She Glaives Me Not

One CrIsis is Enough

Cry(sniff)sissy ad hoc committee was due for an almost unanimous decision. Ostensibly, we met to mourn the loss. Of Fragment. Apart from Chip’s foul mouth having transferred expletive-consciousness into the diminutive feline form of the group’s true leader. Tyvernos, attached as ever to the Lion Headdress.

Alright, Father, enough fragments. Was that? They still. Are? CrIsis’s other un-almost unanimous decision deterred us from pursuing the Glaive. The Barbarians of Northmoor have volunteered to lend Palladium their aid. Alas, it appears as though the CrIsis calendar was booked for the next year or two. Just a little too long. For such a monumental task. To lie fallow.

My dear friend Gavin exchanged vows, downed the nuptials, and summarily wed his fellow Changeling Morgan. I was the most urbanely dressed of the guests and proudly displayed my mastery over the entire animal kingdom. Otto has taken to disparaging my preference of attire-feline despite my offer of equality. I swore to Bennu on all that his holy of his St. Bernardine parentage that I’d flay from him his hide and don the memory of him to complete my ensemble. Bennu, however, cannot promise his further existence in the wake of such an admirable sacrifice in the name of haute-couture — the noblest of causes.

The crow’s nest had gone missing but our talented leather-workers deigned not to beckon the host of angelic amphibians to our beacon torn from the bodies of their departed. CrIsis continues to err on the side of caution and I fret over whether I should continue to allow them voices in my complex illusion of democracy. Otto has promised me that he will vote on my side when the time draws nigh. I believe I can also persuade the memory of Robert the Just, Rell, Greldarr, the Dread Pirate and Chip to endorse my bid for enlightened despotism…if not clemency. Be well brothers grim! Our time is at hand!

After a miraculous series of nautical maneuvers guess who failed to dash the Winged Victory upon a reef! The incredible seamanship actually enabled our hawk’s eye Cava to espy an enticing chest sitting innocently on the rocks. I ordained both Karma and S’Erith into the Church of Air and they retrieved our booty from the clutches of the sea. Oh! On account of her having been impregnated we graciously accepted Morgan into the CrIsis Club. After such a wonderful ceremony I didn’t have the heart to divulge my nightly clandestine trysts into their quarters. He’s such a sound sleeper. Honestly, though, I must admit to feeling infinitely more potent and…dare I say…virile, since donning the Lion Headdress. It has enhanced me with uncanny prowess and otherworldly endowments. It shall never leave my body.

Which brings me to my next tidbit. The Lemarians allowed me to keep the Headdress for fear of my wroth. They took, instead, the Scepter of Apis and my of my comrade’s other weapons. Otto’s bloodline descends directly from the Lemarian Goddess — a She-Devil they’ve twisted into our Holiest Isis! Blasphemy! Heresy! Ooooh shiny!

I’m getting ahead of myself. Antecedent to our capture I saved my friends from the paralytic constrictions of a massive Sea-Boa. My best vantage was at the lowest point of the ship so I was lucky enough not to witness most of the carnage and be furthest away from the lullaby of doom that eventually struck all of my companions unconscious. All save one. I know I promised no more fragments. I. Lied.

We wake up in Lemaria!

We arrive in Storm Haven!

We are checked out by nurses in the name of ensuring the safety of their population. Submitting to their routine checkup. Crossbow bolts are fired. These are followers of Isis and the Gods of Light. They mean well and their ways are strange. Otto is safe. Tyvernos is at ease. A foreign land with foreign religion and different interpretation. Tyvernos still has the lion headdress but the Staff of Apis and all the other group’s magical possessions have been withheld to be checked for curses and other contamination.

We narrowly escape a fight between Serith and the High Priestess over Ood.

Again, it is up to Tyvernos to wield the mightily versatile powers of Air Elementalism and abet our kidnappers. After curfew the group retired to its cel…er, quarters while I snuck out under the cover of darkness and infiltrated Stormhaven with the dropping of eaves. I was able to glean some very sensitive information from a few men and women and even a very regal-looking she-Elf. I denied my inclination to gather a gust and give myself a voyeuristic view and, instead, returned to my companions with what I presumed to be the location of our stolen equipment. Hopefully it’d return from hoc…er, quarantine unscathed and without incident. I believe I’d be mistaken.

The Lemarians have unleashed a familiar demon. Aren’t we glad we kept that sword? I certainly am!

The St. Bernard is learning to write. I have dedicated an hour each night to teaching him Dragonese so that he will be my scribe and, eventually, my bard. As a composer he will truly shine. I have the utmost faith in his ability to capture my magnanimous adventures and god-shuddering deeds! Roll over Beethoven!

Until then…

Very Truly Yours,

Tyvernos Oriflamme

Written by Tyvernos on the 4th of Thoth, in the 68th Year of the Wolfen Empire.

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