April 2002

Xalgoz Chastised

On Saturday evening, several of our Family descended to the lowest depths of the ruins of Kaesora in search of the evil presence that haunts the place.

Xalgoz, a vampire Sarnak, was nowhere to be seen when the Family arrived, but his minions were plentiful. Hours of battle ensued. Gwanalla, Ylona, Eumaman, Secen, Aanwen and Radyn all took turns dealing dole to the undead in the Church of Xalgoz, whilst they awaited the Master's arrival.

Their patience was rewarded after two hours when a cold chill instantly descended upon the sanctuary. Before anyone could shout a warning, the vampire appeared in the center of the pulpit!

Battle cries rang out, and with the help of everyone present, Xalgoz was soundly defeated. Gwanalla and Aanwen each removed one of the vampire's fangs, thinking that they might prove useful in the future. Feeling that the evil in Kaesora had been dealt a setback, the party summoned a mystic portal and returned to the ancient Combine ruins in the Lost Valley of the Dreadlands to plan their next move!

Hemlock

Hemlock. Hemlock is a small flowered plant with tall smooth green stems and many leaves. It is found commonly, hemming in the wastelands and acrid waterways. In sufficient doses, it acts as a paralyzer to the centers of motion. In poisonous doses, it produces complete paralysis with loss of speech, the respiratory function is at first depressed and ultimately ceases altogether and death results from asphyxia. The mind remains unaffected to the last. I held the bottle with slight trepidation. What do I want to see last? Is there anything I want to try before I swallow? What if I can not return as I have been? What if I can never return?

I carefully handed over all my belongings to two friends, family members both. The silver rose engagement ring from my monk, the robe of black crystalline from Janden, the skull earring from Blakmaggie. I handed to Neatton a box with three stacks of handmade biscuits from Ezrin. Ahhh, handmade biscuits. When all was transferred I found a quiet place to camp. I looked up at the skies of Norrath with my mouth open and drank the full drought.

Faction

I had been developing myself in Norrath until the point of sixteen seasons; life had had its ups and downs. A wizard is not an easy class to solo, but I was Erudite and certainly capable. I had many trials. I was in my fourteenth season when the strangest thing began to happen, the militia in Freeport found my presence to be completely undesirable. Imagine, they thought one of the most finely bred races in the world undesirable? It was unheard of! It was especially insulting after I had poured so much currency into their local economy. I’d been shopping exclusively at their stores, I’d spent my youthful years in their fields, and now because of some minor misunderstanding, they charged after me screaming, “Die!”

My head took several serious poundings. When I woke up from the beatings I could scarcely move. I had forgotten my spells and, moreover, they had left me naked and penniless outside the gates, or on the docks. I became afraid and paranoid. Would the loyalties of others change as suddenly? As I wandered the commons I started to believe others did not want me about. They were whispering to others not to buy my batwing stacks. I only sold the best wings, none tattered or torn. I questioned if people in my guild family wanted me anymore, they weren’t replying to my articles. Everywhere I turned I was ignored or beaten upon or left without aid. It started to take a toll on me. It was certain that I could trust no one, so I carried most of my currency with me. It would have been easier if I could access a bank instead of becoming encumbered. I began to loot corpses that had been lying abandoned in hopes of collecting rations or water because no store would let me sell to them. I had no way to get home again. I was an outcast.

When I tried to recall spells or cast them during battle they would leave my mind. I would have to re-memorize them and take large amounts of damage while my addled brain caught up. What had happened to my coveted intelligence? Oh, I bought the rings and book, did anything to expand my comprehension, but the real illness inside me was destroying everything. What was that illness exactly?

I tried to think back to when I first noticed myself slipping. I remember trying to get into groups in the Oasis, no one wanting a wizard. Was that personal? I tried to join raids in my guild and could not. Was that personal? I begged the armory for equipment and it fell on deaf ears. When did it become personal? I recall it was after I had been late to the Warren raid, and I had been up front that I would be late, that I felt disconnected. I could not believe anyone; I sought to protect myself from betrayals.

I had started a relationship with a high-level Champion. After all, an Erudite woman would only settle for a man of high stature. While things were good for the most part, I started to feel suffocated, to feel like a possession without freedoms. He caught me glancing at a young monk and was insulted and jealous. I cut the relationship off. I started to become weaker, more like my fifteenth season, my fourteenth, thirteenth. I could no longer use Invisible; I could not proc my weapon.

