I found ardos! Of course i found ardos with a band of adventurers about to do something stupid, but at least i found him.
When i finally reached dorburne i took a waystone to valbridge, but apparently i had just missed the group. I was informed upon asking after ardos that a group of adventurers including him had taken the waystone not two ghurries ago to springdale off in the mountains in the middle of kundrik. Typical.
I followed the waystone there as well and was directed by the locals to follow the adventurers’ trail off to the southwest. Despite setting a rigourous pace it still took me three hours to catch up to the group, by which time they had approached what appeared to be a relatively new fort overlooking a relatively old looking mine. Just as i caught up to them and ardos recognised me, we realised we were being surrounded by some sort of mimic creatures and the entire group began to go on the attack. It need hardly be said that i joined in with as much vigour as i could muster after the long walk through the forested mountain slopes.
The creatures were, i dare say, somewhat zombiesque in their appearance and also in their behaviour, for most of them dragged their feet and swung lazily at us, a few quicker creatures notwithstanding. They also had a most annoying habit of reanimating within a few seconds of being knocked down, multiple times, before the bodies finally crumbled away. We were nearly overrun even after using the arcades of the fortress as a chokepoint to defend and hold them off, and even with several adventurers casting eldritch fortress upon themselves to prevent furtherance of the mimics’ progress. But eventually our skills and numbers held firm and the remainder of the mimics wandered off, not to be seen again··· at least for now.
A brief time of respite was given to all but i was barely able to reunite with ardos before one of the commanding officers of the group, a greying greater elve i understood to be named sir mathis, claimed everyone’s attention and explained in greater detail what had been going on. Thankfully this instructed me in the purpose of the mission as well. This group of adventurers had answered the call of his majesty lycergis king of dragonreach to aid these miners as part of dragonreach trying to claim springdale for that kingdom rather than allow allacar to annex it. The denizens of springdale while exploring had found ancient dwarven mineshafts within this cave, of which three were now open and available, but the other five were either infected, infested, otherwise occupied, or sealed off.
One such shaft – for it should go without saying that the entire adventuring camp, with the addition of myself, entered into the mine to assist at the miner’s request and (everyone excepting me) on the king’s behalf – was filled with a sort of rotting rusty ooze. It had not only begun to eat away at the mithril in the mine shaft, but also had spawned some sort of sentient rust beasts whose claws also ate away at any magic buffs on our spirit, and were attracted to our magic items. I say “our” but i of course had nothing magical on me; çerhêni and dszeni were crafted for me and made to hold starlight, but through mechanics, not magics.
The initial room was not terribly bad other than the approach of the aforementioned rust monsters. Ardos and other melee fighters and defenders held the front line while archers such as the halfling cressida, offensive mages such as the dryad trellis, and reserve fighters such as myself held a second line, allowing earth casters and other healers such as the mywe collette to remain safely behind. We fought through the first wave to a choke point in the shaft and from there entered another broad ellipsoid cavern. Though other rust monsters formed, we were now practised enough as a group to handle them as we manoeuvred around the circumference of the cavern, taking note of a large waterfall of ooze sealing off an another cavern and several deposits of as-yet-untainted mineral ores (one of ardos’ specialties).
Ardos, however, made the ill-fated decision to reach into a rocky cistern of the ooze with his bare hand, in order to retrieve some sort of magic trigger stone. While the removal of the stone did cause the ooze waterfall to terminate and allowed us access up an underground hill to the next cavern, it became clear it was somehow slowly poisoning his spirit. Concerned and unnerved, i volunteered to sir mathis and to a senior earth caster named gideon to deal with the ooze next time, as i did not deal in magical items and was devoid of magic myself, despite being able to read it. The occasion came as in the next, quite large room, we were beset by rust creatures of stronger calibre and pushed back to an unfortunately sacrificial-looking rock outcropping.
I reiterated that i should try to dash behind the creatures and dig another trigger stone from the cavern’s ooze cistern, and ardos swore a blood oath to me that he would help me make it right if i should befall the same fate. Which, of course, i did. I could feel my spirit’s ability to retain life force dissipating slowly, and becoming more tolerant against traditional healing methods. But ardos helped me to understand (since he was under the same condition) that it was possible to will the sickness into a magic item that was “equivalent” to myself. Having none of my own, ardos entreated one of the other adventurers sacrificed some minor trinket or another they did not need, and due my magiclessness it was equal enough for me to rid myself of the plague. Ardos assured me that he had an artifact he felt certain was his equal back in valbridge, and he would be fine until such time as we returned there.
In the meantime we were able to make it into the last cavern, where at last i realised that gideon was actually searching for pieces of rune puzzles, sort of an alternate solution to simply "turning off the goo tap" as it were. So after an initial run of getting the majority of the group to the middle of the room where we could defend on all sides, gideon and ardos and myself went around the circumference carefully searching for more of the rune pieces. Regrettably, i found none. More regrettably, neither did the others. So with the strange mywe named pyke already having accidentally infected himself on a drainage of ooze earlier, he elected to search the cistern for the trigger stone, and we eliminated all of the ooze from the shaft.
The ordeal was exhausting enough for everyone involved that, instead of continue immediately with another mine shaft, the troupe headed back to the surface and returned to the fort to recuperate and heal up. The settlement was kind enough to provide food for us as we prepared to press on. During this time i became more familiar with avacyn ironrose, or cyn for short, the headmother of the forgotten hope earth healers' guild. She had become an adopted mother to ardos, radi, and taios in the absence of their parents, and was very gracious and kind and interested in getting to know me. Since the irani are distant cousins of mine and they did in fact call her "mother", i suggested that perhaps i should be calling her "aunt cyn" and i believe she was both embarassed and pleased. She and the dragonkin naomi regaled me with tales of all three's misadventures until ardos came back out to refute their claims humorously.
When we returned to the mine three ghurries later sir mathis led us to a shaft which was simply inhabited by bears. I brought up the rear guard and so by the time i actually arrived the bears - which had been in hibernation sleep after signs indicated they had eaten their own children - had already been soundly destroyed.
I welcomed the respite nevertheless, especially given the next task. Shaft number six was filled with two types of elementals, apparently those of the planes of slime (ooze, perhaps?) and salt. My experience with the planes is quite limited, as i only knew of fire water earth air life death, and radiance as an oddity. But i understand slime is a paraplane between those of earth and water, and salt a quasiplane between those of water and death. The elementals of each plane were fighting those of the other plane as much as us, so with the help of some adventurers who held elemental blades, we forged our way into the shaft as it decended into a thick conglomerate of ooze, eventually over our ankles, with more dripping down occasionally from the ceiling to damage us. It was fortunate that we found a plane portal when we did, and though i was otherwise occupied in combat i believe they closed the portal to prevent the arrival of additional elementals before we scuppered the remaining figures.
