Hello book. Don’t get too used to my paying you this kind of
attention, because I doubt I’ll be doing it often. Too many Wizards have met
their end by writing their intimate secrets down on paper, and I don’t intend
to follow in the tradition of dead men’s pointy shoes for a good few years yet.
You know, I still remember the first time I heard that phrase, when I asked
professor Leo why I’d never seen a retired wizard. He looked at me, gave a dark
smile, and said “Because the path to wizarding greatness is walked through dead
men’s pointy shoes.” He wasn’t wrong. Back at my peak I’d probably collected
over a dozen spell-books from the corpses of more powerful Wizards, that’s just
how the world works. If they didn’t hoard their knowledge, upstarts wouldn’t
have to kill them for it. (Note to self, I need to buy some pointier shoes,
these ones are becoming too broken in. A wizard’s shoes should never be
comfortable, it makes him careless.)
But I digress. A lot has happened recently, and I don’t
intend to tell you about all of it because life’s too short. Well to be fair
mine isn’t, I’m an eladrin. More accurately I can’t be arsed and you’re made of
paper so I don’t much care what you think. Needless to say, it’s happened
again. I don’t know how much I drank yesterday. I’m still piecing together the
memories. There was a temple with food, wine, and the most absurd dress-code I’ve
ever seen. Either way, I awoke to a room covered in vomit, spilled wine, scorch
marks and owl feathers. (Note to self, check that Owl is still around after I
finish writing. Drev’nae might not take it well if I’ve accidently disintegrated
this one like some of the others. I don’t know why my familiars always seem so
much more flammable than other wizards’. Ahhh... Of course... The wine.)
Where was I? Oh yes, it happened again. It’s been weeks since
the last time, but when I awoke there was no hangover. In fact, I saw the world
more clearly than I’ve seen it in a long while. Old memories started flooding back,
and I remembered how to tap into a deeper font of power. I grabbed you, and
began to write like a man possessed. When it passed, I had two new spells and was
left feeling more powerful than I had in a long time. I don’t know whether it
was the stress of recent events that did it, or the alcohol. (Note to self,
start calling it di-wine inspiration. Get it? Because of the wine... Oh piss off
book, don’t you judge me.) Given how often
this has happened, I’m guessing a combination of the two triggers it. Either
way, I need get some more wine. I wonder if there’s a way I can trick Borgen
into carrying it.
Oh of course, Borgen. We ran into the hairy little bastard
again at the port. It was good to see him; my shins have never felt so safe as
when he’s around to soak up the arrows like a furry, furious pincushion. I’ll
have to buy him a drink sometime. Or more likely, I shall do him the great
honour of letting him buy me one.
But while I’m rambling about my companions, I should mention
the others. Drev’nae is a curious specimen, a fey creature unlike any I have
ever seen. And therein lies the problem. I don’t know why when we first met I
lied and pretended to be familiar with the fey-wilds. It’s really not like me.
There was just something in her expression, she seemed so happy to have found
someone that reminded her of home. Perhaps I just didn’t want to disappoint her,
perhaps I felt ashamed that I’ve never tried to reconnect with my heritage. Now
I have to awkwardly dance around the issue, and smile and nod whenever she
mentions it. She’s a kind sort, and she takes good care of Owl. In fact, I’m
pretty sure she carried me back here. I’ll have to find some way to repay her
for that.
As for Velverin, the Drow, I’m still not sure what to make
of him. He’s rather stoic, and has edge to him that makes me think he’s been to
some dark places. Still, perhaps that’s just my own prejudice. I’ve only
encountered one Drow before, but so far Velverin’s making a very favourable
comparison. Mainly, that’s because he hasn’t tried to poison me yet, despite
having probably had a fair few opportunities. It’s good to have a man like him
around, for I fear we may end up visiting some more dark places before this
quest is done. Yours until I find a better spell-book to write in, Faelon
