RE: Death Frost Doom
Escape
My ancestral homeland is warm and delicate. Memories of drinking my dear uncle’s herbal teas in the genial midday sun, warm winds and morning swims in the temperate river. Apart from the mosquitoes, subtropical is still my favourite climate. One of the many reasons I eventually resettled in Parsa, which is in many ways similar as the Cradle Cities.
My travels have taken me to a great many different lands and climates. When I was a young Elf on one of the first expeditions into the northern mountains, I experienced real cold for the first time. Our Human carriers had all frozen to their inevitable meaningless deaths, and my uncle fought off the cold and the Winter Wolves with fire and powerful Elven magic. Good Times. I have never minded the cold and for a very long time I was under the impression that my affliction had left me barely able to distinguish outside temperatures. I now know better.
For I find myself in far away lands, further than I have ever travelled. These icebound lands redefine the word. Cold. I let it sink in as sit here in a decrepitly frozen tavern and I write in my journal. I believe these lands are called Moron. Or something very similar. Once again, my human companion has surprised me with his resilience. He has not frozen to death even once, so far. I believe in these lands they use endless amounts of strong distilled grain spirits to keep warm.
Now how did we end up in this forsaken place.
The Emperor’s witch had cursed the young Western bard many years ago (consult entry 1.5a of my account on the observatory) turning an honourable young storyteller into something wicked. I actually liked him better after this encounter, but that is mostly beside the point. However, when I saw this person standing in my courtyard that day some fortnights ago, calling to arrest me with a supplement of his guards, I surprised myself. I had unintentionally remembered his name.
Owain had barely decayed, as humans are wont to do. The last few years had had little to no effect on his appearance. I suppose that might be why I could recall his name at that point.
Just as I was intent on leaving town with the contents of my vault (some portable wealth, a few important research papers and ancient texts) Owain’s guards had surrounded me. They were only human, and could at first be evaded with ease. Owain’s arcane spellcasting had not improved greatly since I last saw him, and using charms and enchantments against an ancient Elf is obviously inadvisable. Even after all these years, his grasp of the arcane could use some improvement.
However, my point of egress from my courtyard was blocked and sabotaged, and removing the barriers took me too much time. One of these guards clasped manacles around my arms and the humans had surrounded me. Owain made subtly clear he wanted to have a conversation in private. The odds of prevailing against these invaders were getting slimmer by the second, so I decided to courteously invite the Westerner inside my house as I handed the manacles back to the hapless guard.
Back inside I had grasped hold of a hidden blade and was ready to remove the humans kidneys (I hear they need their kidneys to live) when Owain surprised me. He had been able to shake the influence of the Witch and was looking for a way out of the city. Luckily, I had just the thing.
While researching a way to get young Emperor Skarsnik out from under the witches’ influence I came across ancient text describing an ancient death cult in possession of the Scales of Anubis. This ancient artefact has the power to help souls move on to the some afterlife. While I’m not one for religion and superstitions, it seemed this object could help Owain’s lost soul to get back to where it should be. Additionally, using the artefact in a greater ritual could remove the witches influence from Parsa and the Empire altogether.
Owain was excited about the prospect, and we left my humble Parsean home, once more as companions. Under the ruse of taking an old Elf into custody, we dispatched of the evil guards in a back alley somewhere and skipped town. Outside of the city, Owain was surprised to find my half human friend Corneak the Crusader, now a bit older, waiting for us with horses. I had contacted him for his help in retrieving the artefact. The half human Paladin blames himself for not defeating the witch when he had the change. Good. We shall channel his thirst for vengeance. We rode hard and fast to the coast, where I had a ship waiting. We would be sailing Westward through the Midland Sea, then Northward. Toward the cold.
"I think I'll have seconds.."
-Chronomangor; Eater of Time. ∞
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