attend.
The man, Zardoz, really was... something. His ship was named Eye Catcher, and the two for his carnival were Heartthrob and Hell-Raiser. The men he employed were fairly handsome, though Zardoz himself was a little disconcerting. The man was coated in illusion magic and could sense when I invoked my... associate’s presence, which most people cannot. I do not trust him more than I can throw him, though I suppose I could fling him a good distance if pressed. Assuming he consented to being thrown; he does have that aura to him. Someone who talks like they think nothing of backing it up.
Regardless, we had a lovely dinner. Lance traded a story of Dark Market for more information regarding the nimblewright population of Waterdeep (there’s been an under-the-table sale of one to a noble family lately — perhaps our culprit?). Zardoz may take us up on a “safari” at some point, but I did invite him back for dinner. It is only polite.
Perhaps he is a dragon in disguise who has been granted passage into Waterdeep.
If people would ask, information would be given. However, I cannot abide by teaching incorrect or outdated knowledge.
Truly, I had affairs of my own to attend to upon my return from the Faewild. An arm to regrow, a lovely lady to aclimate to life in Waterdeep on the Material Plane, and potentially a contract to renegotiate. My completion of only two of those tasks notwithsanding.
I’ve taught Clord the Goblin alphabet and spent much time talking about Nem and the things Nem told me. Seafaring goblins, what a concept.
Having spent much of the month of Mirtul restoring my lost poetry from the Faewild and aiding Song of the Sealark in creating a teleportation circle between the Library proper and its newest aquisition, I decided to get out in the city of Waterdeep, now in the early summer.
I thought it only proper to repay the Church of Chauntea for their aid with my arm (which has regained most if not all functionality at this point). Oleander Pendergrass is such a charming fellow, greeting me as Bad Vibes Dude. Truly, he’s correct. I can deal with that later; this deal has not soured yet. Perhaps I should seek Nem after this — I might be losing touch with his advice. I wonder how he is.
Oleander asked me about the badger who “vibe checked” me the last time I visited, as Chip has apparently gone missing. I do hope they find him. A small white cat then instructed me to meet in a manse in the North Ward — druids are such strange folk.
I assembled the present members of the Library staff (we all have had dealings with the Church in the past; it makes sense to continue to foster good relations) and went to the Emerald Enclave. The folks there offered us membership — which we all accepted, though not institutionally. The Library will remain officially unaffiliated, though most of the present staff agreed to join these friends of Chauntea.
The Emerald Enclave in turn sent us out to the northward hamlet, as there had been reports of animated scarecrows causing trouble. There had not yet been fatalities and as such the Guard had not bothered to be involved.
We walked down to the village and luckily found an older man who was happy to tell us of the plight. The scarecrows had killed some of his cows. He offered us a “lucky sword” (the item was not magic in any way) despite my urgings that he keep such a valuable weapon for his own defense — Luna took it to pacify him. It was better for her to do so, as I already have a sword of my own, Hiss is perfectly capable of summoning his, and Sig does not use blades.
Locating the damned things was easy with Sig’s flight, though the walk over for the rest of us land-bound creatures was less enjoyable. Lo and behold, four shambling scarecrows. I’m very grateful for Tamworth’s spell-tinkering; the scarecrows are extremly flammable, but so is the wheat around us. We were not out to cause more damage — his Harmless Fireball works wonders.
As expected, the scarecrows were just vessels for vengeful spirits. I attempted to speak with them and ask them what their purpose was. They had been killed (obviously) by some... green things in the forest. I could not ascertain more as they were quite mad.
We slew them handily and returned to the Library. I ought to do some digging into that. Especially as I find myself unable to pick up new spells — quite frustratingly, I discovered that this power gate is an aspect of my pact. Truly unfortunate as I was so hoping to find a familiar for myself, perhaps one of those lovely little birds from the marshes.
Despite the strangeness of having wings on a quadruped form, the wing structure of a griffin is relatively straightforward and very similar to almost any other bird.
The young griffin recovering and sheltering on the large Earthmote in the Faewild proved to be rather resistant to my first approaches, but after I was able to properly set the bone and close the wounds, it warmed up to me well. I am told that he has not allowed anyone near, after a rather traumatic experience in the forest below. On that, at least, we are united.
I have nicknamed him Nemish. I do not want to name a creature, however noble, after a friend of mine, especially one with such a sad name. But I do wish to honor Nem, wherever he may be, and I must call this griffin something.
In the month of Hammer, Sealark and I embarked upon Nemish in search of this druid who would heal my arm. It was a long flight, but enjoyable — I have missed the quiet of this plane.
I sought insight from the wiggly star as to where we should go, and I was not lead astray. We landed during the night and waited for the morn.
The druid seemed to be rather grumpy and threw a bucket of water upon myself to awaken me, but once I told her that I was sent by the church of Chauntea, she was more obliging.
The healing process was rather gruesome and I will not detail it, but I now have a right arm again. It is not yet useable and will need gentle work before I regain full mobility, but it is heartening not to wear a sling anymore.
Mounting Nemish again, Sealark and I flew back to Waterdeep during the month of Alturiak. It’s lovely to see the countryside awaken from frost. Sealark and I had a fine time looking at passing cities and identifying them on our map and talking about the local pecularities. We returned to the library around Ches to rather distressing news, but our missing staff were shortly returned.
