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Cleric Journal: Day Forty-Seven

DearFatherMulcahy

 

I ate something called iron rations. I’m pretty sure they got their name from the dull grey color and the brick hard texture. At least it had nearly no taste. Our benefactor was an ancient, old man who looked to be at least fifty. May be even older, he was all wrinkly and had several poor quality bandages wrapped around bleeding wounds. He claimed to be a man-servant for the adventuring party that fought the dragon, but I think he’s a wizard. Seriously, he’s an old man, long beard, dressed in robes and not afraid to just stumble up to us at nightfall.

Well, he may not be a wizard, but I’ll keep an eye on him. He was sick, burned by acid and had a broken collar bone. His robes were also in a state, let me tell you. I was itching to start mending those, I can tell you.

First thing this morning I saw to his wounds. He was in fairly poor shape. Rot had set in and I was afraid he’d lose one leg. Fortunately for the both of us, I managed not one, not two, but three healing spells on him before I was spent.

It completely exhausted him as well. I’ll write more after a nap. Sister Liz, and our god Semaunya (may she remain ever vigilant) will watched over us, for which I am ever grateful.

I woke up to Sister Liz kicking me. Seriously. I grumbled a bit, rolled over and sat up, rubbing my eyes. It took me a second to realize what was going on, but she stood over our guest, one foot to either side of his chest, with her spear at his throat. He was awake and watching her with wide eyes, as you can imagine.

“If you so much as wiggle a whisker or twiddle a thumb, I will end you,” she said in common.

I was so proud of her chutzpah. Of course I had no idea what was going on.

Turns out, while we slept, Liz grew bored and rifled our guests belongings. He was a wizard after all. She found his spell book, three boxes of spell components in his pack along with a half a dozen scrolls.

The damning thing, however was the three shrunken heads. They were Lizard Folk, and they were animate. Funny that. Skulls the size of my two fists tied together with loops of chain (looked like silver) and each alive with some dark magic that I didn’t recognize.

What I recognized, however, was that they were singing the same song, over and over, in three different languages at the same time.  Each head sang the first line, one in each of three languages.  Then each head would switch to the next language in order for the next line.  It was a cacophony of linguistic chaos.

Here’s what I heard                 Here’s what Liz heard

The world is failing                      The girl is flailing          

The darkest guy                           The dark is nigh

Find the fool                                Find the fool         < this one we agreed on

Her resupply                                Hear his reply

The dragon’s marksman           The dragon marks him

His fate is sealed                         His faith is healed

Bridge of scrotum                      Bring us to him

The word congealed                  The world be healed

 

It took us several times hearing the song before we were able to piece it all together. Each head sang a line in a different language, rotating through Lizard Folk, Abyssal and Celestial. You know how it is with song lyrics, you mishear them, your friend hears something different, someone is embarrassed.

Liz said I was crazy and that my interpretation made no sense. She could speak her own language after all, but the dialect was ancient, much more formal and esoteric than she was used to.

But I got ahead of myself again. I really should deal with Tim.

Tim was the wizard. Okay, formally he was Timoteus Lightning Wielder, Bringer of the Word, Wizard of the Court of Relics, Master of Plenary, Order of Night Shade, Fifth Ring of Corpuscles, Jade Servant of Light.

We just called him Tim. He stank of old blood, cheap wine, ozone and fear. But that’s before we got to know him. He cleaned up fairly nice.

Of course we tied him up, gagged him and hung him by his ankles over the draw bridge (from the intact archway) over the moat where the thing with the tentacles flailed around, mewling for more spider bodies or broken bones. While we were fresh out, hanging Tim there kept it waiting in anticipation.

While Tim hung by his ankles, we listened to the song of the three heads over and over trying to figure things out. Liz and I got into some pretty heated arguments, I can tell you. But in the end we worked it out.

She punched me in the eye when I said she was an ignorant savage, which I only called her because she said I was the reason Brother Charles died.

We were both tired and angry. The next hour we sat in silence, me holding my eye (she punched really hard) and her nursing her pride.

Basically we snapped out of it by the event of Brother Charles rising from the ashes of his bier and chastising us for fighting.

Okay, that was a lie. Brother Charles was good and dead. What really happened was that I cried like a little kid, and Liz called me an infant. Then she stormed over to the edge of the draw bridge and sulked.

Lucky for Tim. She was right there when we heard the horrid crack of the stones in the spider tower. It had been burning merrily all this day (we sort of forgot about setting it on fire) and the stones had started to crack. This caused the arch to give way and if it weren’t for Liz’s quick hands and adept skill with the spear, our new friend Tim would’ve been dropped into the moat to be eaten by the tentacle thingy.

Unfortunately to really snag him and bring him back to the bridge before he fell she sort of stabbed him in the leg. It all worked out and in the end I healed him before he bled out. We’re all friends now, I promise. More tomorrow.

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What I'm Reading

 

D&D 5E Player’s Handbook

 

Recent Comments

Uruz

The wild ox; strength and power.

Ansuz

Creativity; words, music, and art.

Othala

The troll cross; wealth and prosperity.

Sowilo

The sun; energy, honor, guidance.

Fehu

Personally earned or lucky wealth and prosperity.

Jera

The harvest; patience and promise.

Raidho

The chariot; journey and travel.

Note: This is not the real book cover.