Roseborough at last draws near (two days my eye). And at last the assassins have caught up with us once more - though not at all the ones we were expecting.
It started with a broken down wagon - a man and his wife, travelling with their new baby to start a new life in Roseborough. Or possibly Caladon. He seemed confused about which direction they were going, which was the first clue that something was amiss - and we were, of course, naturally suspicious. Oh that we have come to such a place of cynicism and paranoia. But we confirmed that they were not wearing Molochian Hand amulets, and that the infant was genuine, and, their story corroborated, Dyna offered to help fix the wagon. Norman, it turns out, is surprisingly good with babies, but was disappointed with its inferior number of legs. He has been on a “more legs” kick recently, and spending more time in spider form for that reason, and Dyna has promised to add some once we get to Roseborough. The prospect of adding limbs to an infant is an intriguing one, but it would require a supply of spare baby parts, and ideal attachment points are not immediately obvious. Yes, infant physiology has a high degree of plasticity, but I’d still want to practice on lesser creatures first, and I have yet to find a way to ask a baby how many legs it wants. Still, thoughts to ponder for the future.
They came at us out of the Western sky, the sun behind them, and they were beautiful - a perfect phalanx swooping in. I would have liked to get a photograph, but they were already shooting at us before I had a chance. For it was neither the Molochian Hand nor the Dark Elves nor even the Gnomish Industrial Council, but none other than the mysterious Vollinger, whom we had left for dead in Dernholm nearly two years ago! He apparently holds a grudge, though I am hard-pressed to see why. He seems to be quite pleased with his draconic transformation, given that he has begun recruiting followers and now styles himself “Dragon-God of Arcanum.” He also flies better than Straf and is apparently made of flesh and blood, albeit of strange texture, rather than an undifferentiated mass of salt. What, then, does he have to complain about?
He did not explain himself to us. Rather, he lay to with an elephant gun as big as he is (seriously, what is it with gnomes and elephant guns? It’s a delightful weapon, but it can’t be nearly so effective when it’s the same size as you are) and his four winged followers. Dyna brought down one with her explosive arrows, but the others rained grenades upon us while we did our best to return fire. I do not enjoy being stunned... but in all fairness I doubt Vollinger enjoyed being shot repeatedly with a Hand Cannon blessed by the Ogre God of Battle. Ehehehehe. Still, setting the wagon on fire was low, even for an abomination of nature. There was a baby in there, for crying out loud!
At length, the winged Vollinger fled with his remaining followers, screaming imprecations at us all the way. Dyna and Norman were able to rescue both mother and child from the flaming wreckage, and the family, though grateful, understandably wanted no more to do with us and proceeded dolefully on towards Roseborough. We, however, turned to the more pressing business of retrieving the downed dragonling, and found to our surprise that it was still living. So much for my hopes of dissection. It was nevertheless extremely informative. The creature had some rudimentary language - it could say “Master” but little else - but apart from that and an ability to use simple tools (ie: grenades) and follow simple commands, we found it little more than a beast. More curious was its substance - leather, almost slimy, moist and glistening in places. Aspects of it were definitely of a kind with what we have observed of what Vollinger has become, but less pronouncedly so. My guess is that Vollinger has been creating his minions by injecting his own fluids into natural creatures, triggering a draconic transformation similar to his own. The unfortunate that we had captured seemed to be at least four or five “generations” removed from it’s progenitor. And even more surprising - I am forced to conclude that Vollinger started out this process with a Void Lizard, such as the ones we fought outside Blackroot.
Where could he have acquired such a creature? Has he set up his base of operations at the site of another rift? If so, it is imperative that we find and close it. And how many more of these servants has he created? It is unwaveringly loyal to him, despite Wolf’s charms, and eventually we released it. What else, really, could we do? It is something to be grateful for that Straf has no fluids or essence of his own, for a winged army based upon him would be too horrible to contemplate. I have little doubt we shall encounter Vollinger and his ilk again.
I have made drawings and photographs, which I would like to send to both Maxim and Jayna, since the mechanics of living dragons in flight is relevant to both of their interests, albeit in vastly different ways. I do not know though when next I shall have an opportunity to develop film or to post mail - and who knows if my writings are even reaching their destinations? Not that I expect response - if mail can reach us assassins can as well, and our allies understand that.
The last thing our world needs is another mad god seeking to make it his own.
