Dear Diary,
Thank goodness I have finally been able to procure pen and parchment. The most recent days have been strange to put it lightly. If it wasn't for noble Polmund, I would probably have gone mad.
Recently, I learned something very interesting. Polmund spells my name 'Marowyn' when he writes. He says that that is how it is spelled in his tongue. I do not have the heart to correct his spelling; it is a marvel that he can find himself in the mood and sobriety for the pen from time to time.
But that is not why I write.
I do not know what the old man hoped to gain by hurtling Polmund and I through a hole and into another new world. But the fact of the matter is that I am here and Polmund is here and there is little we can do about that. And it is a strange world this time. My eyes are odd here, glowing faintly. And I have discovered this... talent... for flinging myself twenty paces over ground with a thought. It is startling to say the least.
I am called an 'eladrin' here. Elves are something entirely different
Honestly. Can the world get any more complicated?
I digress. Polmund and I immediately made ourselves familliar with a caravan group, becoming guards. It didn't help that not only we were an odd pair, but that I also resembled a child to their eyes. But we muddled on through it.
We eventually came to the town of Coldcreek. It was a small, unremarkable fur-trade town. But the festival was in full swing, which made it a pleasure. Even if I only had to guard the merchandise.
I noticed the Straw Dolls, though. This creepy old man, after sneaking a peek at the caravan's more risque wares (um, don't ask, diary) took out a small doll and whispered something into it. And everybody started doing it too. And then they burned them. I suspect that it's come ritual cleansing of sins.
The cleric of Pelor who had come to oversee the festival made merry and received confessions until the full peak of the festival.
Then the Scarecrow came. It appeared out of one of our own caravan carts, one that I had not remembered seeing. It jumped out, clawing and screaming "The bigger the sin, the bigger the doll!' and 'Winter comes!'
Polmund, a Dragonman, an elven staff-fighter, a human wizard, and I managed to halt it before the cleric was slain. Remarkably. We could not prevent a few casualties, sadly. I am getting better at violence. But I still do not like it. I do not share Polmund's enthusiasm, but I do appreciate his zeal when faced with a screeching cold-horror that absorbs all of my ice spells.
The battle was won, but the night was not over. Not long after, I heard the townsman, the wizard curse under his breath. "They shouldn't be here...the Frostfall clan shouldn't be here!"
-- I'm sorry, Diary, but the lamp's out of oil. I shall continue another night.
Tags: Morwynn Ashefoxxe Otoros Krave Terroth
