TURNED by "Turn Fey"

 I didn't really get a chance to try out the new runic sword's power very much, but I did discover that with a 0 (1, -1) on a wisdom saving throw, Idyril can be turned by a Turn Fey spell....

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March 30

Somewhere in the forests to the south of Breckenfort

Dearest Ave,

I may have decided which side I’m on in this war, but the gods seem far less certain. 

When our paladin lifted his holy symbol to repel the Fey this time, I fled alongside the Faerie-Goblin horde. Yes, Ave, me. I, who usually runs headlong and unafraid into the gaping and blood-soaked maw of battle, found myself scrambling away from Papa in abject panic and fear. I would not have stopped running either, had not Nyrs’s water-colored magical blast hit me in the back of the head, knocking sense back into me. 

As I walked back some near hundred feet to rejoin The Caravan, I watched the other fey folk scattering into the woods. I could have taken a swipe at them as they fled, but why? They are so clearly my kin that we were both affected by the same spell. 

I can hear your protests. How can this be? Elves--even High Elves, like ourselves--are not normally affected by this particular ‘turning’ magic. I can’t explain it, Ave. Perhaps the strange FeyWild powers that flow during my mindless battle rage are a sign that some part of my soul has been irreversibly transformed.

The gods are cruel, Ave. This is the only thing I can ascertain. Why else would they reveal this profound, new kinship to the Fey only after I have finally made a kind of grim peace with the fact that I am bound in service to the Prime Material? It’s a knife twist, nothing more. A final reminder that while I may serve Humankind, I’ll never be one of them.

Of the rest of our adventures, what can I tell you? It’s been Fey-Goblins and Redcaps all the way from the cottage of the Southern Marsh Witch. We thought to ambush one patrol, and that went well enough, particularly now that Zavala can cast a ball of fire from a great distance. At least it all went fine until our far too kind-hearted monk sought to bully a goblin into surrender, but did not bind or grapple the creature. Being part Fey, it vanished into the woods the second Grigor turned his head. 

I’d previously described Grigor’s personality as ox-like, but I’ve grossly mischaracterized him. He is, instead, a raven. Like them, he’s smart and talkative. And, like a raven, he goes after prey far too large for him with much bluster and squawking. Yet, he seems careless at times, as well--too casually trusting, like how the birds will sometimes wait almost too long before fleeing before a hunter’s bow, as though always expecting themselves to be the cleverest and boldest in the forest. He collects like a raven, too. He’s been keeping RedCap boots as battle trophies--or, perhaps, because they’re shiny.

At any rate, Gigor’s misguided kindness cost us nothing. We were able to follow where the escaping Goblin fled and thus found the next patrol troop. 

It was a that next crossroad that not only did Papa cast his fearsome spell that bled all courage from my heart, but also where Nyrs unleashed a phantasmal darkness that swallowed the RedCap and Goblin soldiers in an unearthly void, like some shimmering window into the deepest of oceans. I can not say I found that sight particularly comforting, either. If Nrys’s powers are in some way Infernal, I will not be surprised.

But no mind. I’m with ancients and devils, it seems, in an alliance against my forebears.

What comes next, I’ve no idea. Surely, we will continue to uncover the secrets of the Queen Below and her part in this war. Where will it lead? Am I to find myself, one day, sword at the throat of this Archfey Queen only to see our Mother standing in some shadow, behind her? What then? Does this tragedy only end when I’ve slaughtered every last Fey and their allies? And by then, what will I be? Will Papa Bernard achieve the power to Destroy Fey, and, after I have soaked myself in the blood of my kin, will I be disposed of as easily as I was turned today?

 

I don’t know.

For the moment and for the sake of what remains of my sanity, I shall cling to a fantasy in which I’m allowed to retire with honor from this walking nightmare and settle in with a Southern bog witch who likes me well enough that I might rest in her arms from time to time. 

Until such time, I remain, 

Your brother

Idyril