Shaft number seven··· was our great downfall and great shame. As we entered we saw some sort of mushroom monsters, which the experienced dragonreach adventurers told me were myconids, tribal and highly territorial underground beings. To make matters worse their claws, no matter the strength of their swing, carried a paralytic poison. Our aim was not to defeat the myconids, for in the manner of mushrooms they continue to spore and spawn almost indefinitely. It was to close an old dwarven door near the base of the shaft that was supposed to drain only the waste sediment and catch the mined ores, but was currently wide open. Despite what i thought was incredible effort and great planning by the leaders of the group, these myconids were able to thwart and circumvent most··· no, all, of our defenses. I was knocked unconscious more than once, as were others, and often paralysed mid-swing as well.
Our healers as well struggled to keep up, but there came a point when the paralysis on me simply wore off and i collapsed to the ground. I thought i was perhaps becoming resistant to the paralysis, but i found i still could not move. Or breathe. Or eventually see. Distantly i felt my body being carried back toward the entrance of the mine shaft but i could not tell who or what was carrying me, and even that sensation faded away until···
g̑̒̓̅̀rͭ̅̍ẻy̧ ̓̑ͩ̉̾f͋͆ͬͣö̸́gg̒̋́͢īͭ̇̏̄͐nͪ́̐ͨe̔̅̏s̐s̴ͣ̍͑
̍ͬ͆fͫͭ̔ͣ̂͏og̾̍ͦ̂͐̀g̈̓ͨ̽̅ͯy͢ ̡ͪ̃̊g̈́̓̂͞r̸̽ͪͤ͒̽ͭ̍ë̛ͬ͋ͧͤ͛y̢̍̋n̓̀̔̏̋e̴̽͊̌̑ͬ̈̚s̆͂ͨ̚̚s̽̏ͥͤ͝
d̢ͭi̔̓ͨ͆̑̈́͝m̃̐̃̓ͨlͩͩ̏ͬ͞y̽̋̀̆ͩ ̚i͘ ̃̉͆̃͊ͫ͢sͭĕe̡͒͊̾̆ ̢̉ͬ̽̅ͧt̉̑ͤ̎̌͐̒͡h̵e͒ͨ̂̊ sͭ̈͆̐ͣ͠ḧ̑͗a̕pě͛͋s͌̓ͨͭ̑ͮ̒ ̛̒̎̇̉ö̢̇ͬͭ̏ͥ̒f̾̍̄̑̇ ̨ͩͬ͐̅͊̉̆ar͞ḑ̊ͯͫ͆ͥ̀o͌̒̌͊̊̚s̶ ̉̈́ͨ̒̈ͨ̚͜a̶͌̍͗̒͑̅n̿d̓͑͌͌̀̂͂ ̛̿t͑͗ͨͬ̐̈́́h̸͒̆ͥ̌̿̿̚e̍̎ͯ͘ ̆ͣ҉o̐͛̈́ͩ̂ţ̐̇̾̈́̅ͫ̔hͩ̔ͬͨ͋̚e̢ȓ̽̒͆̌̇̌s̓̅̌̓ͦ
̊̈́̇̔́ͧō̷ͦ̚uͦ̿͂͑ͤ̆ts͠i̔ͪ̋͆ͭ̌͊dͮ͛͒̊ͯͩe̵ͫ̃ͤ ͨ̿͑́̔ͮ͐t̒ͪ͒̈́̅̈́̀h̢ͦͤ̂̐ě̐͐ ͋̔̄͑̎m̾i͐͊͗̐͗̽n̏̋͒͑͛̉̃͝e̎̄͐̏͢ ͤ̓̓̏ͫ͟sͮͮ̃̉hͣa̵̋̅̇f̾͜t̂̋̌̽͑̈́҉
ͪͬw̓́e̋̋̃'v̐͒͆ͧ͢ëͣ͋ͭͦ́ͪ ͨͭ̒̏ͯ͑̚͘s̑̿̇u̒ͪ͂ͫ̉̀̅r̀ͭ̎͊v̔͗̚̕iͦv͢ęͨ̉d̐͋͟?̛̐ ͥ͌w͏oͧ̎̋n̔̍ͩ̓̎ͦͤd̶̎̓̏̾̅̍̌eͣ̾̈r̽̎̏̈́̐͂͏f͆̅ulͦͩ̒͝!͗̉͋̿͢ ̅̅͒ͩ̎̓̚i̴ͪ̊̉̆ͨ͋ ͩ̈́͠tͧ͌҉r͗̆̉ͨͥͣ͂y̛̌ͪͨ̿ͣ t͐ō̎͂ͦ̿̋ ̇̐ͨͦ̇ͥw͡a̢ͦͮ͊l̆̋͆̀̚kͩ ͆ͪ̓́ͮ̅ͮt͑̄̚͟ő̏̔ͣͪ͂w̛͂ã̛̈̏̓͑ŗ͆̊̓͐dͩ͒ͩͩ̀ ͣͤ͡a̵ͬͧ̈͗r͐̍̒dó̃̾̃̋ͬ͊͢s͗ͤ͆͑͞ ̑͛b̏ͬu̸̅t
