Discord
Changelog
01-27-2013, 07:39 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-29-2013, 10:18 PM by Gwydion669.)
Nightal 25, Year of the Harp (1355 DR)
Dear Mumsy,
I'm still having those bizarre dreams. I can't explain it, but they keep leaving me with a haunting feeling of vuja dey (while familiar, leaving the certain knowledge that it never happened before).
After waking up in the Polm jail again with Nickie last night (this time both of us wearing naught but leather loincloths and stag-antler helmets with no memory as to how that came to be), I decided that it was perhaps time to re-evaluate my life.
I wish to avoid the fate of the Faithless ... at least until I can claim divinity for my well-deserved self ....
Gargauth is a delight with his emphasis on corruption of those in power, but he just lacks that something ... special. Shar has recently placed more emphasis on the "darker delights" than even the clergy of Sharess would dare ... but she yet ignores a large segment of the hedonistic pleasures available.
After exhaustive research, I have decided to offer lip-service (*tee hee ... "lip-service"*) to Loviatar. Her parties (excuse me, "religious observances") are quite ... comprehensive ... in their indulgence of numerous "pleasures". And just downright entertaining!
Earlier this tenday, I attended a service of hers and found myself in the midst of what the priestesses called "religious rapture." After falling to the ground, I found myself babbling nonsense. A junior Mistress of Weights and Clamps dutifully recorded the nonsense I strangely spewed. She claims that her research revealed that I had spoken Mulhorandi. Her notes make no sense. The translation she gave me is as follows:
"At first I was afraid. I was petrified.
I kept thinking I could never live without you by my side.
But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong
and I grew strong and I learned how to get along.
The Blue Flames are deservedly extinguished. The future is no more and the present-past is in flux.
Don't cry for me Thayan Zulkirs. The truth is ... I never left you.
All through my wild days ... my mad existence ... I kept my promise. Don't keep your distance."
Somewhat catchy in some bizarre way ... but not making a lick of sense. When combined with some of my stranger dreams -- like the one where I'm shopping in some place called "Thaymart" and go up to the counter to purchase vials of poison from some cross-dressing snob ... and he simply asks me, "Would you like a wand of fire with that?"
Definitely odd. But it seems that that mysterious land in the far East is calling to me on some level.
I've heard rumors of a band of Thayan slavers working here in Impiltur. It is my intention to seek them out and see if we can come to some arrangement. I'll inform you in my next letter as to how the meeting went.
Your most loving and devoted son,
Maurice
*satisfied with his letter, Maurice approached the inn's oven (having no fireplace in his rented room) and crumpled up the letter before throwing it into the flames. Curling his lip at the smell of burning rat fat, he waited until the letter had turned to ash before leaving the kitchen*
Dear Mumsy,
I'm still having those bizarre dreams. I can't explain it, but they keep leaving me with a haunting feeling of vuja dey (while familiar, leaving the certain knowledge that it never happened before).
After waking up in the Polm jail again with Nickie last night (this time both of us wearing naught but leather loincloths and stag-antler helmets with no memory as to how that came to be), I decided that it was perhaps time to re-evaluate my life.
I wish to avoid the fate of the Faithless ... at least until I can claim divinity for my well-deserved self ....
Gargauth is a delight with his emphasis on corruption of those in power, but he just lacks that something ... special. Shar has recently placed more emphasis on the "darker delights" than even the clergy of Sharess would dare ... but she yet ignores a large segment of the hedonistic pleasures available.
After exhaustive research, I have decided to offer lip-service (*tee hee ... "lip-service"*) to Loviatar. Her parties (excuse me, "religious observances") are quite ... comprehensive ... in their indulgence of numerous "pleasures". And just downright entertaining!
Earlier this tenday, I attended a service of hers and found myself in the midst of what the priestesses called "religious rapture." After falling to the ground, I found myself babbling nonsense. A junior Mistress of Weights and Clamps dutifully recorded the nonsense I strangely spewed. She claims that her research revealed that I had spoken Mulhorandi. Her notes make no sense. The translation she gave me is as follows:
"At first I was afraid. I was petrified.
I kept thinking I could never live without you by my side.
But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong
and I grew strong and I learned how to get along.
The Blue Flames are deservedly extinguished. The future is no more and the present-past is in flux.
Don't cry for me Thayan Zulkirs. The truth is ... I never left you.
All through my wild days ... my mad existence ... I kept my promise. Don't keep your distance."
Somewhat catchy in some bizarre way ... but not making a lick of sense. When combined with some of my stranger dreams -- like the one where I'm shopping in some place called "Thaymart" and go up to the counter to purchase vials of poison from some cross-dressing snob ... and he simply asks me, "Would you like a wand of fire with that?"
Definitely odd. But it seems that that mysterious land in the far East is calling to me on some level.
I've heard rumors of a band of Thayan slavers working here in Impiltur. It is my intention to seek them out and see if we can come to some arrangement. I'll inform you in my next letter as to how the meeting went.
Your most loving and devoted son,
Maurice
*satisfied with his letter, Maurice approached the inn's oven (having no fireplace in his rented room) and crumpled up the letter before throwing it into the flames. Curling his lip at the smell of burning rat fat, he waited until the letter had turned to ash before leaving the kitchen*