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A terrible shame, but I missed William's invitation, allowing that dealing with any miscreants tied to Rastenfeld should best be left far alone. And it seems I was right. On Saturday, a bearded muscle-bound thug broke down the door to my room, accompanied by a tall thin man with dark hair, parted straight down the middle. I had, of course, camouflaged myself against the horrid floral wallpaper the moment I had heard the heavy boots pause outside. Though in retrospect, guh ex would have sufficed and with less expenditure of precious mana and considerably less embarrassment to me to have a bevy of flower assortments across my person, but live and learn I say.
To their eyes, the room would have seemed recently abandoned; the slender one nevertheless ordered the big man to give it a good tossing, riffling through my notes, flipping my bed, and I thanked Hermes again for my brilliant insight into stashing what remains of my wand and vial outside of the city.
I've since taken the precaution of changing inn establishments four times this week. And during that time I accomplished a fair bit of reconnaissance (dare I say snooping?) around town at various locations (especially the land holding office) and I've turned up some interesting information. It struck me as odd that although the silver in the town has dried up, one company was currently aquiring all of the rights to the mines. After some digging and coin dropping (gold will loosen the most stubborn tongues for most venal hearts) I discovered that one of the shareholders of this mysterious company is none other than William Dovetail. What should I do with this information? Well that is a question isn't it...How about staying as clear from these crazed time-travelers? Sounds like a plan.
As of this entry I have only 34 days until my return to Legend and my wife's warm embrace. Why chance an encounter with these people. No one is sick or dying, there are no undead roaming the streets; there is simply no reason to get involved.
So I snubbed their invitation: what harm could it do? Another room tossing? I'm shaking in my boots. I laugh in the face of danger: Ha ha ha! I bite my thumb at it; I shake my foot at it; I waggle a toe at it.
34 days and I am home.

P.S.
As a precaution, I've set the Hermetic Index to autopost should I miss a week or two because I'm hiding out, and I'm 98% certain I got the runes right for the instructions. Woot!

Posted by Rowane de'Dannan at 11:26 AM | Permalink | Comments

I allow myself a few indulgences dispite my attempt to keep a low profile. I really I thought I had been doing a good job at blending in with these people while I wait out the enchantment; I've stashed my robe and satchel in a safe location and bought myself some drab frock coat, I'm even wearing a pair of jeans. I am in a word: stylin' So imagine my suprise when a panhandler stopped me on my way to the local shop to pick up a book or ten.

Times are hard in Tombstone now that the silver veins are drying up. Itinerant prospectors fill the streets, asking for handouts or a bite to eat when they can. The man who stopped me though, wasn't asking for handouts. He stood outside of the provisions shop and asked everyone else who entered to spare a coin. He was disheveled and had a magnificent grizzled beard that I envied fiercly. When he saw me, he fell silent, reached into his pants pocket and handing me the letter below.

Sir,

I believe we are at a disadvantage. You seem to know us, though we do not know you. You are obviously a man of some talent judging by your time in Rastenfeld: dealing with our operative was impressive enough, but then razing the village to the ground...we can do nothing but to grudgingly admire your efficient ruthlessness. Your following us to Tombstone has caused quite a stir in our organization, and it has become necessary that we meet. I pray that you would be amiable to talk? Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding that we can somehow rectify? I have been authorized to tell you that we are willing to negotiate.

My carriage will be available on the corner of Fremont and Allen Steet this Friday at 3 o'clock. I hope to see you there.

William P. Dovetail

The panhandler had been mesmerized, his vacant expression told me that much. He wandered off in a daze and left me to my thoughts.

Obviously my cover is blown and whoever I am dealing with knows I am here. And they have ties to that kiddy necromancer in Rastenfeld who I slew with skill beyond compare...
I need to consider the possibility that these are fellow time-forsaken and could have knowledge useful in getting back to Legend and MG. My Hermetic-senses are telling me to be catious, and I will, yet I think I will see this William and his organization. If they had meant for me to be dead, I'm sure a hail of bullets would do the trick. They could have done this at anytime.