̏̇̍̏͌̚̚͏i̒̎ͣ̈͋ͪ̇tͣ҉ ͤ́͌҉f̧̾ͯ̊͐e͋̅̂̚e͗ͮ̈ͣͣͮl̶̈́ͧsͤ̓͛̇ͭͣ ͭ͋ͪͭͫ̈́lͣͧ̄̂ͦ̍͑i̇̊̎̆ͤkͧ̌eͥ ̓͊̊͌͗́̉a̛ͪ͛̏̓̊ ͋̄͂̓̕mͮ̑ͭ̈͑̐̚͠ir͌ͮ̈͐ȇ̊̈́̅ ͐̋ͣ̈́̚ä̸ͧ͒͐ǹ̔̍ͦ̇ͯd̈́ͥ͑ͬ ͥ̊ͯ̒ͫi̐ͫ̏̿͜ ͒͒͋̂̌̎҉c̽ą̀ͦ̿ͣ͑ͫͤnͦ̄̂͐̄́ͥ'̆͋̽ͬͦ͐t̴͂ ̓͗ͭ́̂̆́hͩ̈́̾͏aͬͪ̄ͧͫr̓̌̄ͭ̓ͯ͘d̡͐̂̚ĺ̛̎ͨ͒̍̌̿y̾ͤ̽ͤͭ͊ͣ ͟m̈͗ͭ̈́o̔̊̃͏v̓̍ͭe̡̓͆ͤ͂͆̇
̒̽t̷̓̏̾ͫͫ̍̏h͂ͧͪ̽͌̇o͂u͗͑͂̆͐͛͡g̿̈́́h̷ ͬ̉ͬ͋̀i҉ ̢̽͐f̋̊ͯ͡e̛̊̏ͦͬ͑̇eͤ̎ͯ́l̍ͭ ͫ̎a̐ ͬ̊͗͜p̆̿̔̏uͫ͋̎l̵̆͛ͬ̒̿̒l̸͋ͥͪͫͬ ͐͊̓̇̅̓͜tͤ̽̋͆̌ỏ ͯ̑̅ͦͯthͨ̓̒ͣͮ̈́̑e̓ͪͥͥ͊ ̂ͩ̐̀ͩ͐͞nͬͩoͧ̋r̒tͯ̾h́ͧ̀e͗ͮͫ͐̿̀͠ä̽ͮͭ͗͘s̾͟tͪ͗͋͢ ̧ͪsͨoͦͩmͧͪ̈̀ẽ̏̉̐̓ ̋̕d̐̇̇̍͊ͤi͘s͆̃̈͊ta͊̌n͐̑̆̚͠c̛͒̆eͦ̉ ̓̓a͋w̒̾͐̌́̈ay
͑́̑̉͟t͝h̍͂͒̿̋̚͡e͋̓̆͒̉̍͞ ̏͆̎oͥͩ͒̎̔t̀̈͑̎̒ͩ͠hͮ̓̆͐ͦ̓eȓͤ͛́ͪs͐҉ ̆̓͂́҉a͑ͪͨ͆̓̚r̔̍͑̈́ͧ͆́ė͗͌̎ͧ ͫͪ̉͑̌̊͠l̑̓̄ͫ͆͜eͣ͟a͊̽͗̐̇̈v̍͛͏i̵ͬ̿͋̅͌ͧn͐g͏ ̵ͩwͨ҉i̊t̄̌̚͝h̵͐́́̇oͨͦùt̛ͨͯ ̍ͩ̀̑̃̆͂m͐̌͌ͭ̒̕eͤ̉,̨ͨͥ͊͆ rͫ͒ͯ͋e͊̑͏t̃͐̄̈ų̀͌ͯͧ̋r̋̿̊̊̈́͜nͫ͞ȋ͒͛ͧ͟n͗gͧͫ̌ͮ̑ͧ ̓̀tͬͬ̀̿̈́̑̄͏oͨͦͫͭ ͪ͊ͧ͐̚t͡h̑͐̔̔ͫͩ̓ē͆̆ ̷ͨ̿̔fͣͨ̈́͑ő͠r̵̂̏̆̚t͛͌͋̑ͩ
̾ͤ̉͡ẇa͢iͨ͐̈́̿ͦtͩͧ͌̏ͧ̿͆!̷͌ d͏oͦͦn̔̇̊'ͪt̍̊ͧ̃̌͋҉ l̄̿e҉ąͨ̏͛v͐e͑ͮ ̆m̋ͮͩ͋ͬë ̸̾b҉eͮ͑h͗̋ͤ̂ͫ̇i̡͒̋ͪ͆n͗̽̾͠d̏͊̍ͤ̄͘!̈́ͣ͒̔̚ ̉̎̊̚ī̃̃͛ͧ̈͢n̽͑̒ͭ͌͗ ̢͛ţ͂ͣͬ͗̒̽ͯh͂̔ͯeͧ ̅̋͝h̢ͤͤ̊͗͒̓ͪa̵̒͌͐ͧ̈́ͯz̾e̶͗̈́̓̀ͣ ̵̓ͣ̄̓̇ͧ͛i͗̓̈ ͊ͣͣͨ̐͆ͫ̕l̽ͮ̐̃ͪͬo͐̓̈́͞o̿ͬ̑ͥ͂ͬ̿k̛̓̉͋̚ ̄̍̈́̊̾̅̑aͮ̃͌ͩ̉̓̍rͤ̏ͨ̿o̢u͌̓͗ͥ̅ͩ҉ǹͬ̈́͑̀ͮdͭ ͊̏͐ͩ̊͏fͩr̓̉ͪan̸͐ͬ͛ͩt͛ͪ͟ĭ̸̐͑̅ͪ̒́c̨̐͊ͦ̽ͬ̈̋ã̊ͣ͆́̅l͆͛̽lͪͤͮͨȳ͒ͭ͆̃̎͘ ̛͋̈ͩ͆ͧͮ̔a̓n̽̾ͬ̀d̛̃ ͗͠ only one thing is clear
Sloan, the barbarian
"̀ò̧h̢͝ ̸h̀͢él͟l̡" ̡̕͞"̵͢c͢͝om͟e ̷͠w̧͘i̛t҉h ͟m͏e͡"̨͟ ̵̸̀"̛ì͠ ͜͠͏d̨̡o̵̡n̵̡҉'̧t ̨͟u͞ǹ̴̛d̷̵e҉͏rs͘͜t̛͟a͘n̶͜d҉̛ ̴̀w̴h̷a̵t̕'͜s̢ ͢ha̸͘̕ppè̕ni͠ņ̷g̢͘͝"̧҉ ̢"̵͜w͢e͘ll̀͠,̡͟ ́͞͝t̶o͢ p̨͝͞ù̷t̷ ̡͝i҉t̨ ̵̛͞ì̴͞n͝ ̡s̸͝͞i̶͟m͢p͏l̷e̶͠ ̛͘͠t̸̨͝éŗ̡ḿ͟ś̢, ̕ì͠͞'̧m̧̛͟ a̷̵ ̨͘v̛á͢l̀͝k̢y̢͜͠r̶͠ię̷́ ̢͘a͟͠n̶̡͜d̛͠ ͟͟i̧t͟ i̛҉̵s҉ ̧̀̕m͡y̧͢ jo͠b̸ ̢͘to̧͡ ̀h̡e͘͜r̕d̴ ̡͠l͝o̶̷s҉̶t̢ s̸͡p̷̶í̡͟r͝i҉t̡̕͝s҉̵"̧̢ ̵"s̕o·́·͘̕· ́i d̶͡ie͞͞d?͘͠͞"̵͞҉ "́y̡̡es b̕u͠t̀͜͞ i͘͏̵ ̧͟͝w̡͘i҉̵l҉͏l ̷̶b̵e҉ ̕͝͠á̡b̸ĺe̶͟ ̴̕҉t̀҉o͘ ̡͟b̢r̷͘i̶̴n̵͜͞ģ ҉͢y̷̴o͘͞u͏r ͏̕b͏̧o҉̢dy̴̷ ̛̛̕b͝a̵c̸͠k. s̢͞͞į̶̛t ͢͢h͟ér̵̛͠é͟.̧̀͘ ́͟Ý̶̛E͞Ş̀ ̵̢I̧͟͠'M̶ ̷TA̧L̢ḰI̶̛NG̴͟͠ ̸͟T̸O͘ ̷̛T̢͠͞H̀̀E̸͘ A̛͜ÌR̶."̴̧ ̴̨"͘u͘h҉̛h̨̢͟hh̴̴ḩ·͜͝͞··"͡ ̧"n̢̕͝o̶͟ņȩ͘ o̴f̶͘͝ ͡t͘h͡e̶ o̶̷̡t̨h̕e̷r͞͝ ̡́a̷̧͜dv́e̡n̡t͏̶͟u͜͠r̢e͟͏r͘͞s ҉͡ca̛͞n̵͝ ̵̡se͜ę ̸͞yo̧u̸̡ŕ̨̡ ͜s̢p҉ir̨͘͟ì̵̴t ͟o͢͞r̀͟͡ ͟h҉ea̶̡r̸͡ ̸͘͏y̛͟o̸̷͞u.͟ ̕͠Ş̸I̧T.̧͢͜"͜͠ ̨"ye͟s͏ ̶̛͞m̵á̧'͘̕a̷̶͞m̧̡̕"́ ̛
i ̷̴́w͘͘át͝ch́́ ͏̴m̷e̴s̴m͏̛͠e͜r͡i͞sè͠d̵͏ ҉̷̷a͘͜͜s̡ ̶͡s̶̷͜h͟͡e͏ ̨̢b̀͟eg̨ì̕n̢̛͢s͠͞ ̕t͘ǫ ̸̴s̵ç͘u̴l͞p̴͡t̶̛ ̴a b̧o͟d͡͏y͘͏ s̡͠h͟͝á̧p͘e ́͘a͝r̷͏͜ơu̴̕͘n̢d ̶̛͟m̵͞e̸͜ fro̕͞m̧ ̸̨the ̢̕á̴̧į̵̨r̛͝,҉͡͡ ̡t̨ḩ̶͟e҉̢̛ ̢̡͞òv͏e̷̢͠r͘͡a̴l̸̵l̨͘͝ s͘h̨̕͝a͜͜͡p̀e͠ ͘b̶ȩ́͜ç̵̕om̧i͘͘ǹ́g ̡͞mo͝r̷e̛͟ ̕r̛͟҉e̶͠f̕in͘e̛d̕ ̛a̸͝s͢ ̡͢sh̨e͏ ̶s͏̧c̢u͝l̴̢pt̶̛s̵͘ o͟ú͜͞ţ̴͠ ̵̀̀a̵̸͟r͘͢͢mş͞ ̸̕a̴͢n̸͘͞d̸̡ ̡́l̨̡͟egs͘ ̡͠a̢̡n̶d̛ ͢͜h͞e͠a͢d͜, ͜t͠h̡͟e͟͢n̴̡͢ ̨͠͡in͜d̴įv̴̕į͘͟d̵̛͟ùa͏̴͟l ̛dig̶̢i͡͞t̡s͢͜͜.͏͘͟ ̸̀
