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Page 14
New words
few • Thard Harr • enough • however • sneak • underneath • disguise • attack • definitely • hairy • fought

There is a large floating shape that I can see from here out my round window. I think that I see Kytharrah walking on it somehow. How is he doing that? What is he doing?

The others have left me alone on the flying ship, which I call Frihet. They are trying to stop a very bad genie who wants to controle Hakam's home and land and let very bad hobgoblins live there. He is pretending to be a god. I wonder if the Maker is only pretending to be a god. He made me though. I am alive. Solisar said when I asked him that I am alive like a flower or an animal and not like that very grose person that attacked us on the ice many months ago or the dead things that attacked them in the cave a few days ago. They told me that those persons were dead and only moved because of magic. I move because I am alive and want to move.

If the gods or people like the Maker make all of us, are they so smart that they can figure out everything that we will ever do just like I figured out how much air Frihet carries around it? Does that mean that it is only pretend that we chuze things? Is being alive only like one of Szordrin's magic tricks? Are all of us really dead?

If this is all true, then are bad people bad? Or are they only broken and need to be fixed? Are hobgoblins broken people? When people break a lot, do they become hairy?

Hakam says that some gods are bad? Can gods be broken? Is it the god's fault if someone is broken since the gods made her? Are bad people mistakes made by broken gods? If this is also true, who made the mistake and made the broken god who made the broken person?

Kytharrah is not on the shape anymore. I see a giant man. Maybe he is one of Skata's family. He just vanished. Now they are all talking to Kytharrah. Now Belvordû cûig dêag mûchadh___________________________
Session: 100th Game Session! - Wednesday, Jan 24 2018 from 6:00 PM to 9:00 PM
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Page 13
New words
nearby • observation • heavy • sword • money • fighting • allowed

I was so disappointed that the gods were not fair and took away my magic that I have not written in a fyew days.

I see Hakam praying to his god, Anachtyr, every morning, and Belvin prays to Thard Har each morning also. I think that Leokas prays at different times each day that seem to shift by about 45 minutes later each day. I tried to pray to the Maker this morning, since 2 out of 3 of the others pray then, asking him to give me magic back, but I still cannot make anything jump. Is the Maker not powerful enuff? Is the goddess of magic more powerful than he is? I heard the others say that she took away his magic, so he must not be as powerful as she is. How ever, they say that he found a way to get his magic back, a bad way, so maybe he is stronger than she thinks that he is. Why is the way that he got his magic back a bad way? I think that it was bad for them to take away his magic. Why should he not be able to take his magic back from them if they were not fair?

Maybe he did not answer me because he is too far away. How far away is Anachtyr or Thard Har or Solonor? Did the goddess of magic have to be very close to me to take my magic away? Did she sneek in when I was sleeping? Father used to talk to the Maker in person, underneeth the meeting house. The Maker was a face of fire, but the others say that that was just a disgize. Why did the Maker disgize himself? Why does Hakam not need to go to pray underneeth a meeting house? If the Maker did give me magic, would it be bad magic? Would I become bad? I want to be good, like Solisar. I do not want to be bad like a goblin.

Why are goblins bad? The others left me on the flying ship again. When they came back the first time, some of them were hurt and bloody, but they have magic that can make them better. They were attaked by more dead things. Dead things that attak are definitly bad, because dead things should stay dead, because that is what the good gods want. This is what Hakam says.

When they came back the second time, they had big hayry goblins with them or hobgoblins. I lissened to these hobgoblins, and they did not sound bad. They answered all the questions and did not fight. Why does Leokas say that all goblins and hobgoblins are bad? If all hobgoblins are bad, why did they let them go and not make them dead?

When they came back the third time, Kytharrah's fur was falling out. I am worried about him, but Hakam says that he will be fixed soon.

I have many questions. This journal seems to be a book of questions, even though I wrote earlier that I wanted it to be a book of recordings of what has happened.

I just wrote 2 things that happened. One more thing is that they fawt a very very bad hobgoblin with wings and horns. They said that that made him very very bad and not just bad. Kytharrah has horns, and he is good. I do not think that he would be more good if his horns were cut off.

