I remember Shintarel slicing the air, about to cleave the head of the Bastard Drow Beylin with all the fury I could focus through her righteous steel… now… I become aware of a terrible blackness. At first I thought myself under the Devil-Drow’s black mist, but the air is different, hot and moist… and I am ankle deep in a sickly sweet smelling liquid that reminds me of the vomit the young acolytes would spew after their first day of hard training.
It becomes apparent that I am not alone in this darkness. This heavy shadow even prevents Navi from shining her brilliant moonlight and aiding my inspection of the surroundings. Voices calling out… voices hoping to find comfort and protection in companionship. I feel my soul-light dim… the murderous Drow lives and my vengeance is incomplete. Rather than isolate myself with my shame I shall be forced to live it out amongst these creatures until I can escape.
The one that later identified himself as a Bard seemed overly concerned with not attacking our cage. After using my magis to create a shockwave of force needles to blast our way out fleshy arms which made our prison seemed to take a liking to the bard. It is unclear how intimate he became with the disembodied arms, but I find myself somewhat relieved by the fact that he described the intercourse as “disturbing.”
Eventually our captor made himself known. A strange beast of a being that calls himself the last Yugoloth? Though my mind and soul have travelled the world for eons I could not recall any knowledge of such a creature. I suspect him to be a demon or devil, and that he will reveal his true nature in time. He does have an odd fascination with male sexual excretions being of an “able-bodied” nature… Perhaps he is a demon of desire, or seeks to create an army of Cambion via a dark succubus… The constant referencing might have been humorous were I given to a jovial mood at the time.
The Yugoloth abducted us to serve as members of his new crew. He claims to seek the resurrection of his lost culture… The means to this end will most likely tear the veil of reality asunder. Again I suspect that is his true mission and he seeks to gain our sympathy for his plight through the ruse of a genocided peoples.
The captain left us with his crew… a strange talking jellyfish as large as myself, and a perplexing cube with legs that had multiple faces… the crew of this ship is bizarre in looks and tastes. The jellyfish… or the cube… it is hard to tell them apart… desired us to go into the depths of the ship to procure “non-rotten meat.” While one of them wanted non-rotten meat, the other seemed to desire nothing but… The group I awoke with, the one’s who desire food at least, seem to be of the mind that non-rot food was superior to rotted. I have heard similar sentiments among the Cauldron Born and the acolytes.
My new companions are… unique. A very confused battle mechanoid who speaks of “quantum physics” and “molecular structures”... I think his creator may have been a derranged artificer who sought to create the ultimate battle warforged, but mixed up ingredients, and now is plagued with a bizarrely malfunctioning Ultimate Baffling Warforged. When he speaks I often hear the mocking voice of the Dragon Layer stating the limitations of magics and I curse the asinine mystic who put together such a contraption. I will admit that during battle the “droid,” as he called himself,was not entirely without use… though he seemed to put a great amount of effort into a battle plan the yielded little results. I seem to have the most in common with the contruct on a purely physiological sense. Neither of us require food… as the ships stores consist mostly of rot I give thanks to Corellon for my bodily resilience. Neither of us require any degree of normal humanoid sustenance for that matter: Air, Sleep, or Water. We also differ more than any of the others. Rook, as the battle-droid designates himself, seems to have no emotion, no feeling, no connotative experience to his history. I wonder if I could train my mind to push away my feelings. To think of Beylin as mission without being vengeance… there could be advantage to such thinking… to such lack of feeling.
There is a halfling. Though darkened by my failures to avenge Corellon’s fallen children I find myself soul-light brightening at the sight of the ever-optimistic kinder. He wears terribly bold colors that I would find offensive on any other race… and most likely on any other kinder. I can only describe the tiny creature as adorable. After his epic failure in battle I plan on having Navi keep an eye out for him. The poor thing needed to be roused during combat… as halfling anatomy is not terribly different that that of other humans, elves, dwarves, etc. I went to aide him… Treating his wounds, I roused him from unconsciousness and deftly returned to combat. Shintarel had not yet cleaved another piece of the giant insects carapace than the kinder once again fell to the physical effects of the crawlers toxic venom. Keeping this half-pint alive will be quite the challenege… That being said his precious demeanor and adorable half-smile seem to call to some parental ley-line inside my hard crystal shell to keep him well. I wonder if this is how half-lings perpetuate their species… through pity? The Cauldron Born children have probably studied such a thing. I should research this if given the opportunity.
There is a dawrf warrior. My experience with dawrves is little… often I see they have a fascination with my crystalline body and then scoff and express distaste when they discover my magic affiliations. A competent warrior on the battlefiled, though carrion crawlers would not be a new experience to a dwarf. I sent Navi to assist this stout fighter in battle, he made great use of the distraction the wisp provided, though he did not fell his foe. It would tell me more if he had been a buffoon… I vaguely remember him saying that he had served as a whore in a tavern. I am unclear whether he jests or if the information were correct. The desperation that so many humanoids face when trying to catch a mate… pitiable. Still… worse stock could be found.
There is also a cloaked man… he has the face of a snake… I cannot tell whether he is Githzerai or Githyanki as I have only read of these races in books. He moves fluidly, though maintains his distance… both from the group and from his enemies. Thinking to gain a better glimpse of him I cast a light spell on his cloak once we were in the bowels of the ship… he turned the cloak inside out… the illumination gave a better view of his face, but that is all I have learned. He maintains an eerie quiet about himself… a quiet that seems to convey a sadness. Perhaps his story is not unlike my own… something lost… something taken… and vengeance his goal. I would seek to learn more from him, but there is a method to his combat that is startling… Arcana, Nature and the Divine weave into his movements… for such a vessel to posess these forces would have to be more powerful and potent than it appears. Study this one carefully… there may be benefit to delving into the spiritual realm for primal energies.
Then there is the Bard. A half-elf that could be called handsome if he weren’t so foppish. After laying eyes on me and my soullight he immediately asked if there were a monetary advantage to bartering pieces of my crystal form. I must admit that my anger got the better of me… the insolence of Half-Elves… His skin is darker than most half-elves I have seen… his incourageable attitude suggests Drow may be the half-blood flowing through his bounderish veins. Still… in combat he was skilled at tactics. Maneuvering this band of mismatched misfits. He lacked understanding of what Corellon’s Champion is capable of… seeking to send me to second wave status. Fool. I felled two of the three crawlers and exacted great damage on the remaining… had I been able to focus my divine fury on the third, instead of heal the peaked kinder I would have felled the last. After the battle was finished the bard played an abyssmally cheery tune on his lyre which gave me cause to regain my strength. If I am not well enough to walk outside of earshot of that terribly jaunty music I am better off dead. Queerly, the half-drow did discard his flute. Soaked in the bilge water and bile he found it distasteful to put his mouth on the instrument again. Now I have a new flute.
I grow tired without the solace of sleep. Bodies lie in the corner. Some of them Drow. I inspect them to see if they are Beylin… it is too much to hope for… I do not recognize these corpses. Today Shintarel is denied her true-enemy, Corellon is denied her vengeance, and I am denied my peace. The two crawlers I have slain are being cut up for their meat… Perhaps the travels with this Captain can see m goals achieved. The last of Corellon’s Avenging Wizards will have the blood of Lolth’s Deceiving Child… and by the gallons.