Heaven and Earth

I’m writing this entry from literally the last place in the world I would have expected to be – by the side of a fire surrounded by Killoren who I don’t know who are part of a renegade civilization rebelling against a city in the fucking sky who are ruled over by these angels (who I’m fairly certain aren’t angels) who all worship Io (even though I’m fairly certain that’s not what’s really happening either).

Fuckballs, man, I can’t even begin to conceptualize everything that’s happened. At first glance, these Renegades (who are way more charitable than the “civilized people” who live in their weird-ass sky city) seemed like bad news. They attacked all those innocent people and had a hill giant and a dire elk on their side.

Bad news, right?

But I had a strong, strong feeling that all was not as it seemed at that first battle. My druidic brethren would not attack innocent people, as our regard for life is too strong. And they were able to pass through Talleria’s cleverly-wrought wall of good, so no one truly evil was present.

We decided to accompany the cleric of Io onto the mine cart caravan thing (a bad move, in hindsight), and got sent off to New Ashton. Our poor choice here might have been the influence of the horrible ball of fire in the sky. Blessedly it vanishes every night, but seems to come back every morning without fail. How have these people managed to live in this heat? Blech. I’m sweating in areas I didn’t know I had.

Oh, and you can only get to New Ashton via an airship or some fucking floating transportation sorcery. After much cajoling we got into the airship, which was piloted by a Halfling named Tika – who was at first beguiling with her funny and straight-forward manner, but became less attractive as her acquaintance grew. I believe she has a drinking problem. She is now, in fact, entirely drunk and repeatedly hopping over one of the smaller bonfires, singing “Sex On Fire” really really loudly. You’ve got to be drunk to pilot one of those things.

I don’t trust these fucking angels, including the one in this camp. I sort of wonder if this female is some kind of secret spy the angels have planted among the renegades, left to ripen on the vine until such time as her presence proves most useful. I do not doubt there is a terrible and arcane secret behind their presence in our world, and I do not like the implications of what’s happening. My horns are vibrating in a most displeasing manner around these “angels” and that usually means something bad.

I’ve found myself taking a position of leadership among my companions, as Tallaria is sometimes unwilling to speak to others under her “position,” Ka Tal is more the strong, silent type (emphasis on the silent), and Vyaria has a hard time maintaining eye contact and staying on topic. Not my usual scenario but it could be worse. I could be in charge of a bunch of children, or forced to spend time with elves. Seriously, how annoying are elves? Horchata is doing well on the outer world, amongst the forest and the wind. It pleases me to see her so happy. You know what would make me happy? Some fucking ale. I guess they just don’t make it in the forest. Assholes.

Speaking of ale, holy shit, we found Beorg Hammerforge V, so technically, the true heir to the throne. The group decided as a whole not to divulge too much to him, nor to bring him back to Hammerforge to be king since we’ve got a nice setup as it is. However, my inclination is for all to be right and natural, and it feels right for this innkeeper to assume his rightful place as king. It’s definitely not my call, though, nor would I presume to take such an action on my own.

So now our plan is to get back to New Ashton, find this Matthias dude (who is the only one who can commune with the magic tree – though I have a sneaking suspicious I might be able to, as well), break him out of jail with the help of the ominously named Tin Man, go defeat a bunch of drow (fuck yes!) and then find the magic tree which is supposed to tell us how to get out of this mess.

Better get some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to be a long day, exacerbated by the fact that Tika will be flying the airship entirely drunk.


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Kirinbar's Journal

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