My Dearest Paprika,

Well, we are back in Seblingham.  What a week!  We entered the Menowood on the first day of Richfest.  After the attack by the dire boars, I was finally able to find my way.  Either Yondalla smiled upon me or some woodland spirit took pity on us all, but the leaves of the forest canopy above thinned for a brief moment, allowing me to see the sun.  With just a brief glimpse, I was able to see we had been headed south, not north as we should have been.  I quickly plotted a new course and off we headed.

About an hour later, I began to see some huge tracks in the forest floor.  Rika, these footprints were large enough to fill with water and sail across!  You could fit two or three nice sized haystacks in each with room to spare.  Soon after, we saw the beasts that made the tracks – huge lizard-creatures taller than any house I’d ever seen, except maybe old Fergus’ tower in Naerie.  Big as the were, they seemed only interested in feasting on the treetops above us, and our only danger was in being stomped if they stampeded.

About that time, we noticed a panther shadowing us.  We readied ourselves for a fight when it suddenly transformed into a human!  It was another one of them druids, who seem to roam the forest and claim it as their own.  His name was Inichar, and he righted our path even further, warning us to not venture further into the Wood.  We heeded his advice.

We settled down for the evening and broke into watches.  I and Westwind, the other halfing I mentioned, took the first watch.  It began peacefully, but suddenly, I noticed shapes in the darkness.  As we roused our comrades the shapes entered our clearing.  They were worgs, evil twisted wolves that often ally themselves with the hated goblin tribes.  I have seen worgs in my time in the militia, but usually at a good distance.

They were many.  We fought as valiantly as we could, but despite our courage, the fray turned desperate quickly.  In growling Common, the worgs barked orders to each, cunningly attacking our largest warriors.  I took a deep cut which nearly laid me low, but Kespin tumbled to my side, dodging fang and claw alike, and sang a brief stanza in a language I had never heard before.  The next moment, my wound was healed and I had renewed vigor to fight on.  Which was good, because our warrior Mike, bereft of his steel skin, fell unconscious, bleeding from a dozen wounds.  In the next instant, Kobort too succumbed to his wounds.  Somehow I was able to draw several of the worgs to me, by swearing at them in the goblin tongue.  Westwind, with his spear and sword, pierced and slashed at several worgs.  All of this gave Kespin time to reach Mike’s side, and pour a flask of magical potion into his pallid lips. 

The potion did the trick; the next moment Mike went from near death to a frenzied madman, carving through the worgs like your Da slices through fine roasted goose on holy days.  With a mighty chop of his flaming sword (did I mention that Mike has a flaming sword?  He says some dwarven word and fire licks along the blade), he downed two in a heartbeat.  Meanwhile, I ran to Kobort’s side with Kespin to see if we could save his life.

The priest was nearly gone.  It took most of the bandages you made for me, but we finally were able to stop the bleeding before he met up with Heironeous before his time.  After the night passed, Kespin was able to heal him through song, and Kobort’s prayers sped his recovery.

In the morning, we continued towards Aniel.  As we journeyed, Kespin noticed a subtle change in Kobort.  The half-orc, after we all asked, told us that while he lay in the place between life and death, Heironeous spoke to him again, and called him to the life of a holy warrior, the paladin’s calling.  We all congratulated him for the calling, and continued marching.

We had heard more worgs in the distance and seen their spoor, but they soon dropped away.  We learned why – I found the tracks of a beast called an owlbear.  Looking like a feathered grizzly with a beak, the poor twisted creature attacks everything that moves that it sees.  Sadly, its lair lay directly in our path to the elven village, so we had no choice but to eventually encounter the creature.

It turns out that they were a mated pair.  I peppered the beasts with arrow fire while Kobort, Mike and Westwind waded into combat.  Kobort, still injured from the previous night’s combat, took a nasty wound and fell again.  This time, we were able to quickly bind his wounds and keep him alive, but we lost the rest of that day’s travel.  We made the priest turned paladin as comfortable as we could in the lair of the owlbears and prepared to spend Midsummer Eve there, caring for him.