I could just as well sit and do nothing. The hourglass tells me that the enchantment will expire in less 42 days, but what if it expires and instead of taking me back to Quickley's, I'm stuck forever in some magicless backwater. I should at least have a plan B.

Posted by Rowane de'Dannan at 10:11 PM | Permalink | Comments

When Phaeton took the reigns of his father's chariot, he couldn't comprehend fully the monumental task before him. Not only did he fail in guiding the terrible steeds of Helios across the vault of heaven, which lead directly to his death, he failed in reigning in his passions that lead him to his father in the first place.

Like Phaeton, we humans each have the ambitious task of guiding the resplendent chariot of our souls through life's journey. The force and impetus driving on our souls are two horses: one, a calm white, and the other, irascible black. They are our two passions. The doscile one is responsible for our good actions, the love we feel for our family and friends, feelings of empathy for those in need, and all the other forces and drives that have us doing right. The irascible one is our appitites, our desires, our bitterness and hate. The two horses are constantly bickering amongst themselves, always trying to pull in different directions. As the charioteer, we must do our best to control these horses, because should one gain complete control, balance is lost, and our doom is soon to follow. But sadly, there are situations too when the charioteer can do nothing at all but hold on for dear life.

When I learned that Lime, first among bloggers, had slipped from this mortal coil, even far from Legend as I am, I still felt loss and still do. The living always do.

I didn't know Lime as well as I could have, but what I saw, I liked. I knew her as a loveable gypsy, full of questions, interests, and desires. At times she could be blissfully happy, at others...not so much. I recall one conversation with the vibrant gypsy. We were at the Royal Stag. It was crowded that day and under the glower of Richard we ended up sharing a table. She was in a funk, and she talked of Zillah. He was her passion. Even then, when she first met him, she made her choice. I can't say for sure why, but I may know why it is that it was nearly impossible to leave once that choice had been made.

When both steeds of the soul stop pulling in different directions and then focus on one goal, not much on earth can change their movement.

My deepest condolences goes out to Lime's family, the gypsy caravan she belonged to, her sister Kizzie, the Eidolon Party, and Zillah Grey.

Posted by Rowane de'Dannan at 9:36 AM | Permalink | Comments

You know, what the %*&@ is up with these enchantment triggers anyway? What, have I stumbled into my own personal odyssey? Do I need to complete certain tasks in order to get home? Oh, oh! I know, maybe I have to expend more precious mana saving ungrateful townsfolk from the living dead!

Why is it that helping people, or solving puzzles, or slaying some big baddy is always the main method to completing a quest anyway. Couldn't I just complete a quest by snuggling up to my wife in our warm bed? Or how about fulfilling my odyssey obligations by eating cucumber-sandwiches with friends? Just once, it would be nice to pick a rose by the roadside and then hear: ding ding ding ding; "Congratulations Rowane de'Dannan, you've completed your task. Time to go home!" But noooooo, everything always have to be so bloody hard.
There has to be something more then my misspelling that's keeping me from going home. Especially if MoiraGwyn is walking Legend again. Is there some higher power bouncing me about in time?
I've still been preforming the rituals, I still appease the gods, so who did I piss off?
Posiden had Odysseus and Juno had Aeneus. I want to know, what god is making me their bitch?

So yes, I'm a little frustrated as you can tell. I've done a good job at keeping a low profile though and I've concluded that drinking is doing nothing to trigger the enchantment. The town of Tombstone is another magic-forsaken place and I estimate that thanks to my time in Rastenfeld I've depleted over half of my mana reserves and lost a fair amount spelltools. That $%^&@ satchel! I suppose summoning Epimethius was worth it though. I haven't seen that big lug in since I left. And he did turn out to be instrumental in killing the real necromancer. He was still crying on the road out of Rastenfeld when the enchantment activated, and probably still there blubbering until my charm dissipates. The poor big guilt-ridden softy. Shame I can't spare the mana to summon him again.

It's strange how the more your setting changes, the more your mind starts searching for the familiar. I saw a wanted poster today of a fair haired woman who looks just like someone I used to know.

Posted by Rowane de'Dannan at 12:08 AM | Permalink | Comments