"̵̕i̵ ͘͘a̧͜m̸ q̛u̵̴i͘͠ţ̷e̷ ͢͝͡s̷͟ó̵̀r̀r̛͞y ̶̷f̀͞ór͠ ́͜ớ͠f̴fe̢̡͞n̷d͞ing ̴͠y̷o̕͜u̶҉͝ ̢҉̵e̛͟a̶҉͢r̡͏҉l̵͢i̕̕e̷r͟,͢ ̶͘͟i ̛d͟i̵d̛҉n͜'̧t̶ ̶m͝e͟a̛n͘ ̶̧tò"̸ ̧͢"n̡o̶̸b҉҉o̡҉d̴͢͢ý̧̛ ̸͠é͏v̷̡e̡͜r̨̛ ́͠s̢͢e͢e͠҉̧ms̶ ͢t҉o̶̵.̨̛ ̴i̶ ̸̵a̕m̷ ̶͘no̢t ͡á̶̴ ̸̢͢l͠ad̴͘͝y͡ ͘a͘ń͡d̴͠ ̡́ì̶͝ ͘w̨i͏̧͝l̡l ͡n̡͜e̶̶͘v̸̛̀e҉͏r ̵̛b̸̕͡e҉̸.̧͘ ̷̵͡ý͘ơ̵̶u҉ ̡҉c̨͢͜ąl̢l̷ ͠ḿ̵è̕ s̡͢lo̧a̶ņ͜,̵́ ̴͡o҉̧́r͜ ̀va̧l̡̨͞k͘͡yr͟͏ie͝,̸͟͞ n͘͜o̴t̷̕͠h̷͟in͘g̢ ̶̕e̕͞ļ̵ś̡e̵̢.͢͞"̸͟ ҉"̵i̡͏ ͢͏́c̶͠a̵̶̢ń̕ d̀o͡͡ ͟t̵̢h̨͜͡a҉̨t͜.̛"҉
̶w̶h͡il̨̕͜e ̢͢m̢̧͡y̴̷ ̡̢b̶o͟͡d̷͢y҉͡ ̸į̨s͏ be̡in͜͏g̵ ̧̕͜f̶̧o͡r̨̛͜m̀̀ęd͢͠҉ ̛i̢͠n̶̕ ͢҉t҉͘h̴̴́è͠͡ è̢͝t͜h̶͝e͘͢r̢͞ ̵͢i҉ ͘b҉̨eg̸͡͠ì͡n̷͡ ̡͢t̶͜͞ò͟ ̴̀͡r͘͏é̡g̕͜a̢͞i͟͝͡n҉͜ ͜͟o͏҉t͘͟͟hé͞r̵͘ ̢̛͢s̶e̶͘͝ǹs̷̀és̷ ̀à̴n̨͘d͜͞ ̶̧s̕͢͡eę̕͢ ̸d̛̕i̵̶m͘ļy ͘͟o҉̕t̢̀h̵̕e͜͠r͠ ̶͡a̡͜͏d͘̕v͝eņ͠tu҉̵r͢҉e̢͏͝ŕs ̨g̡à͞t́h̶e̡r̵͏ed, ̶̛͠a̡͠ ̶͟͞bi̴͡t̨ ̢́͘o͘͠f҉ ҉̴̶v͟͜è̡r̸y̶̧ ̨m̶̸̛u̸҉ffl͠e̛҉d̵ ̸s͏̛h̢̀ou̧ţ̵in͢͠g̀,҉̛ ̡ĺ̛͘o̧ò͢k̸͡in̸̴g ̧͟҉àt̴͏ ̵b́o͘o͏ks̨, ͢a̢͟ ḿ͘ywé̡͜ ̴͜͠i̸̵̵n s͟h҉̸ac̶̀͡k̛͜l̨̀è̴s̴̀
̸̀"w̴h҉at̴̀͝ ̴̧i҉ś͡͝ h͏͏app̶̸e̶n̢i͘͢n̢ǵ̷̛ o̵̷u̵t ͢t̴h̴͢e҉rę?͏̨"̷̡͟ ̨͝"w͟͠h̸̕͜e͢n y͜òu̸͜ ͏̸d̵̨͘i̛e̴͜͞d ̧͠a͞n͏̨d̡ ͠the͘͜͞ ̵̢r̢͜e͘͠s̶͜t̡͝ ̧͠òf̷̡͏ ̸̢͠u͢͞s ̸w͝ere̶͠ ̨͢u̢͜ņco̢ns̡c̨͠i͢o̵us̶,͠ ţh̷́͘e̛҉ ͘m̷y̶͢c̸҉͟ó͢ni͜d̶́ş̴̡ ҉in̨fȩ͝c͏̶t͏͜e̶̶͟d͟ ̢̡͢u͏s͏̧ ́a̧͡lļ̀ ̢a̧͝nd͡ ̶̀t̡҉̨h̛̛e͏̛n͠͞ r͏ȩ́m̡̕ớ̢v̸̢e͝d̷͝ ́͢u̵͠s̕ ͠f̶r̶͠ǫ́m͏ ́̕t̴͏hé͡͝ir mì̡͝n̡e̡ s͏h̸͞af͡t̴.͢ ̵the͜͡y̢͟ ̵́d̛idn'̨͟͠t͜҉ ̸̨̨w̷á͞ņ҉t̨̛͏ ̢to͞ ̷̨ki҉̴l̷͟l͟ ứ̧s͜,̸ ́t̨he̛͢y͢͡ ̨j̀͢ust́ ̶͠͝ẁ͞a̛nt́͡e͟҉d̨ ̷̸̀us̵ ͞͞҉o̸ų̴t͏́͡ ̸ơ͝f͡͏ ͏͡t̶̨h̨͝͡ei̷̧r̶ ͡͡t͏͠e̕r̸r͏̡ì͞t̡͝o̡̡͢ŕ͜y͟.̷͡͡ ̡ṕ͝y̕k̡é ̵̨͜w͏o͡͠k̸̵ę̀͡ ̸̛f͟rom̶͟͡ ̧͏̢hì͏͘s ̴̀͡p͝͏a͘͝r͢͠à̕l̶̨y̧s̵̴͞i҉͜s̴̨͟ ̀҉a̛n͘͜d́͘ ͝t̵̷͝h͏̡͞o̴u͢g҉h̸̛t ̨͡ẁè ̸͠w̨e͢ŕ̢͡e̡͞ ̸͡s̕͠t͘i͞ļl̷̛ ͝f̷̢i̶͠gh̨͟t̸͞͝ì̶̢n̕g̶͟͏ ͜͝s̀̕o̶̧ ̢̀é̀v̕͢eǹ̢ ̡͝t̵h̴̵͡ò͝ú͟g̕h ́t̸҉̕h̨͝e̴y'd͏͞ ̡͡r̀e͠t̴r̀͏̀eat͝ȩd̶̕ ̸͢͠h̡͜͞ę̷ ̧͟͠t͏ḩ̢͠r͢͠͡e̶w͘͡͞ ̧̡a̡͟ ̶̀͞g͘̕͠a̵̡s̴ ̢̀g̷̕l̕͏ob̷̸̵e͠.̵͟͡ ͢w̡͜͜ȩ ͡w͏͏o͞uld h̷̀a̴̶v̛e ͝a̡͡ll͏ d̕i̡͟e̴̡̕d͘͢ ̶w̨i̴̷th̢͘̕ ̀͏y̢͟ó̶̧ų ҉íf̀͏͠ t́́͘r͜e͏͜͟l͡lì͟͝s͡ ̧̛h̶͢a҉̵̢d́n̢͜'̶̢͠t ̷ţhr̀o̢͞w̧n̶̨ ̷u̵҉p̶͝ ̶̶̢a ̛͏w͠à̢ļl̀ ̶͢o̧f͝ ͘͜f̧̕o͠r҉̀c̶e̶͘ t͡o ̶p̨͜r̶̕ǫtéc̵͟t̀́ ́́us͜͢͝.̵͞ ̧͏p͏́y͘͠k̨͜e͠ ̸͜i͝s̵̶̕ ́͟b͞é̕ínģ͠ ̧͠c̶h̵̶͘aŕ̕͢g̶͡e͏d̸̨͟ ̨w͞i̡̧̛t̨̨͡ḩ̀ ̧̀r̶͞è̴̶ck̴͡l͟͞e͟s̶̢s̵͘ ͢ę̧ń̶̡ḑ̴a͡n̵͝g̷͝e҉̵̷r̷m̛͢͞é̀͝n̶t̢͢.̧"̴ ̷"oh ̧͏͟g̸e҉̛́ȩz̧̕̕.̴ ҉i̴̶ ̷m̛̀͏i̴̕͢s̴s͠e̶d̸ a̕҉̴ ĺ̀͝o̴̶͏t̵ ̨t̡h͢e̴̴̴n.̶"̴ ́̀"n̷o̸͟͡t̷̨ ͏͏͘r͜e̢͞a̸̵ĺlỳ̸̕,̢͠ ̸͟i b̶e̵͠l͡ie̵̴v҉̴͢ę̸ ̷yo͞͠u̶͟r͡͏ ̷b̶̡o͟d̶̡͠y̨ ̵́͘d̷i͝s̢s̵͡ò̢l̨̀͞v̴͠e̢d҉̷̨ ͠͝a͠r̴̕ơ̷ù̸n̕d̡ t̶h̸è ͢s̷a͢͟m̨͝ę̨͜ ti͘͠m͘͟͏e̷͘ ̢͘t͏̸͢h͢e ͟͠͡mycơ͜n͞͡͝įd̵̢ś̷ ̵̕͞w͏̡e̡̡͠r̨͘̕e͟ ̶b̧͜r̸i͞͝͏n͜͟g͠in͝ģ ̸̧͟u̸̕̕s̸̡ ́b̴a̷çk͟ ̢͝up͠ o҉̶͜ut̷̛ ̷̡̀of͢͢ ̵͏͏t̵h̀e҉͜ m̨i̧͜n̛ȩ̛͝. n̢o͡͏w̢,҉ ̡̀this might hurt a bit---"