It was rumored that, if I gathered enough whiskers from a rapscallion named Rebby, I could improve my favor with the Freeport Militia. I wound my way under the docks as quickly as I could and entered the little cabin there, but it only had storage inside. There were stairs, but no one in the room. I waited awhile for that Dark Elf woman rumored again to be here, but she never spawned. Maybe I needed to do something to get her attention? I tried to move barrels, boxes pressed against the walls; while under the stairwell rummaging darkly a wall gave way and I was inside a secret cave. The passage led to the mysterious woman, who would not do business with me. I had Tzun run her errand and attempted to curry favor by giving her the whiskers myself. She took them but gave me nothing in return. I tried to give them to her while invisible but that did not fool her. Thank Tzun he was not swayed. He learned of another method, a note that I could get and present to a Gnomic fellow also in the caves. Alas, this gentleman also refused my entreaties. He did accept a note that Tzun procured for me and, after thirty or so of them, I felt things must be better now. I made my way to dockside and sneaked through a storefront to see what the guards were conning today. They were not appeased. If I hadn’t jumped into the water with my swim ability so high he would have surely killed me underwater! As it was, I got to the dock before being slain. When I returned to the cave I decided I would be better off on Odus.

In Odus, I returned to Erudin and was talking with a few people in the woods when I heard Teabirdy’s voice. She told me about a quest, which could fix the faction issues I was experiencing. I would have to kill Elial Brooks, not once, nor 10 times but 30, and I would need to collect his bones. Elial Brooks, how his name made me shiver! This was a fisherman in the Toxxulia forest who gave me my first horrid corpse run. He also nearly killed my party when we just wanted to swim off his dock across to the Island of Kerra. I did that swim back and forth perhaps 5 times. I know how to build a skill. I was stronger than I was that year I swam; perhaps I could defeat him now. I had to try. I found that he wasn’t so difficult anymore, he had an annoying pet but it was easy to slay them both. It was merely time consuming.

Several hours later, I brought the bones upstairs, but never found anyone who wanted them. Finally, I talked with some people who milled about in front of the Crimson Hands. This one man Toresian had an errand that was guaranteed to better my relations in Freeport. Simply put, I must deliver a potion he carried to a shop- keeper downstairs in the Vials of Vitality shop. While it had a time consuming and repetitive nature, I knew it was probably my last chance for redemption. So I walked, ran and half-gated, whatever would make the trip quicker, carrying potion bottles to the Vial store. The man I was to give the potion was Slansin, when I gave him the bottle he chortled that I had given the potion to the wrong Slansin, and that the real Slansin was in the back somewhere. I ran to the back but there was only a woman who did not know what I was talking about. Nevertheless, the Slansin I gave the bottle to did improve my faction with the guards. I shrugged. I could figure out the details of these men later.

It was many hours later when I was tempted to check my status with the militia. I took the boat to Qeynos and walked across the continent, through the Kithicor Woods and into the commons. I had just crossed a zone border and was nearing an enclave of houses when, from out of the blue, a Mr. Slate thought better of it. He was furious! He chased me unmercifully and pounded my body into the ground. After the frightening ordeal and after regaining consciousness, I realized I was bound in Odus. Of all the injustices! Collecting my corpse again by boating to Qeynos and walking through Kithicor, proved to be more hazardous the second time. Kithicor was dark and full of evil by the time I returned there. I do not know how many times I lost my life in the attempt to cross through. Each time having to restart in Qeynos, for I finally bound myself there. What season was I now? I suppose it was like my eighth year, all over again. It was while crouching down to collect my belongings with feelings of exhaustive relief that I realized I was still not free. Mr. Slate made sure I knew I was not wanted, again. It was time to take a break from Norrath’s interminable, insurmountable torture.

When I felt I could take a stab at the potion gig again, I was heartened to hear from two other family members that it was working for them. They had a system and I could share it with them. They had found a way to entice Talesian to the vial shop and he stood as if in a trance while we simply handed the potion over to Slansin. This was a much faster process. If we forgot to hail Talesian the spell wore off and he wandered back to the fountains upstairs. I believe I spent 5 hours doing potions this time but with the time for the task dramatically reduced I am sure I delivered 500 bottles, around 100 an hour. Surely the note, the other potions I did a few days ago and now this lot was enough to pay my penance to Freeport.

