Sagas of the New Urth

From Sunshine Mine to the Twisted Woods

From the journal of LĂșthien the Exile
34rd Day of Spring, Kalendir Year 1085

It is a universally acknowledged truth that a dwarf in possession of dirt will be in want of more dirt. Or so I have ascertained from our brief time among them here in the Sunshine Mine. Malesevo acquired supplies sufficient for the journey ahead through a rather ingenious trade.

However, it was the path ahead that truly became interesting—at least from my point of view. We encountered sprites, cousins to my own people who were greatly attuned to nature. They tested us to see if we were sorcerors, but doubt fell upon Malesevo rather than myself. The shaman, bedecked in a feather cloak with a great bird skull on his head and an ancient silver staff in hand, led us to a hut built into the earth at the base of a great and immeasurably old tree to “consult the roots”. They administered some manner of drug to Malesevo and he fell into a slumber so deep it was almost death.

I have it upon good accord that he spoke to the spirit of the Mother Tree. I wonder now if it might not have been a work of sorcery itself, but I dared not say so. In exchange for information too personal to Malesevo for him to tell us, we were honor-bound to destroy a golem tearing apart the forests. But not before Ikki introduced the culinary arts to the natives, who misunderstood precisely what “cooking” actually means. Still, it did provide everyone with a great amusement. The forest surrounding their home is like nothing I can recall seeing, so rich with edible things that even as wild things they were never in want for food. The sprites shaped their structures and tools to fit the nature around them with a grace I find enviable.

Of course, we could not remain forever with a demon’s appointment hanging over our heads. Instead we found ourselves on the great trail of broken trees that lead to a motionless golem and a bickering man and woman.

“This is the giant thing all over again!” she accused.

His reply was, “That was…unfortunate. How was I to know giants are allergic to cinnamon.” The loquacious and puff-breasted Lorenzo the Magnificent claimed to have bound the creature to his will when we confronted him. The reality was somewhat different. Through trickery, we lured the would-be magister and his highly irritated assistant away. The woman left with much of his money after Malesevo plied him with enough liquor to drop an elephant. In Lorenzo’s profession was a partially burned elven book on demons, which I took for safekeeping. Meanwhile, the ever resourceful pair of Ikki and Rakmash destroyed the golem by sending it careening over the edge into a ravine. In exchange, the shaman communed again with the Mother Tree and was able to provide us with a crude map to Mircum.

Travel continued on, of course. With dire wolves passing us in the night as we drew closer to the town, we sought refuge at the campfire of charcoal-makers. It was there I learned a little more of Rakmash—he hails from the Red Bone Clan. In Mircum itself, we had the dubious pleasure of meeting a zizzicks hunter named Krogar who derives his pleasure from killing anything that moves, it would seem. Even the illusive “Sasquatch”, a fabrication of imagination from the villagers and my companions alike.



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