Journal of Lt. Tupper, Day 192b-202

But enough pleasantries. Miranda says the staff is in the hands of the illusionist now, and that it is essential to battling whatever evil we're facing now. Nobody in town knows about it, and it's highly likely that little bastard teleported away. Ragnar has a plan to contact a spiritual higher-up on it's current whereabouts tomorrow.


Day 193
Oi. And I thought Herakles was bad.

So we conjure up the angel of Pelor, and Ragnar makes a request for information. In order to execute Ragnar's request, we have to travel to another plane of existence and fetch a vial of water. This may be the silliest thing we've ever done. We'll need methods of breathing and flying, since this plane isn't big on such crazy concepts as "land" or "air." Fortunately, Tolliver the wizard can rent out to us the tools for just such functions, and he threw in a fork for good measure. And if we find something 'interesting' while we're over there, he'll waive the rental fees.

We set forth for the beyond tomorrow. Aerialla's staying behind for some reason. I know not all elves are aloof, but she's working to make up for that.


Day 194
I am tied to two dwarves over an infinite chasm. This is not a way to sleep.

The trip was instantaneous, bright, and… misty. We 'landed' 319 miles away from our target destination. There is no observable 'top' or 'bottom' to this place. I've done my best not to look down, but it happens sometimes and gives me the shakes.

Then the voices started. They interrogated us, one by one. Ragnar managed to make a deal of some sort with them, and wrangled expedited transit as part of it in the form of a strong wind. Now I know how leaves feel. By the end of the day, we all smelt like wet dogs, and I had to slap my legs to keep them awake.


Day 197
Oh ye gods.

We found the island today; a craggy, buzzy sort of place with a pond. Attempts to acquire the sample went as expected, at first. Eventually a medium of communication was established and yet another deal was struck, but this one was vicious. Ragnar gave up a finger, a whole finger, for something that wouldn't quench your thirst at a meal. Apparently it can't be grown back, either.

With the much-vaulted fluid (and a number of rocks and moss) in our grasp, we returned to our home plane, to an island 226 miles from Izmir. Chris says he can ferry us back via a teleport spell, but it'll take a couple days to move us all. In the meantime, we are staying at a nearby orc village and Ragnar is getting properly sloshed.


Day 200
Back and safe in Izmir. This is the weirdest week I This is the third teleport spell I've been through this week, assuming you can count the plane-hopping one. I always have this niggling fear that I'll come out on the other side upside-down. It's never happened before and I'd probably survive if it did, but still.

The Angel of Pelor came around to pick up the vial, and told Ragnar the location of the staff. We'll have to travel to the Valley of Many Places (or whatever it's called) and from there to a bandit fort. Chris' teleports can halve the travel time to the destroyed town near the entrance to the valley, but it will still be 3 days until we all get there, and we'll be without horses on the other side.

Meanwhile, the seneschal has gone out somewhere to try and help us reacquire the staff. Frankly I don't trust him, and I have the feeling we'll have to bail him out of danger, assuming he's even close to the same trail we're on.