By the Twelve and One, I seem to have found mine self embroiled in strange events in strange lands, accompanied by strange folk.
Though I was lucky enough to win the armor and shield division of a local tournament, I almost did not survive the next encounter: a battle with a demon spider of some sort. Its poison was… most foul, and made me look a weak fool in front of the crowd, not to mention the two men I have found mine self accompanied by.
Their names are Kamahl and James the Scarlet. Kamahl is a man of the Pards, one of the mountain ranges near here. He is a prime example of his people: fierce in combat, and without even a hint of civilized refinement. I envy him a bit his battle prowess, which is far more perilous than mine, but at the same time, my travels with him have since shown that he may need a bit of looking after if we travel through towns consisting of more than a pair of thatch-roofed huts.
James the Scarlet is a man I would have stand by my side any day… but not watch my back. He’s both a mage and a coward, but nonetheless a refined man, and one who knows his way about merchants and cities. He’s helped our party fetch more than fair prices on the spoils of our victories. He has the personality of sandpaper, however, and insists on mispronouncing my name, among other irritants.
But I do believe our last trial showed not only their true characters, but also a sample of the strangeness that is to come as we seek this lost treasure. We stopped in Hythe Wellyn, a port town of surpassing strangeness. There we found an inn of such grandeur that I may never see its like again. The things I could describe… were I a bard, and trained in handling a quill as well as I handle mine armor and shield. Suffice to say it rivaled or surpassed the courts of kings. And we stayed for free.
Or did we? It seems the race of creatures that live there, despite their more or less human appearance, rely on others for reproduction, taking their seed and creating more energy with it. Kamahl, good-natured barbarian that he is, bedded a wench there, and within the day, she produced him a son, who looked to be about ten years of age. He was capable of speech, coherent speech at that. So coherent in fact it was uncanny, and for some reason I found the brat infuriating.
Scarlet trusted me with his apprehensions about that place and its people, and for this I shall endeavor to trust him with mine own. He seems to have a rational head on his shoulders, and not prone to charging in headfirst, or perhaps, to wit, with other parts of his body first as Kamahl did.
Perhaps now that we have survived this, we shall work together all the better for it.