(G391 29/06/2019 via Roll20 - AP(GM), JF) LR6
DAY 447 (23th Mirtul)(May) cont ...
Back home I started thinking and reading about how to take on this massive spider. Peppermint was known to drive off spiders and insects. I knew that peppermint grew in abundance further north in the Dalelands, but it does not grown in the harsher soil of the Vast Swamp. It could do though, with a bit of careful land management I think.
I took, then, my wife to Weyloon, and talked to Hans of Hans Herbs and Medicine where I purchased as much as I could get my hands on. 3 ampoules of Peppermint Oil and 7 jars of a sort of paste that certainly had a strong minty odour. Hans, I rather thought, was a quack.
As it was not afternoon we decided to find a nice inn and stay the night in Weyloon.
Anyway, going to bed now. I must say, it really does feel like things are turning out well now. My wife is happily pregnant, we are engaged in a project we are both enjoying and the Lost Refuge is well on the way to becoming a beacon of peace and happiness in a region that has precious little of it.
DAY 448 (24th Mirtul)(May)
Oh woe and thrice woe! How can one day change so much? It as if some mighty, petulant god has ripped away everything I was working towards!
I have little time for the gods, generally I leave them alone and they leave me alone. I will occasionally make offerings to Silvanus or Chanteau, but other than that the whole lot of them are only of academic interest to me.
But - sometimes - I wonder - is there a greater force beyond the gods of Ferune? A greater force that need only say 'THIS WILL BE' and then the thing is? There is no proof of course, but in my head I imagine this entity staring down at me, with a gleeful expression on its face, looking down at me from over its vast, naked, hairy belly and saying 'All those plans you are making are as nothing before my capricious will!'
We small beings, are but playthings in the hands of deities (or whatever they be) like this. I think I once had a conversation with Fenrir in regards to this and he felt the same way. Although the being that toyed with him, in his mind anyway, seemed a bit more reasonable on the whole and in most cases Fenrir's woes could be traced back to his own actions - but I digress...
... anyway, to related the tragedy here in my journal before I go to bed in our camp up in the mountains north east of the Vast Swamp:
We arrived at two in the afternoon to find the place smoking from several fires and everybody dead. We saw nothing but dead lizardfolk everywhere, magical damage on the walls and doors, bloody drag marks. Everywhere the signs of battle.
Irritator's poor head was displayed on a spike on the south wall. Molly was nowhere to be found, but her poor wee pet monkey was dead in her room, pulled savagely to pieces.
Judging by the amount of damage done, the Refuge had been attacked by powerful magic users and mighty warriors. The dead lizardfolk were all terrible mutilated - pulled to pieces in many cases.
Somehow K was still alive and it was Lavinia that found him. She told me his last words were:
'They took Molly, and the attackers had the Neverwinter Sigils on their armour.'
I went over to K, but he was already dead. There was a strange blue sort of glow or aura on patches of him. As I approached I felt a sort of pull from my magical items. Or something like that. Something I have never felt before anyway.
I cast Detect Magic and the blue 'stuff' flared up and started spreading faster across K's body. I stopped the spell and stepped back. This was like nothing I had ever seen before.
We checked the other bodies, those that had magic items also had the blue 'stuff'.
I picked up a magical amulet and looked at it. I gave it to Lavinia. Foolishly we just then had infected ourselves with whatever this was and we not had it on our hands. When I eventually worked out that this was more a disease than a magical effect (or both?) I turned into a Giant Owl and flapped back to Weyloon as fast as I could.
We landed at the Temple of Mystra (who I judged owed us a pretty big favour) and I explained what had happened to an acolyte.
This is when the Mystran clerics really started to annoy me, and it only got worse as the day went on. Firstly they had the audacity to lock me and the wife in a small room while they dealt with us - as if we were commoners just arrived with leprosy or something.
I woodshaped the door open, but there stood the High Priest and some of the other clerics wearing leather armour and sort of bee-keeper outfits. The High Priest was the most annoying out of all of them and explained that we were infected with some new unknown lurgy - a sort of organism that was not magical and not a curse, but that fed of magic.