I have many things about good and bad to think about. I will stop writing now.
Session: 100th Game Session! - Wednesday, Jan 24 2018 from 6:00 PM to 9:00 PM
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A Record of the Adventures of the Great Prospector and Illusionist Stumblesparkle, Back Cover
On the Manner of Arriving Safely and Accurately at the Spinning Keep

~ Head due west by south four and one half hours from the ruins of Dashadjen. Reach triad of sand columns with tallest ten yards high.

~ Head due south by east ten and one quarter hours. Reach wide crater some 200 yards wide.

~ From south southwest edge of crater, head due southwest one hour to reach dried creek.

~ Follow creek southerly two hours until it curves sharply north and then south again.

~ From southwest by west edge of curve, head due south by west one and three quarter hours to pile of large boulders three yards high and four yards wide at thickest.

~ Head toward the second to the easternmost hill of four hills visible in the southern horizon as a cluster.

~ Summit the hill.

~ The Spinning Keep is located due south southeast from the summit, barely visible as a pearly flicker of light.

[The directions include an accompanying map.]
Session: 100th Game Session! - Wednesday, Jan 24 2018 from 6:00 PM to 9:00 PM
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A Record of the Adventures of the Great Prospector and Illusionist Stumblesparkle, Chapter 18
On the morning of the seventh of Mirtul, the Year of Nightsilver, Stumblesparkle, the great prospector, woke up, performed her morning exercises, and began her day's adventure. The following account is most true and accurate.

For breakfast, she ate raisins and pears and a bit of cheese.

The day had at last come. She stripped off her garments and firstly cast a spell to make herself invisible. Next, she opened her eyes to see the true form of things. Finally, she cast a spell to grant her the power of flight. Up to the top of the dodecahedron she flew.

After several hours of miscellaneous manipulations and careful specialized spellcasting, she succeeded in unlocking the "door". The door did not open so much as she found herself falling through one of the twelve sides of the keep. There she was, floating peacefully in nothing but the skin in which she was born. Thankfully, she was also invisible.

She shivered from the bitter cold, another downside of the lack of clothing. The air was moist and humid. The cold seemed to be coming from the... "crystal".

There it was, at the center of the dodecahedral chamber, a grotesque, writhing, wriggling mash of silently screaming genie faces, morphing in and out of each other.

The great prospector, despite her usual bravery, nearly lost her raisins, pears, and bit of cheese.

On the other hand, she felt a strange surge of power, as if her tiny, delicate muscles were rippling with strength.

The genies did not seem to be happy all squished together like this.

The walls of the chamber were covered in sharp blades and razors. Thankfully, the great prospector continued to float. There was no gravity there.

She had to avoid an arc of positive energy that shot from the writhing "crystal" to one of the walls and did so with great finesse. The narrator can confirm this with all honesty. It in no way struck her on the backside. Had it done so, she might have found that the scratch that she had on her knee from the previous day's adventure had been supernaturally repaired.

A few seconds later, and there was another spark. This one was the color of negative energy. She avoided it as well. Time passed and with it came another negative arc. This one struck the baelnorn.

The narrator forgot to mention that the elven lich sitteth, or rather floateth, placidly in the space above the wriggling mush of faces. In the present case, his eyes remained closed, meditating on his boredom, most likely, seemingly oblivious to being shocked with a red-colored bolt of undead-awakening power.

The lich kept boring company in his boring chamber, a pack of boring air elementals, who were quite dull in their behaviors or lack of them.

Then the melancholy lich opened his slanted eyes and wiggled his pointed ears and looked like he had just seen a stranger in a disrobed state.

It was then that the great prospector realized that her first spell had faded. She quickly covered her modesty and smiled sheepishly at the millennia-old tel-quessir, who, it is noted, did not appear amused.

Now the dull, boring air elementals suddenly seemed excited and very un-bored, and began spinning into little whirlwinds. The narrator suspecteth that they wanted to blow and bash and break the tiny, fragile protagonist against the razor walls. How hospitable!

