D&D Round-up

 So, most of the emotional part of this happened in my head, but the events are all accurate representations of the game. 

After I posted this to the group's shared documents, I had to dash over to our Discord and say "Idyril is not planning to murder any of you in your sleep." :-)

I was also tempted to post it with: "Caveat, it starts out like a regular session report and MAKES A SHARP TURN TO TREASON."

---

November 30

On the road to Eagle’s Point, Kingdom of Shira

My dearest Ave,

You will have to forgive the blood smears on the page, as I am, once again, composing this missive during a short break in the fighting. While helping a jolly and stalwart band of halfling merchants make safe passage to a waypoint, we were besieged in the wee hours of the morning by a small horde of goblins and their Fey Knight master. 

Details of the fight itself, as usual, are somewhat murky. I seem to be grievously injured? However, for once, I’m not surprised to find myself so quickly overtaken by the blood fury.  

My rage had been building since we set off this morning out of Brekenfort.

I may need to speak to a trusted member of The Caravan to keep careful watch on me when we finally are granted an audience with the half-elf Captain of the Guard, Philip Something--I have long ago buried the memory of his surname. I fear I am already somewhat ill-disposed towards him after the intense scrutiny I was subjected to by his patrol.  

Only a few miles out of Brekenfort, we were stopped by several mounted soldiers, clearly part of Philip’s retinue. They were immediately suspicious of me. Given the recent war, I can hardly blame them for their caution, but… Ave, I am the first born of the Trevorian family, In our tiny sphere of influence, I am a Prince! The indolence! The disrespect! To be separated from the group and questioned like a common criminal? It set my teeth on edge.  Especially since my Human interrogator decided to try out his Elven language skills. I felt as though the entire humiliating experience was magnified by his stilted pidgin Elfish. It was as though I was being questioned by some horrifying combination of a three-year old and my earliest primary school tutor. 

But I spoke slowly and politely and murdered no one.

For the sake of my companions I kept it together. The sting of that moment seethed under my skin for the rest of our travels and was a large part of my desire not to overnight in the outpost town we arrived at yesterday evening. Fortunately, several members of the Caravan had their own reasons to wish to continue onward, despite the relative safety of the town. I had an unexpected ally in Bellamy, who seemed as anxious to be on the road as I. Every time I think I understand this particular halfling fellow, something about his personality surprises me. For such an open, friendly person, he has a bit of a… sharp edge, or, perhaps, moments of jaded guardedness that don’t seem to entirely jibe with the persona he presents.

However, nearly everything I have assumed about Bellamy has proved wrong, so perhaps I’m just imagining things. 

He’s certainly no coward. This much I now know for a fact. Our farm boy’s backstab felled a Dream Squire in service to one of the Green Knights of the Wood. 

I know you understand the significance of this, Ave. 

But, I get ahead of the story. 

With the irritation of the encounter with Philip’s patrol gnawing at me and the unwelcomeness I felt in the outpost, it was, as I said above, no surprise to me that I didn’t hesitate to plunge into the red-hot darkness of my fury when the first opportunity arose to unsheath my blade. Though they were goblins, I imagined them as Philip’s soldiers. I will admit that I had to be dragged back to the group by our monk Gregor as I wanted to pursue the last of the little scurrying creatures all the way to Hell and back again, just to sate my anger.

And today will be another difficult day, my dear sister, as the aftermath of the battle revealed even more of the plot by the Queen Below to repatriate the Prime Material. 

Repatriate… mmm, I suppose I should call it annexation or invasion. No doubt, it is inadvisable of me to speak of her intentions in even a modestly supportive way, particularly in a piece of writing in my own hand, but, Ave, tell me honestly that you’ve never considered it--that any Elf hasn’t? What would it be like if this world were ruled not by men, but creatures far more like us? 

Would it not feel more… correct?

I’ve had an epiphany after our encounter with the Dream Squire. Listening to Papa Bernard talk up the prowess of the Duke’s man, even though I suspect it was a ruse to send misinformation into the enemy camp, touched something unexpected in me. My pride. I felt it bristle.  The idea that any human--or half-human--army commander could hope to stand against the FeyWild felt… arrogant. Foolish. These people who couldn’t even recognize the livery of the Green Knight, and who felt that the rules of engagement on the field of battle were something trivial that could be manipulated to their own desires--leave the Squire bound as Theophenia suggested?  After he had traded us his freedom for information? This was a boon granted by one of the Fey, Ave. This is serious business. The return price MUST be paid honorably! To do any itoa less would dishonor our ancient traditions. And is nothing short of treading deeply, deeply dangerous ground.

Our traditions.

Yes, there’s the crux of the matter for me, Ave. Every pixie I kill, every Puk-Wudjie or goblin servant maimed or injured… it is though I lift a sword to my own throat. Cold iron doesn’t make me itch, but the jack-o-lanterns I previously scoffed…  I felt those eyes on me. 

This Dream Squire--something in me changed to speak with him in Sylvin, the language we often refer to as the laguage of the heart. His speech was the opposite of the mockery I suffered through earlier, his words were elevated, eloquent.  

Familiar.

I’m glad you weren’t forced to see the Dream Squire in his disgrace, as I’m certain you, too, would have found him handsome, compelling. I will confess that it was not until I stood with the others over his battered and bruised body and gazed upon face so much like my own did I realize that the enemy is truly my kin. He could be a cousin of ours, Ave. Surely mother knows his master’s master, Prince Valaram, Prince of Rhyme and Frost. These are the people she negotiates with every day. I would be surprised if he’d not been to dinner at the estate. I likely danced with one of this faction at the last Midsummer's eve. Yes, they are from the Other Side--from another world, but our worlds co-exist… co-mingle. These are not just silly fey creatures, these are our people.

And some northern clan of Elves allied with them in the previous battle, as I am forever being reminded. I swear, Ave, the more my allegiance to the Prime Material and its human masters is questioned the more I wonder if it is in fact well placed.

I’m not about to turncoat on The Caravan, but I’m not at all sure of the answer I will give if Captain Philip Whatever-His-Surname offers us a place in his army. To be honest, I’m hardly certain I can trust myself not to leave the impression of the Trevorian signet ring in his jaw at the mere sight of this half-Elf Elf killer, betrayer of his own kind.

Pray that I hold my temper.

Yours in blood and kinship,

Idyril