Re: Falcons Hollow II: Along Came A Spider
[Excerpt from the journal of Nomerendal the "Tunespinner"]
The days lately feel as though they've run together. Since we left Falcon's Hollow to discover the fate of a delayed shipment of logs from the Consortium camp, I've gotten little in the way of good rest. Last night I collapsed in exhaustion after putting forth my best effort so as not to discourage my most trustworthy and trusting companions. They, like myself, have faced much, and though we've tasted success once more, each has given something of his or her self to the undertaking. I feel grateful to know these folks, to fight along side them and to learn from them.
I begin to see, after some actual and meaningful time treading the dangerous path of adventure, that songs and tales can never fully relate neither the heroics nor the suffering which the characters in them actually experience. Words and notes can certainly embellish, but after seeing and doing first hand just a minor amount of what famous heroes have faced, I lament that neither my tongue nor my quill can truly capture that which has taken place these last several days! That I may one day have that skill is my private and sincere desire. It shall be the goal which shall guide me going forward.
Forward. It's odd that when looking back through the pages of this journal, and noting the various and sundry lists of preparations I've jotted down with the purpose of one day experiencing adventure of my own, that nothing really prepared me for what's taken place in the last few weeks. I suppose it all started with the poisoning of the town's well, but I guess I never accepted our search for a remedy as a true adventure! It wasn't until I thought to spin a tune of the undertaking, as a lark of course, that I realized the elements similar in all the greatest of tales! And now... I've seen creatures, have pierced them with my arrows even, things that are right out of a child's nightmare - even giant spiders, a wererat, a darkling druidess - finally I have first-hand experience to draw on when sharing my tales at Jak'a'napes!
It is with a saddened heart that I write that which follows. I've long enjoyed squeezing words from a quill and summoning scenes with my lute. And though my studies and works have helped greatly in the aforementioned outings, I feel that I need to spend more time with bow in hand if I am to help pull my weight in the battles we may yet engage in. It is therefore my intent to practice insomuch as to strengthen my bow arm and increase my skill.
Toward that end, I plan to lay my quill and lute aside for a time. Having seen dear Arell laid low more times than I can count in the last few days, and = rather embarrassingly - having inflicted more than one wound upon his person by my own mistakes, I realize that such practice will not only keep him from throttling me - justly deserved I freely admit - but may keep his cranky old self upright and breathing. I'd be remiss not to put in writing that I really do care for my dear friend, and I see it doing him well to get out from behind his desk. It's been wonderful to spend time with dear cousin Fidget and see her wonderful magic made manifest! I'll always cherish the zeal and bravery of Dorak Fellhammer. Sara, tall and wild, has grown on me considerably to the point I secretly admire her courage and skill!
I was saddened - unexpectedly I suppose, but not so much as I reflect upon it now - when Francis decided he must leave us. Such knowledge and intelligence must be tempered with experience and wisdom, his journey much like my own, but he's so raw and young. Some years of just... living... will do him much good. I do hope our paths meet again one day. If for no other reason, I'm curious to see what inventions will spring from that fertile mind!
I close this entry now as I take up my bow and quiver. May my arrows find their marks - and not Arell's rump! - and may my abilities benefit my companions and our future quests, for I am inspired to believe there will be more...
Nomerendal closed the journal, shoved it deep into his knapsack, and proceeded to worry a target at the far side of a small forest clearing. When his last arrow flew, he padded softly across the grass to gather them. Several of the arrows had hit the rotted stump he'd poked sticks into to represent the legs of a large spider. The small arrows had barely penetrated. Somewhat dejected, Nom walked back to his mark.
"I need a better bow." He knew that was only the half of it. He needed to build up his arm as well...
OOC: Nom is taking a level of Fighter this time. Hopefully it will help! ;-)