(Continued from: Tabernacle of Forgotten Lore)
On this Day of Thunder, in the Month of the Frost Giant:
The study of the Keep of Mahn Tor can wait, the needs of Tabernacle and the goddess take precedence. Upon learning of the latest in news, and taking the time to absorb what I had learned, I have decided upon action over inactivity. Classed among the seekers, the gatherers of knowledge, I shall seek an answer. The goddess knows I would never be able to sit idley by whilst the remainder of the clan sought the rosetta stone to the conundrum. My curiosity dictates activity. Allegiance to my goddess and the well-being of the Tabernacle demand that the answer be found. In this portion of the quest, perhaps I am best suited to what must now happen.
I have journeyed forth upon a hunch, following that irritating tickling sensation in the back of my mind. I may have an idea of how to assist the quest Nikola and Mandolus now have undertaken, at least partially. I am loathe to speak it aloud, or even write it here, lest I be prematurely hexed by the inclement disaster that shall inevitably befall me when I reach my destination.
Briefly, had I considered inquiring of assistance at the Den, however, the debaucherists were busy in their revelry, having recently sacked a town. The squalls of the women were disturbing to say the least, the Den Sloths' raucous laughter drowning out the screams in a cacophany of alcohol and unrequited lust. I could only shake my head and walk on.
I have travelled this road many times, though not upon this world. It is a path I know well, for it leads home. Home. An alien term to me. I use it only in the sense that this is the place from whence I have emerged, from which I have survived. There is only survival and death here. No other standard of measurement applies.
Through the gaping maw of an unobtrusive cave entrance I quietly pass, deeper and deeper I traverse. My senses sharpen, honed by paranoia and sensibility, or is it merely years of experience and knowledge of what happens to those who do not remain wary? Far past milky white pools of calcium laden water dripping from stalactites and stalagmites I have gone. The chitter of bats and stirges touch my ears, my muscles tense, my grip tightens upon my mace. My feet make no sound in passing, I must be as one with shadow, unseen, unheard. My eyes glow in the infrared spectrum, the tracks of long past visitors leaving heat traces upon the rocky environ. The air smells acrid, stale, the surface wind long left behind and denied sway by Terra Firma.
Everything, so familiar, and yet so alien. Yet, I shall find what I am after. One borne of the dark, lives by the dark and dies by the dark. Intuition shall guide me. I shall find them, this trip into Underdark shall not be for naught. I pray the goddess shall protect me, for she knows I shall need it.
Posted by Zayne at September 4, 2004 01:14 AM