I should mention this sad aside before I describe Midsummer Night to you.  Inside the lair of the owlbears, we found many remains of elves that had been killed and eaten, but we also found the body of the ranger, Allyn Claiborne, who had left Seblingham for Aniel some time before us.  The owlbears did not appear to have killed him; instead, he had aged wounds that suggested a giant spider bite had done the work.  We raised a cairn for him in the Wood and gathered his belongings to return to any loved ones he might have had.

Our Midsummer Night was magical… literally.  While Kobort slept, we received a visit from Endion Pindicar, the prince of the faeries of Menowood.  After an amusing standoff, they began to sing and play, and the whole glade rang with their music as the prince’s entourage began to dance.  Oh, Rika, the music was so beautiful our feet began to dance on their own.  Even the arrival of a party crasher in the form of a werewolf did not slow the music or the festivities.  The faeries even helped heal Kobort’s wounds.

The next morning, Kobort was back on his feet again and we finally discovered the elven village of Aniel.  I have seen cemeteries with more life in them.  As we searched, we found house after empty house.  I should describe the village a little more… the elven homes were up in the great trees, bound together by sturdy rope bridges and accessible only by ladders from the forest floor.

In the largest house but one, we saw a…well, a ghost really.  It told us it was the spirit of Tarien, one of the protectors of Aniel.  The village had come under the curse of Navae, once the apprentice of the great elven mage Revan, but who turned to evil and slew his master.  The gossipy ghost even told us how to break the curse, which required us to somehow get ahold of Revan’s most prized possession, a magic stone known as the Galadir. 

For ages, Revan’s family had wielded the Galadir to ward the dark elves (dark elves!  Have you ever heard of such a fell and awful thing?) from the Wood.  Well, we found the stone and were able to finally break it out of the magical vault that held it safe.  As Kobort lifted it free of its hiding place, all hell broke loose.

The ghost of “Tarien” reappeared and its form entered Kobort, only to leave just as quickly.  Kobort later told of the mental struggles as the poltergeist tried to take over control of his body.  It turns out “Tarien” was really Navae, and was trying to use Kobort to gain control of the Galadir.  But the priest’s faith proved too much for the undead spirit.

At the same time, a monstrous spider appeared before us and attacked.  This arachnid had the unnatural ability to blink in and out, trying to bite all of us.  It took time, but we counter-attacked both shade and spider, avenging both the elven mage Revan and the ranger Allyn Claiborne. 

I am usually skeptical about heathen gods, but this Heironeous that Kobort prays to must be something…perhaps it is Arvoreen in disguise.  With a flash of insight, the half-orc raised the stone up high and broke the curse over Aniel.  With a whoosh, all of the people of the elven village popped back into view.  We were welcomed as saviors.

In gratitude, the elves showered us with gifts of our choosing.  I now have an excellent short bow and arrows that the real Tarien (who popped back with the others) swears will fly further even than Jory’s special “league-shot” arrows. 

With this letter, I am sending some little things I hope you like: some elf cloth and lace from Aniel and a sachet of dried local flowers.  Seblingham still has no good hostler here; I have heard rumors of what happened to the last innkeeper and I think that keeps any local from taking the job.  But a person could clean up here right now.  There is a tavern of sorts, but the drinks are expensive and taste awful; only a fool would waste his money.  If any of your older sisters or even Mustard were interested in setting up shop here, the Swords have a good deal of influence and I am certain I could get them started.

Oh, our little fellowship now has a name.  I think it was Mike that branded us the Swords of Sunndi (it would be Mike, with that honking sword of his).  Kespin has written a song in our new honor, that either mistakenly (or intentionally, you never can tell with Kespin) happens to use the melody of a drinking shanty from the coast.  I will try to write down the words next time and send them to you…when you read it, you’ll probably catch the song right off, and will thus understand my amusement.

I love and miss you as always, especially at times like this when the others have gone off with their ladies and I am alone in this room, penning these words with a guttering candle, thinking only of your beautiful dark eyes.  It is my hope that our travels will soon take us close to Nayford so that I may see you again.  Please give my best to your family and tell my folks and brothers that I am well and think of them daily.  I am…

Affectionately Yours,

Wrye Leagallow