The halfling pushed the book aside. It mattered little how many times she set the quill to the page; she could not decide how to begin her entry. She rested her head back against the chair she sat on and cast her gaze around the room. This was not her home, but it certainly felt as though she were; spiraling tendrils of light rose from discs in the floor and held globes aloft at four points from the chamber. The center of the room was dominated by an alien, arcane dais that seemed a place to hold something in stasis, or summon it. A glossy, glass screen stood before her, its curving design suggesting that it required tentacles to operate it.
Zazie reached out to run her fingers across the panel and furrowed her brows. Thin stains suggested that it had been covered in a sticky mucus, once upon a time; a bit of damage seemed to have left the device inoperable, though it was just as likely that she had simply been unable to understand it enough to activate the thing. She stood at the crossroads of impatience and curiosity, where she was too eager to linger and learn, yet frustrated by the lack of an immediate answer.
She lifted the book back into her lap and set the quill to the page once more.
These past days have been excessively bothersome. A needless trial, a dozen secrets discovered and kept, and every soul around me splintering into tribal barbarity once more. Such is the way of adventurers, I suppose; they are much the same no matter where I travel. At the very least, I have found something fascinating and woefully rare: an abandoned illithid complex.
It appears to be in a state of ruin. I can only assume that the former inhabitants were forcibly evicted from the premise, though that alone is a surprising thought. It appears to be safe enough at the moment; the adventurers have torn through this place with little regard for the locale. They are more concerned about their brooding. Disappointing. Still, I do not mind being abandoned here. There are a few slaadi locked in a room and unable to leave, and I have tried to ask questions from around the corner, but the imprisoned creatures only babble inane nonsense. I am sure it makes sense to them in some way, but I do not know what to make of 'rughrak appleshoe hesstia'sleem dozh durak moose wa desu.'
I am not even sure if I transcribed that properly.
It might have been a spell, now that I think about it. It would explain the flashes of light and the screeching of frustration that the bars remained in tact. Regardless, I find the structure itself to be fascinating. I have only seen one other illithid structure before, but it was a simple trading post on the outskirts of a subterranean port, and its sole occupant was unwilling to discuss anything except business matters. There seems to be a loose purpose to the majority of the structure, however; the lower floors are something akin to a dungeon meets arena meets luncheon. Specifically, there appear to be a number of dining halls and lounging areas on the main floor, though each houses a trio of cells along its walls, where I have found blatant evidence of former torture and defilement of bodies.
Duergar, I think. The bones are fairly pronounced, stout, and sturdy, and the skulls are thick, but cracked where their gray matter has been extracted. Some of the messes are relatively fresh, but I think it may simply be the influence of the slaadi dwelling here; they need to eat, too, after all. The walls themselves seem to be interlaced with a rotten, organic substance. I think it is gray matter, though I may be mistaken. I cannot imagine what else it would be though.
The upper floor is a greater conundrum. My current assumption is that it was something of a command center. There are few fortifications to suggest it was the heart of any complex, but it may have been a forward outpost. I have found signs of a central brain or elder brain chamber, but it has been collapsed under rubble. It is entirely possible that the outpost was abandoned because of the adventurers themselves. I will look around a little further and see if I can narrow down the purpose of this location before I depart.
Mere hours later, Zazie slumped against a small wooden table in the Hadrian town square. Her cloak no longer had its fine trim, its edge and small holes scorched into it. Her hair was a frazzled mess; soot stained her hands and cheeks; and a few lacerations and bruises had been crudely patched up by inept bandaging. The ashes on her forehead gave her the false appearance of furrowed and angry eyebrows, but the truth beneath the explosive makeup was the usual deadpan that had become her day to day countenance. She rolled the quill slowly along her fingers, reluctant to write again, though she knew she had to.
When the moment finally came, her hand trembled. Annoyance, frustration, disappointment. The public locale was hardly fit for any emotional displays, though. A single, quiet breath brought her bandaged hand steady once more, and she began to write again.
The adventurers abandoned me in the illithid outpost and did not bother to clear out its halls. In the upper floor, a trio of death slaadi awaited, one of them lording over the other two. Below, in the chamber I described as an arena, I found a tanar'ri general, a balor lord, bound within its walls; and outside of the structure, a beholder, a beholder mage, and a manticore awaited, perhaps eager to lay claim to the compound now that the slaadi and drider threats had been removed. My battle with the balor was almost anticlimactic. The beast fell much easier than I expected it to, only to explode in a shower of fire, which has scorched my clothing and nearly cost me my eyebrows, were it not for my quick reflexes with my cloak.