Her second spell had also faded by now, of course, which meant that the great prospector now saw a large diamond where once the genie-faced horror floated. (The prospector counted some 30 facets on two sides, before contemplating that counting faces on an illusory diamond was not the wisest choice of action when a dozen whirlwinds and an angry baelnorn were about to annihilate her.) Though it was utter darkness in the chamber otherwise, the crystal shone with its own light, as if reflecting the sun.

As the narrator hath already described, the prospector had pondered the wisdom of counting instead of fleeing, and as it so happened, the power that she felt seemingly extended to more than just her little gnomish muscles. In the next moment, just before the first creature of air flew against her, she wished to be absent from her present company and found herself in Pandesmos without any equipment or clothing.

Apparently, she could now plane shift. Fascinating.

Perhaps, she pondered, she should have planned her exit strategy a bit better than she had.

For dinner, the great prospector used her new, fading genie powers to create raisins, pears, and a bit of cheese, items that she fancied, if it hath not already been noticed.

The narrator will describe the adventure of how Stumblesparkle simultaneously returns to the Material Plane and manages to conserve her modesty in the next exciting chapter.
Session: 100th Game Session! - Wednesday, Jan 24 2018 from 6:00 PM to 9:00 PM
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Entry #1 : The Party and the Potions Mistress
Day 01, Year 831;

Fate has brought me to the company of uncanny folks; adept but uncanny. The team that I have been working with for some time are quite diverse in both race, class and expertise. It is more than enough to say that our differences in the aforementioned classifiers definitely come with different ideals, beliefs and objectives.

The small one, Ducky, is perky. I do not remember if she mentioned her full name when she introduced herself and if she did, I must have forgotten but her pet name suites her quite well. She’s very boisterous for a paladin. You would think that a person of such class would collect him or herself in a manner that is noble and of divine elegance but she does not exude that at all especially when she punched me while we were in the dingy kobold’s lair. The little one makes me think that she’s on an adventure for two reasons 1. For the sake of it and 2. To learn more about the world. Her going out of her bubble was a big mistake and I hope she notices it when it’s too late.

It amuses me how the world is slowly corrupting her “sense of self and justice” so to speak. Surely, the world will twist and break her like anyone, who is birthed to this realm, experiences. One would expect that someone would care but that someone is not me.

On the other side of the spectrum is of unholy appearance. He goes by the name Barakas Obamas and almost refers to himself in the 3rd person but let's just call him Barakas. It is of utmost importance that power does not fall in his hands which is regrettable since he has obtained a drake which he calls his son and is responsive to the name, “Jerod”. I have seen a lot of daft sentient creatures in my lifetime but this “thing” is no more than a beast in his conduct. One evening when we were running and hiding away from our pursuers, we failed in avoiding combat and had to fight due to my own bad luck. Instead of grabbing and using his weapon, he opted to throw a pebble which did not do much. Luckily, we were able to defeat them and the members of the team were unharmed.

If this is the kind of able-bodied beings that are being drafted, I cannot say much as to how the army will be victorious against the monsters that we are facing. It will take a miracle to win such a war and I’m pretty sure that you, gods of the realm, are enjoying your little game of thrones - throwing your set of dice around, devilishly enjoying this realm’s misfortune yet being gracious at the last minute no?

Let us not forget the silent but deadly leader of the pack, Corporal Martell. All men, even in their extreme machismo and bravado, know when to stop being such an unwanted thorn on one’s rose. Yet, I am pretty sure that Des would love and look up to this person. After all, my little brother loves a good tragic hero - a man who is in search of power, who wants to prove himself because he feels inferior but blind to his own superiority complex which ultimately causes his demise. To weave such a story, to be able to direct it and to induce suffering to this man over and over again even after his passing would be amazing.

