Tricksy Halflings are Tricksy

[lydamorehouse]

Time to skip, if you don't care about my silly adventuring party!

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December 28

Brendelfort, Kingdom of Shira

Dearest Ave,

As we left Eagle’s Fort, I was finally able to procure a mail courier to make the trek to The Beech Wood. With luck, you will finally be in receipt of all of my letters shortly. Please see what you can do to research Halfling nobles, as the mystery of the true identity of Bellamy Finnegan has only deepened.

I thought better of breaking into Bellamy’s room and, instead, woke him up with a rap on the door. I attempted to ask him directly about the signet ring he flashed at Captain Philip. When I pressed him, he seemed quite adamant that there was another person named Kelpie who owned the signet ring, not himself. 

I will admit that Bellamy's absolute certainty was quite persuasive. The Caravan has picked up new members in the past. Moreover, Bellamy does disappear and reappear rather regularly, even in the heat of battle. So, although it may seem silly and preposterous, it is not beyond the realm of possibility that there is a duplicate or identical twin trailing us. Given our interactions with the FeyWild, a Changeling that inserts itself from time to time is also not as crazy as it might seem. Thus, I spent a large portion of the next day making sure that our party all agreed that there are only seven of us in total. 

Given that the party all looked at me as though I was quite off my rocker by even wondering at our number, I’m beginning to fear Bellamy may be one of the unfortunate inbreds among our class. Madness runs in noble blood. Too much royal intermarriage does our ranks no favors. He may simply be addled, like poor cousin Elénaril. It would be quite a shame. Though it would, in many ways, explain Bellamy’s overly helpful personality. No nobleman would be that… nice naturally.

Though perhaps it is my own upbringing that leads me to that last conclusion. 

Speaking of which, upon returning to Brekenfort, I received an invitation from the Elven blacksmith, Parvann, to visit his shop, The Flawless Blade. Please pass on to Mother that he received me honorably and with great respect to her name. I have, from him, procured a fine greatsword to replace the battered blade that I picked up along the road. 

On second thought, perhaps don’t mention that last bit to Mother. I suspect she would be horrified to know how quickly and easily I abandoned the bow and short sword I’d been trained in by so very many of her finest tutors. I can’t explain it. Perhaps like my constant troubles with reading and writing, the bow and short sword were just beyond my abilities. They felt like things I was decently proficient in, yet always felt clumsy and somehow unwieldy. Until I came across that greatsword jutting out from the ruined corpse of an Orcish bandit and took it into my hands, I thought perhaps I was destined to be a mediocre fighter at best. Now I know I was simply using the wrong tool.

At any rate, I never explained why The Caravan returned to Brekenfort, nor what happened along the road. 

From Captain Philip, we were given some mail to deliver to Captain Thomkins of the City Guard. We also gave her a report of all that we’d learned of the Fey Incursion, though it seems clear that she feels such things are far away and thus not her problem. Given that we may be on the trail of even more Fey mischief in town--another job she felt unworthy of her full attention--Thompkins seems to be sorely misinformed. Possibly dangerously so.

After all, on the road back into Brekenfort, we came upon a patrol that had recently been overrun by a troop of goblins. Philip’s soldiers had dispatched the Goblins’ master, possibly another Dream Squire, and were carrying their wounded back to Eagle’s Port. Papa Bernard healed the injured men, who seemed grateful and told us to keep a watchful eye.

The crafty Goblins seemed to have come up with a way to disturb the cold iron that protected roads. Upon seeing this, our monk of Ioun, Gregor, wondered if, perhaps, the Queen Below had begun recruiting allies on the Prime Material. I chose not, at this point, to reveal that I had been offered a seat at that table only yesterday by Ardth, our former captured Sprite. At any rate, thank goodness the idea that the Queen could have such agents among our ranks was quickly dismissed. 

Theophenia and Papa Bernard caught the Goblins’ trail and so we pursued them into the fog-shrouded countryside. We were able to get the drop on them, in part thanks to Bellamy’s scouting and his “magic rock” that seems to muffle our approach by some means. 

This time, when the blood rage overtook me, I found myself suddenly transported into the midst of the fray. This sudden talent and some of Papa Bernard’s spirit dogs made me feel rather invulnerable, so I allowed myself to be reckless at every turn. Worry not, my sister, I escaped nearly unharmed. The Goblin troop, meanwhile, was destroyed, utterly.

It seemed these Goblins were skilled cartographers. They carried with them tools of their trade and a detailed survey of the area. Bellamy was able to nearly perfectly duplicate their map, but with tiny imperfections of such that my colleagues hoped, once again, to spread disinformation to the Queen Below’s invading army. To me, this seemed like a clue that Gregor’s suspicions might have some foundation. The Fey are creatures of chaos and whimsy. Do they seem like the sort of army in need of carefully executed maps? Elves, on the other hand….

But, as to all of this I kept my own counsel. As I mentioned briefly above, once in town, we were offered another job that Captain Thompkins’ men could not solve. At the Sloshing Boot, we were approached by the proprietor of The Cheating Fork, an inn and fine meadery. She is hoping to hire us to put a stop to some invisible mischief makers who seem to be vandalizing and thieving her property. So far, she has offered us room and board, and, since Papa Bernard was otherwise deeply engaged in playing ball with the town’s children, it seems that might be our only payment. 

Though the job seems worthwhile, I am loath to leave The Sloshing Boot. For one, my cat friend, Aiyu, is here. Secondly, I find myself among kindred spirits with the rough and ready to tumble sorts that frequent this establishment. The longer I’m on the road, Ave, the less suited I am for fine company. I was, after our encounter with the Goblins, more than ready to fight Philip’s men who came to investigate the skirmish. There was one who met my eye, whom I think would have engaged with me, but Theophina’s magicks stole the fire from his colleague’s hearts and so the fight left him as well. I only hope the shroud of fog and blood still fresh and dripping from my blade instilled in him the fear of an Elven prince on the field. 

Though why I still wish for that, I’m uncertain. 

Killing the Goblins came easily enough to me. Their deaths do not weigh on me like those of more obvious Fey lineage. Perhaps because I did not speak with them and their maps held no Sylvan words, but I felt no kinship lost between us. Their deaths gave me no grief, though neither did they truly satisfy.

But, ah, Ave, the distrust and disdain in Philip’s soldier's eye… that I would have enjoyed choking out, like a flame guttered by the wind.

At least, that The Caravan seems to have no desire to rush headlong into this war. They are content to return to Brekenfort and deal with innkeeper and mead maker Anathi Varnri’s minor Fey infestations. This is the best course for me, as well, lest I be tempted down treasonous paths.

Before we leave The Sloshing Boot, I think I will drink away my sorrows and tell all my woes to Aiyu.

But for now, I remain loyal to you and to the Prime Material,

Your brother, 

Idyril