The guard scowled, ready to attack. What in the name of blessed Quellious’ spirit did I have to do? Maybe I needed ears, or scalps, or maybe I would have to live with the hate from the guards forever. I checked the Google Oracle for help and it said that it seemed to be 1500+ potions before it would be fixed, I had done about 700, all told. I spent a great deal of time trying to double that amount and by approximately 1400, my eyes could stand it no longer. I became mad as a hatter. I started to swig Talesian potions and sing loudly to no one in particular. I was cavalier but inwardly desperate. A friend came to me after I conned the guards at “scowls, ready to attack” one more time and told me that in my case the faction was not repairable. Not repairable. He handed me a bottle of Hemlock. Silly and drunk on Talesian potion, I swallowed the poison and collapsed into a comatose stupor.

The Warrens Report

As an Erudite, I was familiar with Kobolds. The odor permeated my childhood and was as common as a cow pie to a country girl. Their base and brutish ways despoiled the beautiful and fragrant Forest of Toxxulia. Female wizards were instructed to take their training in other settings, such as the Palace in Faydwer or the Crimson Hands Center in Qeynos, places befitting women of high breeding. So while I had known that the forest was fouled by their worthless hides, I did not take it upon myself to wander into their lair of iniquity. That was what we had guards for. I was not willing to waste my arcane talents slaying mangy beasts and have them rot in the woods. I had finer things to do with my education. Among them uncovering an unknown spell from runes or locating a secret tome of knowledge, for this I needed to travel and not hunt among the Heretics.

How was it that I found myself on a boat through Erud Crossing, returning to the place where I was born; returning to a place of fetid darkness, a place nigh over-run with mongrels? I had joined a guild-family in Norrath. When wizards reach the tenth season they are eligible to apply for membership. I wished only to be among those of like mind and like spirit. I wanted to be an Ancient Guardian. The worth of such a lofty title is best described as a ding inside my soul. I learned quickly however, that it was not enough to be book smart, to be eager or to be brave, these qualities were of little use if not battle tested. Every day I searched through the Great Hall for raids or events where I could prove my worth to the family. There were none for ones in my season. Then one day, posted in the Hall was a notice, bearing the title THE WARRENS in torrid red calligraphy.

I read how the rains of Odus had brought plentiful berries to the Toxxulia Forest and the weather had been perfect for the breeding of Kobolds. I was not immediately concerned, for Kobolds bred, and that was life, but then I read some statistics. For every quarter-mile of Forest there were approximately three Kobolds. This meant that the population of hairy, smelly, lice infested growlers was encroaching on the very population of Erudin! The beasts were clawing towards the gates of town and killing travelers from Antonica, children from Erudin and eating the occasional skunk, raw. Their palates were not too discriminating. There was nowhere you could go and not be intruded upon by mating, or lumbering, or watching Kobolds. I could not bear that my home had become a festering breeding ground for filth instead of finery. The notice asked the enlisted help of any family member between the seasons of 10-20. I was perfectly suited for this adventure, and it would give me the opportunity to show my family I was an asset. Explorers had located the base of the Kobold society and sent word that the Warrens were through Paineel, that they were vulnerable, that we could destroy them, their Prince and their King.

I spent the better part of a day navigating from the Desert of North Ro to the Fair Isle of Odus. Imagine my dismay to find the reliable ferry in disrepair. I dove into the clear blue waters and made my way to shore, though the sharks had found comfort here. Every section of what was home to me was more upsetting in its current state and it boiled rage for the Kobolds inside me. I would slay every last one of them! Upon entering Erudin, everything seemed so deserted! I wandered to the porch of the forest and found two guards both sweating from the extinguishing of too many intruders. The men leaned heavily upon their spears. The air was weighted and dank and hung like a shroud over the trees and hills. There was no escaping the scent of marked territory, the scent of dried blood or the scent of rotting corpses. What I had known of Toxxulia Forest was now a fairy tale. This was a nightmare.

It was late in the day when all had gathered in Paineel for the raid. I had been waylaid by an important concern and a deep desire to slay Al Dunsmore. Nice fishing pole I retrieved from that nasty man. I nearly attacked Rungupp as he was on my retribution list, but I was late as it was and would need to hurry. He wasn’t going anywhere. When I reached the Paineel Porch I sent tell to Jhales who could meet me at the entrance. I had no problem running across the front yard myself, so elected to meet her in the Warrens instead.

