Alcander: Day 43

The gods, it seems, have a strange sense of humor.

Of course, no mortal may explain their ways, but this past two days, I have seen more strangeness that I would ever have imagined.

First, the gods seem to have seen fit to give me a lantern. I'm not certain why. When I have need of one, I have always found one close at hand. On it's base was written, in Greek, "Looking for an honest man." I think it was left there for me.

That is, of course, foolish ego, but I am far from the lands where many know my language, and far from where my people ever conquered (though I wonder if Arcadius's people were among those that Alexander once conquered). When I picked up the lamp to examine it, I was fine. But when Hrogar tried, it did him harm.

No surprise there, I suppose. If the lamp is looking for an honest man, it would certainly be wise for it to look somewhere other than Hrogar. But it harmed the others of my party as well. I suppose I should not be surprised. Other gods hold their paladins to lesser standards than the great Heracles, and my companions have been known to be irritable at my high standards. They would even have me withhold rightful greeting from a man, simply because he was my enemy. That would be quite dishonorable.

Then there was the caravanserai underground. I don't know why you would build such a thing, much less one connected to a warren of undead beasts. I suspected that the owners of such a place must be up to no good. I roused one, against the insults of my more timid companions, and we questioned him. But we found no evil, so we apologized for breaking his slumber and left.

But evil there was, for he held a captive by the name of Oda. He seems a nice enough fellow, though his flowerly stench leaves me wondering what manner of man he might be. He seems to fight well, though, so there is that.

And we found a portal to an ancient, sunken city. It has the feel of a thing that man was not meant to know. So we smashed the portal, though it cost my weapon.

The gods, though, in their strange humor, gave me another. It is the bone of some ancient, mighty animal. I admit that it would be a superior weapon had I killed the thing myself, but the gods have granted me this weapon, and it will do.

What might the gods mean by all this? I don't know. I only know that now we are muddled in the affairs of the Dark Elves, and that cannot lead to good. Or so I would have believed. Perhaps this is the message of the gods: their work can be found in the strangest of places. Even in a prison where Beholders lie in wait.

It seems I am living in interesting times indeed.