I awoke flying backward against a balustrade at the fort, a not-intense but acute and unexpected pain in my heart and chest.
The barbarian sloan, who i had only spoken to once since arriving at the mine this morning and had inadvertently offended, apparently resurrected me through her gift of transform. I noticed as she handed me my clothes and weapons, which the mywe colette had retrieved from the mineshaft, that sloan was less severe toward me than before. The duration of her resurrection ritual was difficult to recall in my head but i felt immense gratitude and relief. So also did ardos, who immediately came to my side and apologised for not defending me better. I embraced him and told him it didn't matter because i was alive again, and he had protected everyone else.
Çerhêni and dszeni were unharmed, as resilient as they are, but one of my boots had broken in the battle and a leg of my trousers was torn at the seams. The adventurers and miners gave me the time i needed to reacclimate myself to life··· a strange thing to write, and a stranger thing to experience··· and to repair myself and my gear to a presentable standard. At that time sir mathis had determined that pyke's crime, which i vaguely recalled sloan telling me about during her ritual, had to be tried by someone of higher station than himself, and determined to forestwalk pyke and two witnesses (commander lukas and the dryad trellis) back to count ko for summary judgment. I requested to accompany them as an objective observer and the good knight granted my request. Of the judgment i will not spend much time writing, for the nobles were behind closed doors much of it. Suffice it to say that pyke's crime was confirmed but no death (other than an unknown assassination back at the fort and an immediate revival) would be required of him, provided he repaid double the healing craefte the adventurers had to use and performed a community service under sir mathis.