My chest tightened and nose swelled from the putrid stench all around me. What was left of some fish rolls made its way back up my throat and tumbled in clumps from my mouth. I took a swig of brandy to rinse out what I could and headed into the darkened caverns.

In the gray chiseled stone of the warrens the paths looked much the same. I was surprised that kobolds sat sentry but made no move as I ran past swiftly with Jhales to join the raid. Ahead in the tunnels I could hear growling and snarling, the dull thud of metal hitting weighty torsos, and the electric sparks of magic casting. We turned the corner and energy was surging around the beserking party. Trains of Kobolds spawned one after another in aggroed frenzy. I saw robes smeared with dripping blood and magic users crouched in corners trying desperately to accumulate enough mana for a critical hit. A bard was trying to raise her song above the crowd, to heal, to buff, to save a life. Then all was quiet. The kobold corpses were strewn across the den. As I passed by, one had a last swipe of life left before it died. There was some random looting, though few people needed a “dusty burlap” anything. Most pleasing was the sense of experienced being gained. Just when it seemed things were calm, it was time to move forward through the stalactites and among the large flapping bats. The whoosh, whoosh of their wings was a continual distraction. I accidentally tried to trade with a cave bat and was shocked to learn that it had four compartments. I wondered, what did a cave bat want? With nary a skipped beat, someone had to say, “Balls.”

When the next door swung open, we were greeted by the raging court of protectors. Assist! Assist me with this Kobold Pack! I tried to aim lightning bolts onto the hideous creatures. Sometimes the ones with magic of their own merely resisted that. The scene of slaughter repeated room after room and we began to feel quite invincible. Then came the Prince or were it King? I cannot be sure, for the order of things as these battles began to mesh one into another, while piles of still warm kobold corpses littered the cavern floors. The heady stench of Kobold armpit, I believed cause the fainting of more than one monk or enchanter.

I heard a call! It was Colodil: brave, new Colodil, he had found his way to the Warrens. He could not find his way within even after trying to call attention to his plight. I wandered away from the group to assist him on my own. One should never wander away from the group. One should especially not wander away from the group without the strength of Jhales escorting them. I was comfortable until I ran into another string of aggressive, roaring burrow-pigs. Their snarling maws were drooling thick saliva and the barking was deafening. I tried to root the creatures, but one stunned me while five of his comrades jumped onto me. I was now their scratching post. They clawed me into a stinging, wounded pile of shredded threads and spilled gear. Now the raid leaders had two dead corpses to worry about as well as commanding troops. This was not the way to make an impression. Smokinfist dragged me then Colodil to safe haven. I quickly looted myself and headed back to the group.

I must have turned wrong. It was only moments after I had secured my gear that I was tossed side to side by the gnashing teeth of some sadistic Kobolds. They savagely mauled me and thrust me again into the throes of death. I was grateful that I had an Affinity for the entrance to Warrens. This made my corpse recovery not so terrible, but by the time I returned to the raid, the dancing had begun. People were climbing all over the throne of the Kobold King, making a mockery of his reign and laughing at all the stonelike watchers that seemed to be too scared to move. A few people pranced about showing off their new loot, while others chatted quietly among themselves, bursting with satisfaction. There were only a few straggling deaths that I was able to assist with before the glorious photo of the successful raiding party was clicked. I recall wondering if I had been on time or had I not wandered off would I have felt more accomplished in this battle? It was my first raid and I had much to learn about my role. I hoped to talk to some of the other raiders but the parties disbursed rapidly with ports flying faster than the fur of the whipped beasts. I wonder if we made a big enough dent in their population or if we would have to return again to whittle down the masses. I, for one, would be glad to.

Faction Regained in Freeport!

Lucan may have tried to destroy the reputations of three of our Family as he died, but with jubilant exclaimation, Viejo and Teabirdy both announced last night that they can once again enter the city of Freeport! Faction has been regained!

The two fast friends and Atok have struggled with this banishment, until finally, with help from Tzun, Deidan and others, tirelessly lending suggestions and support, the announcment of reacceptance was made.

Tired, but happy, they each left as the last tokens were handed in and the Militia, with scowls and grumbling, assured them that no further harm would come as they passed.

At this writing, it is believed that Atokanannaj is still working. The guards seem not to be so easily motivated to allow the young Erudite back! This will change! The Family will see to it!