Sztuczka's Journal

My new circlet to prevent mind control is shiny... literally! I like shiny things. They're so shiny! And Ragnarr has agreed to rejoin the group although we are losing Steinbjorn and Valdis and Chris is staying on the planes and then we went back and fought the abolith and a couple of golems and I was all stabbity and denting the iron golem but I figure now that Ragnarr is back my healing is not quite as handy unless in dire situations and any little bit i can do stabbity-wise is a help though I wish I could have stayed on the planes I definitely would have had lots of stories and music to learn and i bought an instrument that plays like a guitar but doesn't sound like a guitar so i can't quite play a flamenco on it but it's a new toy and it's shiny and i like shiny things of shininess!

Journal of Lt. Tupper, Day... 265?-279ish

Oh lords, where to begin.

So we're in Sigil, the greatest city I've ever seen. We won't be here for long now, but I'll get to that. This place makes Point of Origin look like a shack on a crumbling cliff. Apparently, there's a edge to the city, and you can fall off it down the side of a giant mountain. Tried to get to it, but I ended up going in circles. There's also this gigantic ball of string, three floors high. Nobody knows how it got there, or why it's there, or why anyone would be interested in it. It's just… there. Attracts cats and cat-like creatures for miles around, though, like a shrine.

Oh yeah, and I got pickpocketed! It really took me back. Dantroe was in it as well, so that's easily a twoheist (50 points!). Didn't lose too much, especially since Steinbjorn and Hrogar's been helping to hock our backlog of loot and pad out my money bags. I remember, back when I was little no-name runt in Point of Origin, I used to hang around the "that one street" and pickpocket all the fools lined up to get fleeced by the whorehouses. It was hells to do, I stood out like a foot in a hand convention, but nobody else was working the area so the pickings were ripe. I was practically a legend, everybody knew me as That Damned Tup'r Street Kid. Got my arm broken twice, and both legs by three different madams. Man, I was a stupid brat. Hope that kid out there is smarter than I was.

Ah, but enough fond reminiscing. I've been picking up every interesting knickknack I can, just to prove I've been here. I found this round ball with snowflakes and a model of the Outlands inside that I know Milya's going to enjoy, a white vest with "I ♠ SIGIL" on it that I'm going to hoist onto Leafbridge, a plaque with "PRIMES GO HOME" engraved on it, and a small statue of someone called the Lady of Pain with a pointy, wiggly head. I don't get the meaning of most of it, but I've never seen anything like it. The others were bitter about my haul of souvenirs, and keep talking about returning home. We're in the most incredible place in all the cosmoverse, and all they talk about is going back to punch the damn aboleth in the gills. Can't relax for even a minute. They're all mad, I say. Mad, violent, sticks in the mud.

We met up with Ragnar and Chris, who have been guarding the universe from Leaf for 20 years now. There's no actual day or night here, which I guess means years can pass by casually. There are also no gods allowed here, so I've been immune to visions for the time being. This also means that anyone with a godly connection isn't feeling keen about it. Ragnar's been coping with this by drinking and making friends with walking suits of armor.

Yes! Of course, they find more yahoos to join us in this crazy crusade! The whole city to choose from, they find the one that's made of metal and thinks friendship is an emotion. Who the hells worships emotions? And the worst part is, it's just so fucking... polite about everything. It hasn't raised it voice once. It just sits there and listens and when it talks it's godsdamn creepy. So naturally everybody else loves the glorified bucket and wants it to come along. It's going to turn on us and eat us while we sleep, I just know it. You do not name nice and helpful things "Crunch."

So, the aboleth. We're going off to fight it on its home turf, because we're all completely insane. I had the option to leave the madhouse behind, but the idea of ending my final report "and then I left them to die on a suicide mission against a horrible monster" probably wouldn't go down on my record as a high mark. So I'm coming along. Haven't told them about the letter yet, but I will soon enough.

I just hope I live to see the backs of them.

Journal of Crunch, Day ???-!!!

Two customers, one sale: 4 of the 5 arcwood chairs. Accompanying table was not sold.

