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Now consider the implications of the above statement: me, a Hermetic through and through, labeling anything as dull. Exactly how boring does a place need to be in order for that to happen? My peripatetic adventuring aside, watching ward-paint dry is exciting to me; the prospect of holing away in a room and reading the Hermetic Index for a week is my idea of a good time.

Yet here I am. How did I get here?

I had been collecting an peculiar variety of yellow roses, a sure sign of MoiraGwyn's druidic hand if there ever was one, in a forest near the Wampanoag tribe when the enchantment triggered. That white tri-circular rune pattern rotating in the the air gives me little to no warning and I still don't know what sets it off. Though I can't help but admire it. As enchantments go, it's beautiful: all the runes dancing and chiming in perfect unison. Erm, nearly all of them I should say. One rune, kala, in a bold crimson red, spins out of sync and emanates a ugly discordant hum, providing an annoying reminder of my HTD every time it activates. When it does go off, I am compelled to go. Whether this is result of the magic itself or the typo, traveling through spell is like what I imagine a bolt of lightning feels when Zeus flings it: just blazing speed coupled with a gut-wrenching impact.

I appeared in the town of Rastenfeld in the middle night, though town is giving it too much credit, let's call it a hamlet instead. Aside from a stray mutt lapping at a muddy waterhole, my arrival went unnoticed.

I thought at first that I had made it back to Legend. The square wooden buildings, topped with yellow-brown thatch, look just like the hovels outside of Klein. In fact, according to the locals, Klein supposedly is only two days ride away on a fast steed. But I can feel already the time is wrong. From what I've seen Legend exists on a swords edge of space and time. Anything before or beyond that edge simply not Legend. Maybe one day I'll attempt to put down my theories on our fair land, but one thing at a time.

I've been here for a week, renting a room from a coppersmith and spending most of my time searching for clues of MoiraGwyn's whereabouts. The searching part took about a day. Now, I'm pretty much indoors, avoiding the plague. Well, maybe it's the plague. Shortly after I arrived, a sickness swept through Rastenfeld. It's cutting down people like a scythe through wheat. The carpenter next door is sawing away at all hours just to keep up with the coffin demand. The coppersmith fell ill two days ago. I now talk to him through my closed door and he tells me in his stuffy mucus-filled voice that they've called for priests from Klein as the resident man of the cloth is currently dead.

I was given a brief reprieve from my boredom by sending a spectral scout to NadIa's wedding. That proved to be very entertaining. I can't believe that I miss the Inferno, but considering the spectral scout only allowed me to see the flame-riddled landscape and not smell the sulfur it emitted, it's not that hard to understand; Hell is quite beautiful this time of year...

It seems I'll have to cut this post short as there's currently someone banging loudly at my door. I assume it's the coppersmith coming to tell me that the mayor is dead. Lovely.

Posted by Rowane de'Dannan on Monday, January 15, 2007 at 3:16 PM | Permalink