'The only cure is to incinerate the whole infected area,' he said. I handed over my magical gloves and they were burned in a temple brazier.
Then he went on to say 'we only know one way to cure it in people - to remove the affected area. Either burn or chop off - in this case, your right hands.'
I sighed. This is modern medicine, I tell you. All this magic and knowledge, but when something new comes along, it's back to the caveman menthods.
'Very well,' I said nervously.
Then as if taking orders for the tavern bar he said, 'Well, would you like your hand burned off or chopped off?'
'Wha - what?'
'Your choice.'
'Chop and be damned then!' I growled, thinking that his bedside manner left much to be desired. Myself and the wife clasped our left hands out together and put the right on the chopping block. Together we cried out as the axes descended.
The look of fear and horror on my wife's face is something that will live with me for the rest of my life. And her pregnant too.
What sort of monstrous being of fate, thought I, would visit such cruelty on her in such a way?
We are, apparently, the play things of Fate, and sometimes Fate is beyond human understanding. Angered, as I closed my eyes in pain and the cleric's worked their regeneration magic an image of Fate, laughing at me as he looked once more down over his huge hairy belly, came into my mind unbidden and ridiculous as I know it sounds I swore that one day, if our positions were ever reversed I would take great delight in exacting my revenge.
Well anyway, Fate had much more misery in store for us yet. Much more.
As we recovered from our ordeal I related the events that had recently occurred to the High Priest and with a couple of hours, our arms restored by magic we set off back again to the Lost Refuge.
The High Chopper and four of his clerics came with us.
Now, there was obviously some sort of misunderstanding when we got there as the High Buffoon evidently thought he was in charge. I should have made him aware that this was my property and that he had no authority over me, the location or the situation what-so-ever.
So I suppose I did surprise him when I flew over and plucked Irritator's head down off the spike on the wall. I had checked it over, but the High Blowhard got really angry when I landed.
He wasn't listening to anything I said and him and his lads levelled their crossbows at me.
Well, I wasn't having any of that and flew off to the north. I easily dodged the crossbow bolts as they came after me - but the effrontery of it! I've a good mind to compose a sternly worded letter to Tunaster Dranik.
We were not followed and I flew north until dawn and landed in a nice glade in the foothills of the Thunder Peak mountains.
A pox on all priests of Mystra, I'm going to bed now.
DAY 449 (25th Mirtul)(May)
Woke up at noon. Lavinia had made some lunch.
I checked over our bodies and poor Irritator's severed head. No blue 'stuff'.
I can't think straight right now, too much going on. I need to find Molly as a priority. First I must re-arrange my spells and get some rest.
DAY 450 (26th Mirtul)(May)
This morning I reincarnated Irritator. He came back as a halfling. Although I wouldn't say it to his face it's an improvement on kobold. His odour is greatly improved for a start.
He apparently had none of the blue stuff on him.
I asked him what he knew of the attack - but once again the hairy belly of Fate loomed over me. Somehow someone managed to sneak up and stab a fairly powerful wizard in the back before he could see or hear anything of any use.
I flew everyone back to the Lost Refuge. Every last bit of it had been burnt to a crisp, only the stonework remained, scorched and blanketed. No doubt it had been fired by those Mystran zealots. There was none of them around so we took a look about. The portal to the Plane of Shadows was still there - so that's something.
I followed the trail the attackers had taken. It lead to the main road to the south eventually.
There was a campsite on the edge of the swamp. They had used three fires, with that and the number of footprints I suspected there were between 20 and 30 of them.
Strangely there were no bones, or other rubbish, which would have been expected. Did they tidy up after themselves? Or were they the sort of beings that don't leave litter?
(Or it occurs to me that perhaps they did not want to leave behind anything that could be the target of a Scrye spell.)
It was clear that they had both arrived and left along the same route - away from all habitation.
We reached the main road. I pondered what to do next.