Ragnarr appeared to be in his normal mood, however, he later enthusiastically promoted the idea of a general campaign of sexual conquest. Attempts to again explain my lack of genitalia were met again with disbelief as to my very existence. Purchasing further alcohol as proof did not sway him on the matter.

Hive Ward [Upper Inwards-Clockwards] Patrol completed. 3 muggers neutralized, 3/4ths of a pimp defense troop disabled, 1 pimp disabled, 7 prostitutes lectured. Next is Hive Ward [Upper Central Clockwards].

Conclusions: A reworking of the table design may be in order.


Delivered regular batch of toys to the St. Dawkins Home for Beleaguered Youth. One resident labeled me a "big ugly statue" and attacked my left shin repeatedly with his foot. The counter-response to this action gained the ire of the Sister Scroeder, and apologies were exchanged.

Ragnarr was quieter than usual. Attempts to draw him into a story or rant did not engage. Eventually he began singing, and led the establishment in a dwarven song about seeing the sky after a long time underground. He faded out during the choruses of "Fuck the sun! Fuck the sun! Fuck the sun! It's back to the mines with me!" Attempts to join in were met with thrown mugs and cursing.

Hive Ward [Upper Central Clockwards] Patrol completed. 3 con artists neutralized, 1 stabbing victim repaired, 2 city guard patrols evaded. City guard may have deduced my latest patrol pattern. Revising. Next is Hive Ward [Upper Inwards-Counterclockwards].

Conclusions: Some cultures are very protective of their heritage and rituals, to the exclusion of outsiders; this includes such aspects as music and wedgies. One must always progress carefully in foreign cultures lest you idly trod upon their values. Also, Ragnarr's mood must be approaching a low point. Perhaps an everburning torch deployed over his head during a state of heavy inebriation would invoke cheer in him. Will attempt this in the next cycle.


Zero customers, zero sales. Closed down shop early, invoked the powers of Boredom and Imagination, built a fort. Deployed series of mousetraps as ranged weaponry against the menace of the last arcwood chair, moved in with the hammer as a siege ram with flanking chisels for anti-glue support; was pinned down by nail archers and forced to retreat. The vile jar of varnish mocked the attempt while the fair broken cart toy sat cruelly imprisoned behind it. Was unable to mount a second attempt due to time constraints.

Ragnarr was unavailable for the alcoholic discourse session. The bartender informed me that another friend of his came to see him. Also unable to find Chris. Perhaps there are new circumstances regarding Leif. Will wait and see.

Hive Ward [Upper Inwards-Counterclockwards] Patrol canceled. Involuntary non-reality event was experienced during patrol operations. Events, places, and organics unknown yet recalled. No sense of self during the recall. A reference to Leif is remembered. Repair spells employed, but memory persists. Potential causes include recent overextension of Imagination and manipulation by hostile wizards. No other anomalous behavior observed. Will consult with Ragnarr in the next cycle. Resumed operations at shop.

Conclusions: Something is afoot.


One customer, zero sales. Hesitant to resume Imaginary rescue operations for the broken cart toy lest it worsen an existing condition.

Ragnarr has met with friends and compatriots from his time on his Material Plane. They have informed me that they seek to repair their home plane, and have found themselves here by accident. Volunteered to assist them, and they have accepted my assistance. While they travel with a gnome, she is exceptionally friendly and has yet to attempt any dismantlements.

Hive Ward [All] Patrols canceled indefinitely.

Conclusions: pending.


Have packed equipment and mobile property for transit to Material Plane subplane 3. All furniture in the shop donated to St. Dawkins Home for Beleaguered Youth. Landlord for the shop was informed of relevant events.

Memory assist: Names of New Unit
Arkadesh: human, male, frontline, dedicated. Has an accent that differs from the others.
Azan: human, male, frontline, aggressive.
Dantroe: dwarf, male, specialist, quiet. Carries no weapons.
Hrogar: human, male, frontline, self-assured.
Steinbjorn: elven, male, arcane magic practitioner, stern. Husband of Valdis.
Sztuczka: gnome, female, morale, creative. Carries no visible toolkits.
Tupper: human, male, specialist, sarcastic. Wears a lewd helm.
Valdis: elven, female, frontline, quiet. Wife of Steinbjorn.

