Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Lost Mines of Phandelver - Elalanil's Report, Part 1

Yes, believe it or not, we're still playing D&D 5th Edition, though infrequently.  I was more than a little surprised and very pleased to receive an in-character recap from our last session.

Today I awoke from troubling dreams, dreams questioning my understanding of the very nature that I worship and swore to protect.  Questions... well, one question anyway... so profound it threatened to shake the earth and tear asunder the heavens!  A question for the prophets!  A question...
...for the Oak Lord himself.  Who else has the wisdom and knowledge necessary to answer this profound question, this riddle of the ages!  "What life is considered natural?"  I resolved to bend my entire intellect and will to solving this problem so that others could benefit from my scholarship.
In the meantime my companions and I gathered supplies and information, along with a comb and a request to find a book of some sort, and headed out to rid the world of abominations in the name of Rillifane Rallathil!  Although to be honest the others of my party do not seem all that impressed by The Wild One.  I must work on that.  They must be taught respect for The Sacred Wood!

While I am used to traveling long distances in a day, I am not used to doing it in the company of others.  Especially those who need so much sleep!  How do the other races bear such short lives being reduced even further by this daily hibernation?  It is uncomfortable to bear witness to.
Having said that, they are pleasant enough.  The Bard occasionally does something he considers music, which is entertaining.  To be perfectly fair, which I always strive to do, I must say he is rather good.  Fortunately he is not human, that might have caused me some level of strain to admit that about The Excitable People.

Along the way we came to our first destination, the home of a Banshee.  This unnatural place did not sit well with me, a feeling not improved by meeting her.  We traded the comb for a question, which my companions and I discussed briefly amongst ourselves before asking it.  Sadly we asked the wrong question and received a useless answer.  Personally I would have rather asked her how she had deserved such a fate, having once been a beautiful Elven woman.  What a tragic existence she now suffers.

One character flaw I have discovered in myself is that I think too much.  There are just so many mysteries in the natural world and I feel that I have been given this long life so that I can discover each and every key to each and every puzzle and solve them all.  Why else would I have been blessed with this longevity and intelligence?  And why else would I be beloved of The Leaflord, who personally chose me and left the mark of his hand on my Wild Shapes?

Perhaps this tendency to unravel the world's natural secrets explains how I was caught totally unaware when the wolves attacked our camp undetected while I was on watch.  Being intellectual has its downsides, apparently.

As the battle was joined I heard the screaming of my companions and knew shame like I have never known before, and deep anger ignited within me, a fire that could only be quenched by blood.  A fire that raged higher as I felt the fangs of my forest brothers tear into me as they challenged my right to live, a challenge answered by the tiger within.  Too late they realized their error as I tore into them, rending and tearing and reveling in the blood and gore.  The last of them fled into the night, but the blood price was not yet paid and his life was forfeit.

When it was over my shame began to replace the blood lust, and I dropped the last wolf's corpse at my companion’s feet in apology.  With nothing to say and much to make up for I remained in my animal form for as long as I could, hiding in the tiger's lack of human speech as much as using its strength to ensure my companions safety.  Some protector I have become.

But no sense in crying over spilled milk, as I once heard a human say.  Which has always confused me a bit, given the incessant crying humans are always doing over every little thing.  I suppose when one’s life is lived in the blink of an eye even the smallest ill must seem monumental tragedy.  It would certainly explain why they are so excitable.

As we continued our journey I felt an uneasiness, and called to a winged brother for information.  He told me that Old Owls Well was death, and that the only living thing was a humanoid in red.