Though we could have returned simply to valbridge, i asked that we go back to the springdale mine where presumably ardos and the others were waiting our return. Indeed they had all waited on us rather than begin their trek back to the springdale waystone some sixteen verstă away. As sir mathis announced pyke's sentence to the rest of the group, ardos and i walked aside aways and i told him that i should probably move in with him when we returned to valbridge, at least until my other business in dragonreach was concluded. He so wholeheartedly agreed that it felt like i really belonged with these people.
And so, at the moment, the call of the sela has truly led me home. Seated on a bench in ardos' home in valbridge with a warm hearth next to me, updating this journal, recalling everything that has happened this day, because it surely is the beginning of another grand adventure.
The ordeal was exhausting enough for everyone involved that, instead of continue immediately with another mine shaft, the troupe headed back to the surface and returned to the fort to recuperate and heal up. The settlement was kind enough to provide food for us as we prepared to press on. During this time i became more familiar with avacyn ironrose, or cyn for short, the headmother of the forgotten hope earth healers' guild. She had become an adopted mother to ardos, radi, and taios in the absence of their parents, and was very gracious and kind and interested in getting to know me. Since the irani are distant cousins of mine and they did in fact call her "mother", i suggested that perhaps i should be calling her "aunt cyn" and i believe she was both embarassed and pleased. She and the dragonkin naomi regaled me with tales of all three's misadventures until ardos came back out to refute their claims humorously.
When we returned to the mine three ghurries later sir mathis led us to a shaft which was simply inhabited by bears. I brought up the rear guard and so by the time i actually arrived the bears - which had been in hibernation sleep after signs indicated they had eaten their own children - had already been soundly destroyed.
I welcomed the respite nevertheless, especially given the next task. Shaft number six was filled with two types of elementals, apparently those of the planes of slime (ooze, perhaps?) and salt. My experience with the planes is quite limited, as i only knew of fire water earth air life death, and radiance as an oddity. But i understand slime is a paraplane between those of earth and water, and salt a quasiplane between those of water and death. The elementals of each plane were fighting those of the other plane as much as us, so with the help of some adventurers who held elemental blades, we forged our way into the shaft as it decended into a thick conglomerate of ooze, eventually over our ankles, with more dripping down occasionally from the ceiling to damage us. It was fortunate that we found a plane portal when we did, and though i was otherwise occupied in combat i believe they closed the portal to prevent the arrival of additional elementals before we scuppered the remaining figures.
Shaft number seven··· was our great downfall and great shame. As we entered we saw some sort of mushroom monsters, which the experienced dragonreach adventurers told me were myconids, tribal and highly territorial underground beings. To make matters worse their claws, no matter the strength of their swing, carried a paralytic poison. Our aim was not to defeat the myconids, for in the manner of mushrooms they continue to spore and spawn almost indefinitely. It was to close an old dwarven door near the base of the shaft that was supposed to drain only the waste sediment and catch the mined ores, but was currently wide open. Despite what i thought was incredible effort and great planning by the leaders of the group, these myconids were able to thwart and circumvent most··· no, all, of our defenses. I was knocked unconscious more than once, as were others, and often paralysed mid-swing as well.
