When Mistress Lolth, blessed be Her name, pulled me from my tomb in the Underdark and charged me with infiltrating the Faire through Her daughter’s temple, I didn’t quite imagine this. Sure, the place was black and purple, as befits any Drow deity—but the light.
Oh, the light, and how it burned! There was a giant gaping hole in the ceiling, for crying out loud! Continue reading Chronicles of Adair: Twilight Spring
Time is a funny thing. It distorts itself according to the task at hand. When I hike up a hill at midday, it dilates. The sun hangs still over my head, glaring relentlessly. And yet when I sit by the campfire with Sherrill sharing stories of The Citadel, it contracts. Too soon the moon crests, fades, and gives way to the pink of dawn.
I thought I would be used to it by now, being a monk. (Not to mention, I’ve had enough experience with time travel to last me my whole life. But that’s a story for another time.) Meditation does strange things to the mind. Enlightening, yes, but also bizarre. I guess I’ve come to think of meditation as something separate from the waking world: less real yet truer.
So when I landed at the Fairelands Junction and saw the afternoon sun reflecting blinding light off icicles, I expected it to be afternoon everywhere else. A false assumption.
Upon stepping into the portal to Nightshade Blossoms, I saw not blue skies but the sun peeking over the rosy horizon. Pink trees everywhere, wan in the early-morning light. Soft. Serene. Silent. A place to contemplate. Little wonder I had felt a magnetic pull to this portal.
Here is the Faire. Here is the steeple. Open the gates and see all the people. Here is a Drow going upstairs. And here he is saying his prayers.
Or so he would were it not for one little fact: He had not seen the light of day in over a year, nor had he heard the lilt of his deity’s voice. He was, indisputably, alone in the dark.
“Oh, I’m never alone in the dark!” I sang in my tomb, fondling a handful of spiders, beautiful messengers of my Mistress.
It’s true, Mistress hadn’t spoken to me in over a year, ever since I did her dark bidding at The Bazaar Dungeon. What, bidding on the internet on Loki Eliot’s sentinel statue? No, no, that kind of bidding is for humans and vampires, especially vampires who share a flat in New Zealand. It was offing Caesar that Mistress bade. I’ll never forget his last words: “Et tu, Fairelanderé?” Me, Kratz, a Fairelander? Hardly. And certainly never.
As April 18th approaches, a nervous energy manifest in frenzied whispers, flying chips of marble, and needlework as fast as the flapping of pigeons’ wings rises from the bowels of The Grid and seeps into the corner of every tavern, masonry, and store, rousing residents from their sleep. Rapidly, this energy crystallizes from mist into a rope wound taut in a pulley that waits to draw back the purple curtains of the Faire. Some of this energy, however, has a habit of dissipating from The Grid into other realms: realms of pure imagination. In one such realm, a monk steps outside her sleepy hut, greets the sun with a yawn, and finds a package waiting for her.
Nadja’s Note: This report is a continuation of Kratz’s chronicles of The Bazaar Dungeon. Please read Part I before proceeding.
When we last left off, Kratz had just discovered the chamber holding the three elemental gems: the Jug of Wind, the Sword of Water, and the Book of Earth. Now a new set of discoveries awaits him…
Continue reading Chronicles of Kratz: The Bazaar Dungeon, Part II
When Adair mentioned there was a bizarre dungeon at the Faire, I must’ve had a big ol’ glob of gunk in my ears because I surely hadn’t imagined this. Oh, it was bizarre, all right. Bizarre in that there were too many traders and Fairelanders running about loose and not enough cages.
Continue reading Chronicles of Kratz: The Bazaar Dungeon, Part I
Nadja’s Note: This report and image were found half-buried in the ground in front of one of the gates in Ardessa. The degree of wear and tear on the pages suggests that it has been left in the elements for several days, if not a week. Its author appears to be nowhere in sight, but search and rescue efforts will continue.
Dear readers, I thank you for bearing with me as I finally make my way to the Faire. Something strange has come over me. I was barely able to make it out of my bed this morning, even though today is the day that I tour the Pools of Ethuil. It must have something to do with that strange augury I had several days ago and the resulting bump on the nape of my neck…
In any case, I owe the deepest gratitude to Vedika for getting into the Fairelands first and sending me her report on Aetherea. Without her, Team B’Nansa wouldn’t even be on the map, in a manner of speaking! Ha, yes!
Well, I should be happy that Vedika is out there rallying for the cause, should I not? Just because it was not I who first set foot on the Fairelands should make no difference, should it? It’s not as if I’m trying to prove anything to anyone or hoping to see my name written in the skies by cheering masses of Unweaver survivors.
No, that would be silly, not to mention incredibly vain! I can’t believe it even crossed my mind. Curse that Kratz for even suggesting that I joined this relay for life only to restore the B’Nansa name!
We are rallying for the cause. That’s all there is to it. We. The Cause.
And we, Adair, are going to see legendary Elven territory today.