Before briefing on the situation in Material Plane subplane 3, Tupper expressed disdain at my presence. Deployment of general introductory tactics were not successful. Am sure to practice further with this person.

Their unit seeks to thwart the maneuvers of a faction of aboleths, which have managed to provoke national conflict and conquer a city through subversion of will. These creatures are all assholes. The unit has battled against these creatures and their assorted minions for some time, to the point that the original unit has been bolstered and replaced with mercenaries, like-minded organics, and reinforcements from their point of origin.

Due to the actions of one of these aboleths, their unit arrived in a subplane of Mechanus against their will. They seek the destruction of this aboleth. The battle strategy is to open a portal from Sigil directly to the creature's location, and engage it in direct combat. Preparations are underway to properly equip for the maneuver, as the creature can control minds and subvert wills.

Conclusions: Assistance on the matter is required. No plane should be subject to the whims of one faction.

Annotation: Aboleths are large, fishlike creatures that are apathetic or amoral towards what they regard as 'lesser' sentient organics. They do not consist entirely of waste removal organs. Tupper does not appear to be knowledgeable about aboleths, and his reports on the subject should be confirmed with outside sources.

Annotation: Their point of origin is a city called Point of Origin. Perhaps it serves a similar function as Sigil does to the Outlands.

Annotation: The non-reality event was experienced by other members of the unit. It was a vision from forces unknown, meant to guide us on the mission. They have gathered much useful information from them in the past, and do not consider them signs of a defect. Resumption of Imagination invocations imminent.

Additional conclusions: Nails are ultimately no defense for the nefarious deeds of varnish jars!


Have accompanied Dantroe and Azan in a quest to aid an elven organic, a victim of the doings of the aboleth. Diagnostics have been completed on her, and repairs are under way. She will remain in Sigil in the company of Chris, Lief, Steinbjorn, and Valdis.

Execution of the mission begins shortly. If this the final entry, and this journal is found by others inside a strange keep, be warned! There is danger here! Guard yourself against invasions of the mind!

Conclusions: pending.

Today was a good day

Today was a good victory. After several weeks of preparing we went through a portal and attacked the abalith. We caught it off guard and was able to kill it before it had a chance to do anything. This was a good thing because the golems in the room took some time to kill. If it was not for our new companion Ragnar those golems would have probably killed us. Praise be to Pelor for sending us a cleric. With his help and Clunk, or something like that, we took all of them down. The only set back was the mage got a way. Hopefully she was just leaving because she was scared after the abalith losing who power over her. We will have to wait and see. In the mean time we need to search this place and look for any clues of were we need to go next.

Journal of Arcadius

Praise and thanks to thee, o' Lord Pelor! Another Aboleth destroyed!

Our plan worked perfectly, though I doubt we will be able to try the same trick again.

Ragnarr had agreed to rejoin us, though alas, Steinbjorn and his wife decided to stay on Sigil to look after Lief. Chris also chose to remain, as he enjoys life there.

The rest of us purchased items to protect us from mind control and to allow us to breath underwater. As I had already spent much wealth upgrading my arms and equipment, I had to dip into my intended resurrection funds, and was yet still short the gold needed for everything. Azan, may Pelor bless him, astonished me with his generosity, and bought my magical circlet to resist mind control. The man's honor and courage continue to amaze me. Though he did not ask for it, I swear before the gods that I will repay him!

Our plan was simple, to create a portal directly to the Aboleth's lair, and then assault it with our full strength, charging through the very portal itself in order to try to strike the thing down before it could escaple

Walter-Tupper whined incessantly about the danger. I'd hoped he would stay in the safety and comfort of Sigil, but alas he has accompanied us. On the other hand, Ragnarr introduced us to a strange, but most brave, calm, and I think wise, being, a kind of mechanical man. Ragnarr often seems annoyed with him, but I'm sure that is the strong drink talking. Once he sobers up and sees the courage and good sense of this most orderly being, I'm sure he will come round.