Our healers as well struggled to keep up, but there came a point when the paralysis on me simply wore off and i collapsed to the ground. I thought i was perhaps becoming resistant to the paralysis, but i found i still could not move. Or breathe. Or eventually see. Distantly i felt my body being carried back toward the entrance of the mine shaft but i could not tell who or what was carrying me, and even that sensation faded away until···
Sloan, the barbarian
"̀ò̧h̢͝ ̸h̀͢él͟l̡" ̡̕͞"̵͢c͢͝om͟e ̷͠w̧͘i̛t҉h ͟m͏e͡"̨͟ ̵̸̀"̛ì͠ ͜͠͏d̨̡o̵̡n̵̡҉'̧t ̨͟u͞ǹ̴̛d̷̵e҉͏rs͘͜t̛͟a͘n̶͜d҉̛ ̴̀w̴h̷a̵t̕'͜s̢ ͢ha̸͘̕ppè̕ni͠ņ̷g̢͘͝"̧҉ ̢"̵͜w͢e͘ll̀͠,̡͟ ́͞͝t̶o͢ p̨͝͞ù̷t̷ ̡͝i҉t̨ ̵̛͞ì̴͞n͝ ̡s̸͝͞i̶͟m͢p͏l̷e̶͠ ̛͘͠t̸̨͝éŗ̡ḿ͟ś̢, ̕ì͠͞'̧m̧̛͟ a̷̵ ̨͘v̛á͢l̀͝k̢y̢͜͠r̶͠ię̷́ ̢͘a͟͠n̶̡͜d̛͠ ͟͟i̧t͟ i̛҉̵s҉ ̧̀̕m͡y̧͢ jo͠b̸ ̢͘to̧͡ ̀h̡e͘͜r̕d̴ ̡͠l͝o̶̷s҉̶t̢ s̸͡p̷̶í̡͟r͝i҉t̡̕͝s҉̵"̧̢ ̵"s̕o·́·͘̕· ́i d̶͡ie͞͞d?͘͠͞"̵͞҉ "́y̡̡es b̕u͠t̀͜͞ i͘͏̵ ̧͟͝w̡͘i҉̵l҉͏l ̷̶b̵e҉ ̕͝͠á̡b̸ĺe̶͟ ̴̕҉t̀҉o͘ ̡͟b̢r̷͘i̶̴n̵͜͞ģ ҉͢y̷̴o͘͞u͏r ͏̕b͏̧o҉̢dy̴̷ ̛̛̕b͝a̵c̸͠k. s̢͞͞į̶̛t ͢͢h͟ér̵̛͠é͟.̧̀͘ ́͟Ý̶̛E͞Ş̀ ̵̢I̧͟͠'M̶ ̷TA̧L̢ḰI̶̛NG̴͟͠ ̸͟T̸O͘ ̷̛T̢͠͞H̀̀E̸͘ A̛͜ÌR̶."̴̧ ̴̨"͘u͘h҉̛h̨̢͟hh̴̴ḩ·͜͝͞··"͡ ̧"n̢̕͝o̶͟ņȩ͘ o̴f̶͘͝ ͡t͘h͡e̶ o̶̷̡t̨h̕e̷r͞͝ ̡́a̷̧͜dv́e̡n̡t͏̶͟u͜͠r̢e͟͏r͘͞s ҉͡ca̛͞n̵͝ ̵̡se͜ę ̸͞yo̧u̸̡ŕ̨̡ ͜s̢p҉ir̨͘͟ì̵̴t ͟o͢͞r̀͟͡ ͟h҉ea̶̡r̸͡ ̸͘͏y̛͟o̸̷͞u.͟ ̕͠Ş̸I̧T.̧͢͜"͜͠ ̨"ye͟s͏ ̶̛͞m̵á̧'͘̕a̷̶͞m̧̡̕"́ ̛
i ̷̴́w͘͘át͝ch́́ ͏̴m̷e̴s̴m͏̛͠e͜r͡i͞sè͠d̵͏ ҉̷̷a͘͜͜s̡ ̶͡s̶̷͜h͟͡e͏ ̨̢b̀͟eg̨ì̕n̢̛͢s͠͞ ̕t͘ǫ ̸̴s̵ç͘u̴l͞p̴͡t̶̛ ̴a b̧o͟d͡͏y͘͏ s̡͠h͟͝á̧p͘e ́͘a͝r̷͏͜ơu̴̕͘n̢d ̶̛͟m̵͞e̸͜ fro̕͞m̧ ̸̨the ̢̕á̴̧į̵̨r̛͝,҉͡͡ ̡t̨ḩ̶͟e҉̢̛ ̢̡͞òv͏e̷̢͠r͘͡a̴l̸̵l̨͘͝ s͘h̨̕͝a͜͜͡p̀e͠ ͘b̶ȩ́͜ç̵̕om̧i͘͘ǹ́g ̡͞mo͝r̷e̛͟ ̕r̛͟҉e̶͠f̕in͘e̛d̕ ̛a̸͝s͢ ̡͢sh̨e͏ ̶s͏̧c̢u͝l̴̢pt̶̛s̵͘ o͟ú͜͞ţ̴͠ ̵̀̀a̵̸͟r͘͢͢mş͞ ̸̕a̴͢n̸͘͞d̸̡ ̡́l̨̡͟egs͘ ̡͠a̢̡n̶d̛ ͢͜h͞e͠a͢d͜, ͜t͠h̡͟e͟͢n̴̡͢ ̨͠͡in͜d̴įv̴̕į͘͟d̵̛͟ùa͏̴͟l ̛dig̶̢i͡͞t̡s͢͜͜.͏͘͟ ̸̀
"̵̕i̵ ͘͘a̧͜m̸ q̛u̵̴i͘͠ţ̷e̷ ͢͝͡s̷͟ó̵̀r̀r̛͞y ̶̷f̀͞ór͠ ́͜ớ͠f̴fe̢̡͞n̷d͞ing ̴͠y̷o̕͜u̶҉͝ ̢҉̵e̛͟a̶҉͢r̡͏҉l̵͢i̕̕e̷r͟,͢ ̶͘͟i ̛d͟i̵d̛҉n͜'̧t̶ ̶m͝e͟a̛n͘ ̶̧tò"̸ ̧͢"n̡o̶̸b҉҉o̡҉d̴͢͢ý̧̛ ̸͠é͏v̷̡e̡͜r̨̛ ́͠s̢͢e͢e͠҉̧ms̶ ͢t҉o̶̵.̨̛ ̴i̶ ̸̵a̕m̷ ̶͘no̢t ͡á̶̴ ̸̢͢l͠ad̴͘͝y͡ ͘a͘ń͡d̴͠ ̡́ì̶͝ ͘w̨i͏̧͝l̡l ͡n̡͜e̶̶͘v̸̛̀e҉͏r ̵̛b̸̕͡e҉̸.̧͘ ̷̵͡ý͘ơ̵̶u҉ ̡҉c̨͢͜ąl̢l̷ ͠ḿ̵è̕ s̡͢lo̧a̶ņ͜,̵́ ̴͡o҉̧́r͜ ̀va̧l̡̨͞k͘͡yr͟͏ie͝,̸͟͞ n͘͜o̴t̷̕͠h̷͟in͘g̢ ̶̕e̕͞ļ̵ś̡e̵̢.͢͞"̸͟ ҉"̵i̡͏ ͢͏́c̶͠a̵̶̢ń̕ d̀o͡͡ ͟t̵̢h̨͜͡a҉̨t͜.̛"҉
̶w̶h͡il̨̕͜e ̢͢m̢̧͡y̴̷ ̡̢b̶o͟͡d̷͢y҉͡ ̸į̨s͏ be̡in͜͏g̵ ̧̕͜f̶̧o͡r̨̛͜m̀̀ęd͢͠҉ ̛i̢͠n̶̕ ͢҉t҉͘h̴̴́è͠͡ è̢͝t͜h̶͝e͘͢r̢͞ ̵͢i҉ ͘b҉̨eg̸͡͠ì͡n̷͡ ̡͢t̶͜͞ò͟ ̴̀͡r͘͏é̡g̕͜a̢͞i͟͝͡n҉͜ ͜͟o͏҉t͘͟͟hé͞r̵͘ ̢̛͢s̶e̶͘͝ǹs̷̀és̷ ̀à̴n̨͘d͜͞ ̶̧s̕͢͡eę̕͢ ̸d̛̕i̵̶m͘ļy ͘͟o҉̕t̢̀h̵̕e͜͠r͠ ̶͡a̡͜͏d͘̕v͝eņ͠tu҉̵r͢҉e̢͏͝ŕs ̨g̡à͞t́h̶e̡r̵͏ed, ̶̛͠a̡͠ ̶͟͞bi̴͡t̨ ̢́͘o͘͠f҉ ҉̴̶v͟͜è̡r̸y̶̧ ̨m̶̸̛u̸҉ffl͠e̛҉d̵ ̸s͏̛h̢̀ou̧ţ̵in͢͠g̀,҉̛ ̡ĺ̛͘o̧ò͢k̸͡in̸̴g ̧͟҉àt̴͏ ̵b́o͘o͏ks̨, ͢a̢͟ ḿ͘ywé̡͜ ̴͜͠i̸̵̵n s͟h҉̸ac̶̀͡k̛͜l̨̀è̴s̴̀
̸̀"w̴h҉at̴̀͝ ̴̧i҉ś͡͝ h͏͏app̶̸e̶n̢i͘͢n̢ǵ̷̛ o̵̷u̵t ͢t̴h̴͢e҉rę?͏̨"̷̡͟ ̨͝"w͟͠h̸̕͜e͢n y͜òu̸͜ ͏̸d̵̨͘i̛e̴͜͞d ̧͠a͞n͏̨d̡ ͠the͘͜͞ ̵̢r̢͜e͘͠s̶͜t̡͝ ̧͠òf̷̡͏ ̸̢͠u͢͞s ̸w͝ere̶͠ ̨͢u̢͜ņco̢ns̡c̨͠i͢o̵us̶,͠ ţh̷́͘e̛҉ ͘m̷y̶͢c̸҉͟ó͢ni͜d̶́ş̴̡ ҉in̨fȩ͝c͏̶t͏͜e̶̶͟d͟ ̢̡͢u͏s͏̧ ́a̧͡lļ̀ ̢a̧͝nd͡ ̶̀t̡҉̨h̛̛e͏̛n͠͞ r͏ȩ́m̡̕ớ̢v̸̢e͝d̷͝ ́͢u̵͠s̕ ͠f̶r̶͠ǫ́m͏ ́̕t̴͏hé͡͝ir mì̡͝n̡e̡ s͏h̸͞af͡t̴.͢ ̵the͜͡y̢͟ ̵́d̛idn'̨͟͠t͜҉ ̸̨̨w̷á͞ņ҉t̨̛͏ ̢to͞ ̷̨ki҉̴l̷͟l͟ ứ̧s͜,̸ ́t̨he̛͢y͢͡ ̨j̀͢ust́ ̶͠͝ẁ͞a̛nt́͡e͟҉d̨ ̷̸̀us̵ ͞͞҉o̸ų̴t͏́͡ ̸ơ͝f͡͏ ͏͡t̶̨h̨͝͡ei̷̧r̶ ͡͡t͏͠e̕r̸r͏̡ì͞t̡͝o̡̡͢ŕ͜y͟.̷͡͡ ̡ṕ͝y̕k̡é ̵̨͜w͏o͡͠k̸̵ę̀͡ ̸̛f͟rom̶͟͡ ̧͏̢hì͏͘s ̴̀͡p͝͏a͘͝r͢͠à̕l̶̨y̧s̵̴͞i҉͜s̴̨͟ ̀҉a̛n͘͜d́͘ ͝t̵̷͝h͏̡͞o̴u͢g҉h̸̛t ̨͡ẁè ̸͠w̨e͢ŕ̢͡e̡͞ ̸͡s̕͠t͘i͞ļl̷̛ ͝f̷̢i̶͠gh̨͟t̸͞͝ì̶̢n̕g̶͟͏ ͜͝s̀̕o̶̧ ̢̀é̀v̕͢eǹ̢ ̡͝t̵h̴̵͡ò͝ú͟g̕h ́t̸҉̕h̨͝e̴y'd͏͞ ̡͡r̀e͠t̴r̀͏̀eat͝ȩd̶̕ ̸͢͠h̡͜͞ę̷ ̧͟͠t͏ḩ̢͠r͢͠͡e̶w͘͡͞ ̧̡a̡͟ ̶̀͞g͘̕͠a̵̡s̴ ̢̀g̷̕l̕͏ob̷̸̵e͠.