For a proper account of the events that went on in this entertaining session, see DM log— lizardman battle.
Theren’s Notes: If fate is a river, then it is one that is unnavigable, full of hidden pit-falls, and against all the odds flowing up-hill. Such is my understanding of current events as I am tossed and turned in the eddies of circumstance. Indeed at one moment everything seems to be going swimmingly, and then at others I feel all washed up. I should start from where I left off to best explain myself – Zephyr had been pulled into the pit, with an unknown foe.
It was clear that Swiftblade wanted to jump into the pit and in preparation I lay down some cover fire to blind our enemies to his plans. Before he could make his move, however, there was a great shriek from the pit, and with a sinking feeling I knew we would be fishing the wizard’s corpse out rather than rescuing him. Luckily Zephyr had been so invigorated by the attack of whatever was down there that he came shooting out of the hole like a goblin from a burning hedge. The trapper was most displeased, and he shouted at us in hisses and croaks. It was then that further poison darts from unseen attackers in the shrubbery nearby convinced me that I might best aid my fellows by taking out these snipers. Before I did so, however, I could not help myself in calling out to the trapper, and demanding that he forfeit his hat in recognition of my superior head-gear. He did not, and I vowed I would teach him the error of his ways.
I dived into the foliage, and almost immediately was removed from the main fight, as my vision of the action was obscured, and the sounds of shouts and hisses became muted. For a sniper to fight a sniper, you must have no outside distractions, and I was thus consumed in my task. My armour seemed to shimmer and shift, and I could feel the leaves at the scruff of my neck raising like hackles on an angry dog. For a short time I stood perfectly still, waiting to see if a blow came at me from the darkness. I knew that the longer I waited in one spot, the more likely it was that the lizard man might chance upon me, and so stealthily, step by step, I crept deeper into the cover, and away from my allies. There was a sudden shiver in the bushes as the lizardman attacked, and a blow-dart sank into a branch feet from where I was standing. I knew I couldn’t risk crashing clumsily after the reptile, or it would slither away and I would be standing in the open, so despite my desperate wishes to throw off the burdens of stealth, I circled around to attack from the side. When I reached where the creature should have been, however, it was gone. It was one step ahead of me, and must have realised I would head for the source of the disturbance. I had to flee the area quickly, or risk being the hunted, rather than the hunter.
Realising that although I was keeping the sniper busy, there was more help that needed to be done, I turned my back on the task, and instead used the cover of the bushes to sneak towards the trapper with the nice headdress. The sniper I had been duelling with previously, seemed fatigued by the stress of the sniping battle, and fled the bushes with its tail between its legs, only to be promptly dispatched. Meanwhile the trapper was in dire straights. I couldn’t let it end with an inglorious death, and so, taking my chances, I dived out of the bushes and slammed the hilt of my sword into the lizardman’s temple, knocking him out and sparing him the pointy end of Swiftblade’s sabre.
We soon tidied up, and while Zephyr and Swiftblade were squabbling in the dirt some distance away, Jorn brought the lizardman back to conciousness. I exerted my hat-superiority, staking my claim on his headdress, and taking said item of apparel as a token of my victory. It can be said that the trapper and I shared an unspoken understanding. Although we didn’t speak the same language, the language of the hat is universal. I spared the trapper, as he had impressed me with his stylish headgear, but warned him that I would not be so lenient in the future.
Feeling tired, and in need of a good sleep, the group reconvened in the cave. Inside was the trapper’s den. It looked about as good as it smelled, and with the rotting corpses of several iguana littering the ground, it was no bed of roses. Although obviously even though a bed of roses would smell nice, it would also be very painful, due to the thorns. Luckily there weren’t any thorns in the cave. There were some gold coins, laid out in a pattern in the same manner as the ‘ curse’ we saw in Vilma’s hut, and Bastian confirmed that the pattern was (as far as he was aware) a superstitious ritual with little to no actual effect. Although there was no other treasure, there were a few live iguanas in the cave. Here was a perfect chance to secure myself a pet. I have heard that they grow into mighty dragons, which would certainly be a steed befitting me, as an elven warrior of supreme power. I requested that Swiftblade tame it. Partially to give him a distraction from pining over Concorde (how quickly he has gone from reprimanding Zephyr and me over attempting to keep Concorde, to seeing it as his own friend and companion) and partially because with time and practice, he might become as good as I am at calming animals. He was dubious, even though it is only a baby dragon, and although he tried I feel he did not put all of his effort into it, and the beast remained … somewhat boisterous. Thankfully he recognised that the thing would need a harness and quickly fashioned one from materiel laying about the cave.
It was only when I put the iguana into my bag that I realised it was fascinated by one of the objects in there. I pulled it out again to find it gnawing on a small bear doll that was strung together in the manner of the dolls in Vilma’s hut. Yawn had a look at the thing and then handed it back with a firm nod. In the distance we heard the roar of the bear that had been dogging us all the way up river. It didn’t take much to put the two together. Venturing out into the gathering darkness I tossed the construct into the river, and I fancy that the sounds of pursuit quickly died away afterwards.
Feeling tired, and still harried by lingering effects of the disease I picked up during our trek earlier on, I was grateful to get back to the cave and catch some much needed sleep. Before I could drift off, however, Bastian approached me, and confessed that he felt as though we had gotten off on the wrong foot. He had been much impressed by my skills, my power, and my hat (obviously he didn’t mention my hat, but I know he can’t keep his eyes off it – no one can). He shook my hand and left. I think I hid my joy well, even as my chest felt like it would burst with happiness. Finally I have been accepted by an elf. He even speaks to me in elvish now. Finally I am vindicated. I must confess that there are times when I myself am in doubt as to my genetic origin, but I know my spirit is that of an elf, and from this I take it that my elven spirit is clear to my brother and sister elves. I fell asleep warmed by the certainty that I am one step closer to the day when all the world, in this dimension and beyond, would know and admit that I am an elf.
Thus ended my good fortune. The river of fate swirled marginally and I was dragged from the warm sunlit waters of joy and success head-first into the rocky rapids of distress. I was woken during the night when Bastian returned Polly (my iguana). It had attempted to escape by gnawing through its harness. Truly it is worthy of being my future dragon-steed with such determination and ingenuity. I quickly settled back to sleep only to awaken late in the day. I have a terrible headache. I feel like someone is running a forge in my head, and my chest, as they burn unhealthily. My legs feel sapped of strength. I do not wish to alarm the others (they may fall to panic if they know their staunch protector is so unfit) but I fear the pallor of my skin might alert them to my plight. I don’t feel as though I can swallow food or drink and walking is something that takes a lot of effort. I must carry on for the sake of those who are depending on me, and I can only hope that we quickly reach a town (any town) where I can find some proper respite.
Bastian’s show of arms (tada~ Sorry about the issues so far ^^;):
Swiftblade, depicted here leaping into battle in a style reminiscent of the Ben Echmeyer technique