In any case, we prepared the gate, saw the Aboleth, and charged through as a group, striking it down with the very vengeance of the gods. It was guarded by two fishlike constructs as well as the Seneschal. She however quickly made her escape once her Aboleth master was dead. The constructs fought on with mindless and brutal power. Truly, were I not gifted with the vitality and protection of Lord Pelor, and had not Ragnarr repeatedly called upon the great healing powers of our god, I would have perished in that battle. The others fared better, but truly our foes were powerful. The Aboleth had done well to guard itself, but was caught by surprise by our attack. Once more, I doubt the others will be so caught again.

Ah, lest I forget... we had another vision of elder days, of the time of the first invasion of the Aboleth. It was of none other than Kaiechos, a wizard-king of very, very ancient legend in my land! Even in that distant time, he would have been thousands of years old. He was in the form of a lich, and was being confronted by the powerful mage woman Alayna - she who constructed the staff. She made reference to her finding the girl Lief, and hinted at wanting to make use of Lief's unusual powers. In addition, she apparently planned to lure the Aboleth in some way to use the staff against them.

May the gods grant us more lasting success, and without resorting to such cruelty as did Alayna and the ancient foes of the Aboleth.

*A*

Ragnarr Stories: 18 Years Ago

(You can pretty much assume that if you've spent enough time drinking with Ragnarr, you've gotten some or all of these stories at least once.)

To be honest, I don't know what took the bastard so long to call for me. By then I'd been in Sigil for... Hel, I don't know. Too damn long. Long enough that I was almost happy to get called up to run errands for a planar bastard, just for something to break up the damn monotony. A change of scenery, if you like, even if the scenery's just going to be an arseload of mist.

I hardly even remember what he sent to fetch me. Some kind of bloody water thing, I think. Like an elemental, but with four legs and it likes to piss on your leg. It showed up with a note in it's mouth. Walked up, dropped it in front of me, and then just sat there, wagging it's blood tail like it was having the time of it's life.

It was a bad joke. The bastard liked to fetch. He'd been sent to fetch me.

Dogwater had a good head for portals, though. Led me up (or down, or whatever bloody direction) and out of sigil and right to his master. Or at least so I gather. I can't say I've ever seen the bastard, but there was a lot of wind and he was talking in my head, so I've got to assume he was around there somewhere.

It sounded simple, as these things do. Go through a portal. On the other side was going to be a water elemental, some representative of the Water plane that Misty had dealings with. Misty had been having a few wee border skirmishes, and he wanted me to negotiate for him. Give some demands, ask for some things in return, all that shite.

I told him I was a rubbish negotiator, of course. He didn't listen. Maybe I should have.

He gave me some crap to breathe water and swim about, so I gathered that I was going to be underwater. Then up the portal goes, through I go, and big surprise, I'm in an ocean.

Where some other talk-in-your-head type bastard asks me who the hell I am, and where is that misty bastard he was negotiating with.

Not the best way to start a negotiation right? Him yelling. Me telling him he could bloody well calm down, or I'd break my mace off in his arse, him saying things about Pelor I wouldn't take from my own mother, all that sort of thing. Somewhere in there, I managed to deliver the misty bastards requests, which may have sounded a wee bit more like demands when I said them, and then things got to be very, very rough sailing, so to speak.

I'm glad to say that I'd learned enough about planar traveling to get away, anyway. Misty'd given me a fork for the plane of mist, and it got me there alright. Which didn't seem to surprise Misty much, as I found Dogwater waiting for me on the other side, waiting for me to follow him.

I told Misty how badly things had gone. I felt like an ass, right? I mean, as far as I know, I had just started a bloody war.

So it came as a wee bit of a surprise when Misty laughed, told me I had done a great job, I could keep the gear, and he sent me on my way. Didn't seem the slightest bit pissed.