The beholders, too, offered little proper resistance. Enough of them remained when I had finished with them that I was able to acquire a few samples of each. Flesh, blood, an eye from one of their stalks, and even the torn optical nerves of the mage. I also took one of the manticore's spikes from its root; I am interested to know how such creatures replenish their supply so swiftly. If nothing else, it would be nice to know more about their biology, should I run across any more in the future. I wasted few minutes too many, and the balor's detonation damaged much of the arena, which has irritated me more than anything else about this.
My preference for living, though, kept me from overstaying my welcome down there. Knowing that creatures were already eager to lay claim to the compound only stirred me to depart sooner, though I think I shall return over the next few days to try to acquire a few charcoal sketches of the architecture, or perhaps even attempt to activate the devices that I found in a few of the chambers.
~Zazie
The halfling snapped the book closed, stashed it in her bag, and departed the town square. The lack of familiar faces was maddening; if silence and solitude would be forced upon her, she would enjoy them under her own conditions: comfortable, in the confines of her own home...
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Zazie turned her head aside and buried her nose into the crook of her right arm. Three, two, one; the pitiful squeak of a sneeze broke the near-silent ambience of the swamp house. Outside, frisky crickets chirruped and giant frogs croaked, but few other sounds made their way through the petrified wooden walls of the old hut. A half-dozen half-empty bottles and as many bowls of spices were laid out on the countertop of her kitchen, each one spilling a pungent aroma into the air, and a puddle of golden-amber palm wine threatened to stain the wood if she did not wipe it up soon. With a sniff that offended her senses again but spared her the unpleasantness of a running nose, Zazie turned back to the arrangement. Her left arm was nearly wrapped again.
She pulled the fine linen gauze taut around her wrist, then looped it around her palm once, twice, before she went for a second layer. The bitter sting of natron - salt ash - irritated her and left an itch that she could not scratch, but it was a sensation she had long become accustomed to. With the fresh bandages in place, Zazie turned her arm to pin the loose end of the strip until she could grab a proper clasp, a plain, nearly flat thing that reminded her more of a hair barrette. All that remained was to wash away the acrid stink of the alcohol, salt, herbs, and other resins she had used in the process. She tipped a bowl of bay leaves and cinnamon into a clay mortar, then brought its matching pestle over to begin crushing the spices into a fine powder.
The halfling could not help but lament how much time she had spent on treating her wound. It had been almost two hours since she had returned home and started the process, but she was nearly finished now. With the bay and cinnamon ground into fine powder, she sprinkled pinches along the re-wrapped limb before palming the bandages to rub the sweeter scent into the cloth, over and over until the white linen had taken on a subtle red-brown hue from the powdered mixture.
Process complete, Zazie stoppered the bottles and covered the bowls with cloth and twine to save what remained. Her black pajamas had been dusted with a myriad of colors, but a round of laundry would see that remedied.
Some nights, I wonder what kind of madness or inspiration held me in its arms when I built my calling stone. Eight tablets and a divining bowl, constructed from my very own treasures; I do not know why I built it, and hardly remember any more about its construction than simply polishing the damages edges so that everything would fit together. I do not even know how I know that it is a calling stone. Perhaps it is a name I have scraped up from some deep recess of my memories.
It is as an altar, though. I find it a suitable place to leave offerings to the Goddess, though it is just as fitting a place for other communes. I have watched with fascination as an offering has been taken apart, piece by piece, and sent away, where the blank tablet shines with hieroglyphs. I have placed a blade over the bowl and found it held aloft by the magic of the stone, its enchanted runes alight, while runes and sigils on the tablets themselves lit up as well. I have thought about taking it apart to see what I did to create this device, but I will wait. Perhaps I scribbled a note for myself somewhere.
I have been regretting its construction, though. At night, I will hear whispers, and I am certain it is the calling stone. I cannot understand them; mere noises that hush when I dare to investigate or think to peer around the corner. Yet my rest has been wonderful when my heart stops panicking and my body surrenders to sleep! My dreams are vivid and I recall them in the mornings with perfect clarity. My nightmares, too.
My biggest regret is that I made it so tall.
~Zazie
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