Have you ever then wondered what it’s like to be this guy where people love him but no one actually likes him? If he were to die due to DEATH’s untimely knocking at his door, it would be appropriate to say that he died in vain

Finally, the most fascinating creature that I have ever come across is this anthropomorphic bird who is somewhat a harbinger of death. To say that he is DEATH would be an insult to the being himself but this bird, Jean Luc Pikaw, comes close. This Pikaw has a fetish for feet, dead feet, that he would happily nibble on. The touch of his black flipper was able to disintegrate a drake to its bare frames and when you look into his beady eyes, they are just like endless pits of pure nothingness. I wonder what would happen if I scoop his eyes out of his skull - will it just be literally pits of nothingness? Ah but if I did, he would not be as interesting anymore since no one would have any windows to look into this creature - we would have no way of knowing what he thinks since he cannot be understood and he will be in complete isolation unless he channels his consciousness to what lies beyond this realm. Of course, that is he ever finds someone like him.

To be honest, what I find more unusual is that I have been conscripted into the army even if I am of abnormal origin. Half-elves are, after all, not exactly of the mortal realm nor are we of what humans would think is beyond the boundary.

The mortal beings must be so desperate to defeat these gigantic serpentine creatures that leave nothing but destruction and demise in their wake when they, themselves, are of destructive nature albeit capable of good deeds. If there is one thing I am most aware of and have taken to heart in my 225 years is that no matter how good a person is, if they have no strong sense of who they are and/or what they stand for, give them a little push, inspire their greed, cloud their judgment and they will certainly do wrong. It’s the same for doing the right thing as well and yet, here we are.

Similar to the case that we are currently handling. Commander General Softpaw has given us a task to escort a potions mistress, Lucinda Alhertin, convicted of dragon-worship. Dragon-worship is considered as treason. Her nephew, Dylan, confessed to the crime yet all testimonies are against the boy being the prime suspect and even if he is, it is uncharacteristic of him. Everyone who knew him thought of him as a sweet boy and thus, the party has been led to believe that he has been controlled or brainwashed to murder his Aunt. Supporting this information is the fact that Jerod smelled a third unidentified smell in the area.

Other pieces of information found were the green orb and the blood in the bowl. Corporal Martell figured out that the murderer was left-handed and that the swing came from above. He also visibly noticed that Lucinda was kneeling while she was struck from behind as the ceremonial dagger was found lodged in her back. It is sufficient to say that either she was in the middle of her worship or that she was forced into that position to stage that she was a dragon worshipper instead of her just simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It is also worthy to note that she has a lot of cuts found on her arm and a fresh wound was found on her decayed body that the blood found on the bowl could be hers but what if it was made to look like that?

A lot of creatures do self-inflicted wounds for sheer pleasure. Her being a potions mistress could mean that she’s been using her blood to make potions that require blood. Also, the halfling mentioned something about the cabinet/table holding the dragon statue. During our first investigation, it passed over our heads that the dust has been newly settled on both the “altar” and where it has been placed as opposed to the other areas of the basement. I cannot get rid of the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, the whole town has been under the influenced of the orb and that everyone’s memories have been...altered. Instead of Lucinda being the traitor, she might have been in fact trying to lift the curse since the elf who was posing as a vagrant did mention that she was inquiring about a scroll that could lift the curse.

I am now in possession of the green orb and of the dragon dagger. The team does look at me funny when I nonchalantly cut myself and offer my blood in order to find out the answer to this murder mystery. The vagrant did warn us that this orb is of otherworldly aura and has the power to alter memories and so, I have taken it to myself to write down everything that happens. For as much as I want to forget and just live my life entertaining the masses, I cannot especially my own personal mission. This, however, would be a good story to tell.

I have a lot of hypotheses to this riddle and it has certainly gotten my attention that I have forgotten to look for clues and the whereabouts of my remaining family. Coming from someone who used to be the star of the theatre troupe, you wouldn’t expect such a mind but literature and the humanities do offer insight to the psyche - almost to the point of paranoia.

I’m torn, my dear gods.

On the one hand, I’m still bent on exacting my wrath against those who tore us apart but on the other hand, it has been… fun being with this ragtag group. Who would have thought that it’s possible to find people[I] that you can consider er… a new family? in this wretched world. [/I]

It’s concerning and I hate it. I’m not religious but if you gods are real, someone… anyone, please give me a sign that I’m right.

As above, so below.
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