Somehow, it was only about then that I figured it out, and it wasn't until a hell of a lot later that I learned the rest of it.

Bastard wanted me to start a war. He knew I would be rubbish at negotiation, and that was what he wanted. But he couldn't be too open about a snub. I mean, the watery bastard was a planar lord and all. If he could send someone powerful, like some kind of representative of a god, he could claim it was all in good faith. Swear the whole war bit wasn't his fault.

It worked, too. The bastard.

Visions in the Night

((All permanent party members and those divinely dedicated to the quest will receive the following))

Darkness.

The images come slowly, giving the impression of coming gradually into view.

You see a quiet keep in the mountains where nothing lives for miles around. There is no grass. There are no trees. There is no wind. Not a single sound can be heard in an area where even a pinprick could be heard for miles. The tall walls of the keep look like they are designed to keep an army out, with nearly spartan simplicity in their design.

Inside the keep, in a throne room where nothing adorns the walls and a quiet stone throne sits, a man sits on the throne. He sits there, still as death, his face stretched and dried like one who has been mummified and preserved for thousands years. Everything except for his clothes and his eyes would mark him as being among the long departed. Cold sunlight streams in through southern skylights, barely illuminating the room.

His clothes, made of finely dyed linen, are of an impeccable cut and look like something made for a different time and place. They look like they were made yesterday, and cover him in such a way that the only exposed skin is on his face and hands.

His eyes--or rather the place where his eyes used to be--glow a sapphire blue.

"I have come, Kaiechos." A voice, feminine and commanding, breaks the stillness of the throne room. "Did you really believe that you could hide here forever?"

"Foretelling was always your strength, Alayna, not mine. Though I suppose it was inevitable that you would make it here eventually." Kaiechos's speaks slowly, with deliberate emphasis and a thick accent, as if trying to grapple with a foreign tongue. "I see that you have completed the staff."

"No thanks to you, I would have thought that you would have jumped at the chance to build such a weapon." The woman known as Alayna steps further into the room, becoming visible. She is surrounded by an aura of positive energy, her eyes glow green, but otherwise she is as you have seen her in previous visions. In her right hand is her staff in its completed form.

"Nothing personal. I prefer not to build things that in a thousand years people will hunt me down over. How do you plan to present it to the Aboleth?"

"I have a plan to lure it out. I have found this remarkable girl Lief and with a few modifications, she would be perfectly suited to the task. Actually, that's where I think you might be willing to help..." Alayna smiles coldly. "Not like you have any choice in the matter this time..."

The vision fades to blackness.

Journal of Arcadius

In Sigil

Despite it all, our time here is proving productive. Steinbjorn, with admirable, if wine-enhanced, tenacity, identified the vast haul of items buried in Hrogar's Bag of Holding. Others sold them around the city, and the value of what we had turned out to be astonishing. My portion alone was over 30,000 gold! Some of the items had been sitting in that bag, unused and unsold, for months, while we suffered for lack of adequate equipment. My confidence in Hrogar's talents as a quartermaster and merchant have been, to say the least, shaken.

This new fortune is going to good use, however. I have paid for upgrades in the enchantments of my armor and shield, traded my ring of protection for a more powerful one, obtained some Gauntlets of Ogre Power, and purchased a magical backpack with compartments much like small Bags of Holding. Even with all that, I've kept enough back to pay for my resurrection, should it be necessary.

By a strange chance of fate, we met Meryk, the cruel-minded Ranger we fought early in our quest, and who as appeared in several of our visions. It seems she is indeed fighting the Aboleth, and we exchanged some useful information. She said that the Aboleth leader is the offspring the one which brought about the original invasion of evil thousands of years ago, and the other six are its own offspring. The remaining Aboleth are known as The Egoist, The Kineticist, The Seer, The Shaper, The Telepath, and The Leader. The one we slew was The Nomad.

May Meryk find some path of redemption from her evil ways, for this is most helpful knowledge, and it is good to know she is on the same side on this fight at least.