̵͟͡ ͢w̡͜͜ȩ ͡w͏͏o͞uld h̷̀a̴̶v̛e ͝a̡͡ll͏ d̕i̡͟e̴̡̕d͘͢ ̶w̨i̴̷th̢͘̕ ̀͏y̢͟ó̶̧ų ҉íf̀͏͠ t́́͘r͜e͏͜͟l͡lì͟͝s͡ ̧̛h̶͢a҉̵̢d́n̢͜'̶̢͠t ̷ţhr̀o̢͞w̧n̶̨ ̷u̵҉p̶͝ ̶̶̢a ̛͏w͠à̢ļl̀ ̶͢o̧f͝ ͘͜f̧̕o͠r҉̀c̶e̶͘ t͡o ̶p̨͜r̶̕ǫtéc̵͟t̀́ ́́us͜͢͝.̵͞ ̧͏p͏́y͘͠k̨͜e͠ ̸͜i͝s̵̶̕ ́͟b͞é̕ínģ͠ ̧͠c̶h̵̶͘aŕ̕͢g̶͡e͏d̸̨͟ ̨w͞i̡̧̛t̨̨͡ḩ̀ ̧̀r̶͞è̴̶ck̴͡l͟͞e͟s̶̢s̵͘ ͢ę̧ń̶̡ḑ̴a͡n̵͝g̷͝e҉̵̷r̷m̛͢͞é̀͝n̶t̢͢.̧"̴ ̷"oh ̧͏͟g̸e҉̛́ȩz̧̕̕.̴ ҉i̴̶ ̷m̛̀͏i̴̕͢s̴s͠e̶d̸ a̕҉̴ ĺ̀͝o̴̶͏t̵ ̨t̡h͢e̴̴̴n.̶"̴ ́̀"n̷o̸͟͡t̷̨ ͏͏͘r͜e̢͞a̸̵ĺlỳ̸̕,̢͠ ̸͟i b̶e̵͠l͡ie̵̴v҉̴͢ę̸ ̷yo͞͠u̶͟r͡͏ ̷b̶̡o͟d̶̡͠y̨ ̵́͘d̷i͝s̢s̵͡ò̢l̨̀͞v̴͠e̢d҉̷̨ ͠͝a͠r̴̕ơ̷ù̸n̕d̡ t̶h̸è ͢s̷a͢͟m̨͝ę̨͜ ti͘͠m͘͟͏e̷͘ ̢͘t͏̸͢h͢e ͟͠͡mycơ͜n͞͡͝įd̵̢ś̷ ̵̕͞w͏̡e̡̡͠r̨͘̕e͟ ̶b̧͜r̸i͞͝͏n͜͟g͠in͝ģ ̸̧͟u̸̕̕s̸̡ ́b̴a̷çk͟ ̢͝up͠ o҉̶͜ut̷̛ ̷̡̀of͢͢ ̵͏͏t̵h̀e҉͜ m̨i̧͜n̛ȩ̛͝. n̢o͡͏w̢,҉ ̡̀this might hurt a bit---"
I awoke flying backward against a balustrade at the fort, a not-intense but acute and unexpected pain in my heart and chest.
The barbarian sloan, who i had only spoken to once since arriving at the mine this morning and had inadvertently offended, apparently resurrected me through her gift of transform. I noticed as she handed me my clothes and weapons, which the mywe colette had retrieved from the mineshaft, that sloan was less severe toward me than before. The duration of her resurrection ritual was difficult to recall in my head but i felt immense gratitude and relief. So also did ardos, who immediately came to my side and apologised for not defending me better. I embraced him and told him it didn't matter because i was alive again, and he had protected everyone else.
Çerhêni and dszeni were unharmed, as resilient as they are, but one of my boots had broken in the battle and a leg of my trousers was torn at the seams. The adventurers and miners gave me the time i needed to reacclimate myself to life··· a strange thing to write, and a stranger thing to experience··· and to repair myself and my gear to a presentable standard. At that time sir mathis had determined that pyke's crime, which i vaguely recalled sloan telling me about during her ritual, had to be tried by someone of higher station than himself, and determined to forestwalk pyke and two witnesses (commander lukas and the dryad trellis) back to count ko for summary judgment. I requested to accompany them as an objective observer and the good knight granted my request. Of the judgment i will not spend much time writing, for the nobles were behind closed doors much of it. Suffice it to say that pyke's crime was confirmed but no death (other than an unknown assassination back at the fort and an immediate revival) would be required of him, provided he repaid double the healing craefte the adventurers had to use and performed a community service under sir mathis.
Though we could have returned simply to valbridge, i asked that we go back to the springdale mine where presumably ardos and the others were waiting our return. Indeed they had all waited on us rather than begin their trek back to the springdale waystone some sixteen verstă away. As sir mathis announced pyke's sentence to the rest of the group, ardos and i walked aside aways and i told him that i should probably move in with him when we returned to valbridge, at least until my other business in dragonreach was concluded. He so wholeheartedly agreed that it felt like i really belonged with these people.
And so, at the moment, the call of the sela has truly led me home. Seated on a bench in ardos' home in valbridge with a warm hearth next to me, updating this journal, recalling everything that has happened this day, because it surely is the beginning of another grand adventure.
