Another sleepless night. At least this time it was from something other than nightmares. Now, it’s pain, more pain, and my own pungent odor of burnt flesh. Also, pain. To lie on my side is agony, and indeed sitting for extended periods is beyond me, so I have forced myself to avoid the would-be comfort of my bed in search of a little less sting. I’ve hobbled my way down the stairs away from Vimik and Aelith and am writing you now, dear Journal, in a strange eerie quiet I have never known from the Riverboat Rumshack.
I’m hoping I don’t wake anyone while I sit here at my favorite table, but in truth I know that shadowy place has made me strangely quiet, strangely deceptive; strangely something I’m not. I can light my way now with the magic it gave me, but today (or yesterday, at this hour), I’ve realized that my growing power, whatever it may be, is not enough. Perhaps it’s enough for the Syndicate, yes, but not enough for these strange enemies Aelith and I battle daily now. I suppose I’ll start from the beginning.
I don’t know if it was the excitement of our task at hand, or if all those idle months had made Aelith and I careless, but we traveled into the depths of the Syndicate with Vimik in tow. We claimed he was no threat, but it was a lie. Aelith and I knew that even we were now threats to the cautious Syndicate. We were there for information, but not for The Order, not even for ourselves – treason. With every casual question I asked, my muscles tensed, waiting for a slip-up from Aelith, myself, or heaven forbid from the new giant meandering his way through the corridors. But the gods smiled on us and we “escaped” with our lives and our answers. To the Necropolis.
Excuse me, dear Journal, my body reminds me of the rest of my story. Forgive me while I move to relieve the pain.
That’s better. Where were we… ah yes, The Necropolis District. Though Zane pointed us in the direction of the district on the curious note of several grave-robberies (of all things), I felt that perhaps this little adventure was an unrelated dead-end. Nevertheless, we set out in hopes of finding something that this “”/campaigns/the-continent-of-morkane/characters/shen" class=“wiki-content-link”>Shen" might find useful. With no hope of asking any questions of the Alderman in his keep, a stout, bombastic clerk pointed us instead in the direction of the graveyard (again, of all places) for a potential rendezvous with the head-of-the-dead himself. An odd place, to be sure, but who am I to make comments on other’s oddities? I have a miniature dragon now soul-linked with me, an ever-growing allure to the darkness, and risk my life daily for an elusive stranger that can walk through walls. Oddities, indeed.
Ah, speak of the Baatazu: it seems my pen scratching has awoken that very soul-linked beast. I suppose, despite my new gifts of silence those shadows have wrought me, they’re of no effect to one shaped by its darkness. Excuse me, dear Journal, while I make sure he’s comfortable.
We set about exploring the graveyard, but our endeavor was fruitless until Dimmil got caught in a bit of “trouble” (which doesn’t seem to effect him much now, as he lies curled and asleep at my feet). How no one noticed a group of very large spiders roaming around the districts namesake is beyond me, but I didn’t care: those monsters were about to kill my familiar. With much ferocity and a little ingenuity, we squashed those enormous bugs, and freed Dimmil from their web. And then, the Alderman appeared.
I was, of course, suspicious of his odd timing in an already odd location, but I believe, dear Journal, I have already touched on the subject of oddity, so I won’t bore you again with my skepticism. He beckoned us to follow and, wary as I was, walked boldly into yet another potentially fatal trap. I suppose we Gnomes are not well known for our inherent common sense. Plus, it was late. Yes, it was very late. We marched to his keep where we were finally able to have an audience with the powerful man. Tharesh Anduriel was his name, and he was as ready as we to get to the bottom of the murder of Banin. Our lead must have been a bit misguided, but any help we can now receive on the cold trail of the alderman’s murder is well received. He explained to us his bewilderment of the grave-robberies, stating that those that have been robbing the Necropolis of it’s dead have not been interested in jewels and other fineries. The only thing missing from the sites were the bodies, replaced instead with giant, disgusting spiders. I decided to ask the glaring question of “Who on Earth would do such a thing,” and Tharesh responded bluntly, “An evil cleric.”
Well, dear Journal, does this put us ever in a bind. Evil clerics don’t survive long in this city, not when one of the highest order of religion in the city is run by the good and vengeful ones. No, evil clerics are too dangerous and rare to be an option. Rare and dangerous… not unlike the Drow we encountered in the Court of Thieves. Curious, dear Journal, curious.
I suppose I’ll conclude then with the source of my injuries, and my humiliation. We made our way back from Tharesh’s keep, winding our way through the dark and twisting streets. Arriving at the Riverboat Rumshack, we turned in for the night, weary from the battle and the wild goose chase. Minion kindly took us in for the night (in the special way he often shows kindness) and upon the morning we ventured out to find ourselves an evil cleric. Instead, we found an evil sorcerer. An evil DROW sorcerer. And spiders. Great.
Though we defeated the Drow, a well-placed fireball on his part brought me to my knees. Aelith and Vimik came out unscathed,
but I was killed but I was badly burned. My spells were barely enough to combat him, and I felt ashamed of this power in me that so many have coveted. It was worthless, useless, weak in comparison… And I will not let it happen again. The shadows scare me, but that is the vein of power that I must tap into to reach my potential. I am reminded of my failure with the sting of my skin clenched around this quill, and another day lost to my injuries. Minion put us up again after what happened, but we try his patience. I’m going to prove myself to Vimik, and Aelith, and even Minion. I will find that cleric and I will take him down… Tomorrow.
And until then, dear Journal, I will rest my quill.