lydamorehouse | Delayed Gaming Story (Reply)

I've been feeling weirdly out of it for the last couple days. I suspect that it's just been a tough mental recovery from Shawn's ER visit for some reason, plus, I've been spending so much of my free time painting the kitchen.

At any rate, for the one? Maybe two people who care, here's more notes from our campaign. There is a second letter because Idriyl got laid.

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November 11

Brekenfort, Kingdom of Shira

Ave, my dearest sister,

We are briefly back in the barricaded port city, taking care of some final business, before we embark on our way to see the Captain of the Watch, the half elf, Philip. Our trip to see the Southern Marsh Witch was as surprising as it was successful.

On our way to the witch’s cottage, we passed several farmers who seemed particularly excited about this year’s pumpkin crop. There is apparently some local belief m wherein carved squash and pumpkin serve as some talisman against ill-fortune, perhaps even as a deterrent to the Fey. I did not find the squash particularly loathsome, so I have some doubts about its effectiveness. However, given what later transpired, I will withhold my judgment on matters of folk magic.

We arrived in the swamp without issue. Bellamay seemed particularly at home once we hit the marshes, which surprised me, as I was under the impression he was a farm boy. Perhaps he was just excited to meet the witch because, while we were still in Brekenfort, he made an acquaintance of the wizard who runs the local magic shop and had agreed to courier a letter to the Swamp Witch. It was from this shopkeeper wizard that we heard the first rumors of the witch’s profound ugliness. It was said that she had been cursed by her own mother with ugliness in order to protect her from the unwanted attention of men.

Thus, it was to our great surprise when we came upon a cottage and its gardens tended by a strikingly beautiful young woman, fair of skin, and hair as pure white as any High Elven queen. Xavala was immediately smitten with her, as well he might be. The poor boy seemed to have very little experience with women, however, and, though it was clear she found him attractive, he made only awkward attempts to woo her. I felt for him, in all honesty. Such a handsome youth should not have such difficulties, though the skill and practice required for courting should not be underestimated, perhaps.

Regardless, as we had been warned that this witch was fickle, I was careful in my speech to her, always granting her the honorific of “Lady.” Though mother would be horrified to hear me bend in such a way to a “simple” hedge witch, only a fool would disrespect a master of any art, and we had come to her for aid.

And I’m glad we did, as she could sense the curse on me immediately. Moreover, we learned that the “eight” in question was a matter of months, not days or encounters. Months! Though Papa Bernard 'harrumphed’ constantly in her presence, at this bit of news, I was more than willing to strike a deal. Perhaps it was foolish, but there was something so frank and open and refreshing about this woman that I was inclined to trust any bargain with her.

You, who know me all too well, are probably laughing in your sleeve already. It’s probably quite obvious that it was not just our handsome teenager who found the witch so alluring. I was--and remain--quite smitten.

Her price was not so onerous, though it could have cost our lives. She kept a herd of goats roaming freely on a nearby island and something recently had begun poaching them. She wanted us to dispatch it, if possible. She suspected it to be a great bear of some kind, but she could not be certain.

I pointed out that while I did not expect her to offer her services on a promise, asking us to perform this task while two of our party were under a curse, seemed a bit…unfair. We agreed that she could pay half in advance. She would heal one of us in advance, and when we returned successfully, she would heal the second.

I volunteered our monk. It is a gentleman’s duty to show charity to the weak. This is not to imply that I would win a fight against Gregor by any means, but the truth is, although I loathe it with every fiber of my being, the unholy anger that consumes me in battle does give me the gift of being able to withstand much injury. It only made sense that I should be the one to fight at a disadvantage.

Though I have felt sick with this curse in the past, it was not until we were on the boat that I felt its true effects. In the water, we were besieged by an alligator turtle that seemed intent on grappling and consuming our Triton friend, Nerys. When I tried to gain advantage on it, using what little magic I have at my disposal, I saw spots of red and felt deeply sick to my stomach. Thank all the gods for my strong constitution or I might have simply lay down in the boat and not fought at all. As it was, I was not much help. While others managed to pull companions from the water and kill the beast, I could merely hang on to the oar for dear life.

It turns out, dear sister, this swamp-loving decidedly NOT a farm boy, Bellemey can’t disappear in a boat. I actually witnessed him fighting! Perhaps you are wiser than I and already surmised that it was very likely his crossbow bolts that seemed to magically save us in the previous fights.

Gregor, I believe, is deeply disappointed that his weapon is not the bolt-throwing prize he thought it was after our last adventure. I’m sure his master’s magic will reveal itself in time. Perhaps this is some kind of monish trail of faith for him.

When we finally made it to the island, Papa Bernard was in such a foul mood at being forced along on a favor for a witch, that he didn’t even attempt to charm or tame the oversized ram that attacked him. Instead, he seemed determined to literally butt heads! Though I was adequately hidden in the bushes, I couldn’t stand to see him battered and so I leapt up hoping to attract the ire of the beast. I did, but, again, the curse was heavy upon me and, though I could take damage, I could not inflict it.

Eventually, we found the culprit, an owlbear… a beast that really should not be so violent considering its potential for adorableness.

However, by the faith of Avandra’s cleric, Theophania, the beast was cursed and struck dead.

I will say that though I am often annoyed by the yammering proclamations of Xavala and his adjutant, the power of their faith is deeply impressive. If I were a god-fearing man, I might consider following the Changebringer.

With the deed done, we returned to the witch’s cottage, where we spent the night. After curing me as she had our monk, the witch delighted us with an exceptional meal, followed by a scintillating discussion of her herbal remedies, hexes and the like. Such a knowledgeable woman, who so freely gave of her art!

If my heart did not already belong to another, Ave, I might have been in real trouble of falling for her completely. Fortunately, she, we discovered, is compelled to tell the truth. So, while she consented to a dalliance with me, she made it very clear that was all that it would be.

Ah, such a woman!

Any person so fortunate as to win her favor will be very blessed indeed.

Your foolish and smitten brother,

Idriyl

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November 11

Brekenfort, Kingdom of Shira

To the Witch of the Southern Marshes,

M’lady,

I do wish you had consented to give me your name.

However, I understand your precaution. Not only are names powerful, especially among magicals, such as yourself, but also there are a thousand cautionary tales that tell of how unwise it is to give such a precious and personal gift to someone like myself, whose veins run with the blood of the Fey.

And as you so plainly stated in your perfect honesty, there was no point. I was but an evening’s pleasurable distraction, a passing fancy for you.

Other men might take offense, but, as I told you, my heart is technically under contract, having been sold to the highest bidder for political favor. Whether or not my betrothed still cares for me is immaterial. A contract is a contract. Something you understand completely, I have no doubt.

Regardless of its brevity, I take heart in the fact that someone compelled to truth-telling referred to our time together as having brought her pleasure, however briefly.

It is my deepest honor to have served you well.

Or at least well enough.

I’ve been thinking, too, of your wise words. Perhaps, I should consider that the blood rage that consumes me is not a curse in need of lifting, but as a gift. I’m still disappointed that there is no potion that can suppress the beast, no poultice to rub away its hold on my soul, or even a hex to silence its ragged snarls. However, until we spoke of it, it had not occurred to me the ways in which I am god-touched in battle, the advantages the dark frenzy brings me.

You have given me many gifts, it seems, my lady.

I remain forever indebted to you, please never hesitate to call for me in need. If my name or favor or sword arm can ever be of use,

I am yours to command--

Idriyil Travorlian of The Beech Wood