In addition, I was able to locate Ragnarr and, through him, Chris. Ragnarr is a sad shadow of his former self, depressed and drunk. As time moves differently here, it has been for him twenty years. Twenty years, cut off from Lord Pelor! Alas for Ragnarr. Steinbjorn and I have spoken to him, and it may be that he is willing to accompany us. Chris on the other hand seems quite happy in this place of high magic.

Finally, Dantroe and Walter-Tupper managed, somehow, to get robbed while walking the streets of Sigil. I can certainly understand how, what with Walter-Tupper walking around wearing a giant mechanical hat, that they might attract the wrong sort of attention... but how did a supposed expert in stealthy doings and subterfuge manage to fall so easily prey to it himself? Ah well, with him, nothing ought to surprise me anymore.

May Ragnarr soon feel once more the light of Pelor upon his mind! For that matter, may I as well. Pelor, I pray to you and offer you thanks, whether or not you can answer them in this place.

*A*

Time to meditate

I am not sure how many days we are going to be stuck here in the plane. In the mean time I am working on improving my sword. When we go back to fight the abalith again it is going to be very prepared. This time i do not want to be so dependent on magic. I would rather relay on my skill and my god to help me over come this enemy. In the mean time it appears people are not getting into to much trouble. Tupper and the monk got robbed, which is kind of funny.
Apparently we have come across some alias in this plane a cleric and another mage. The cleric seems like he is very feed up of this plane. I can not blame him. Anyway. Time to eat then back to working on my sword.

Ragnarr and Steinbjorn in a Bar in Sigil

We are in the inn where the majority of the PCs are staying. Ragnarr sits at the bar, drinking shit alcohol with the occasional sip from the Chaos Liqueur. If he were not a dwarf, he might be considered extremely drunk. Instead, he is in a state considered awake and somewhat tipsy.

Down the stares comes Steinbjorn. He has been drinking one glass of wine an hour for thirteen hours. He, too, is a bit tipsy as he approaches the bar.

Steinbjorn: Something to drink, please. Something without alcohol.

Ragnarr (Scoffing): You'll be their elf, then.

Steinbjorn: Whose?

Ragnarr: The lads. Arcadius and his lot.

Steinbjorn: Yes, I suppose so.

Ragnarr: Wizard, too, I'll bet. Bloody elves.

Steinbjorn: Yes, actually. I'm sorry, should I know you?

Ragnarr: Don't know why you would.

Steinbjorn: You wouldn't be the cranky dwarf bastard they used to travel with, would you?

Ragnarr: Cranky? Bastards.

Steinbjorn: So that's you, then.

Ragnarr: Aye. I suppose so.

Steinbjorn: You've aged. Been in the planes, long?

Ragnarr: Long enough, from the looks of it.

Steinbjorn: Huh.

(Awkward silence ensues as the two of them drink their beverages.)

Steinbjorn: So what is it you do here, anyway?

Ragnarr: I'm a babysitter.

Steinbjorn: A babysitter? That must be one hell of a baby.

Ragnarr: Aye. The kind of baby that could wipe out the world, if it wanted to.

(What follows is an in depth discussion of Leaf's destructive capacities, complete lack of moral compass, and the scheme to teach her a sense of ethics.)

Steinbjorn: My. Pelor has given you quite the importance task.

Ragnarr: Pfft. Pelor. (Takes a long drink.) Fuck Pelor.

Steinbjorn: Begging your pardon, but isn't that his symbol on your shield?

Ragnarr: I suppose so. And maybe if I was somewhere that weren't so in the arse end of the planes, maybe it would mean a damn.

Steinbjorn: You've lost touch with him?

Ragnarr: Someone's lost touch. Bastard doesn't answer prayers out here.

Steinbjorn: You sound bitter.

Ragnarr: Hmph. Wonder why.

Steinbjorn: I'm not lying, though. It is a noble quest you have. To try and teach a person with enormous powers the proper use of her powers, to teach her restraint in the face of near omnipotence, that's an incredible thing.

Ragnarr: It sounds good, sure. But twenty bloody years without the sun? I'd be happy with a little less nobility and a wee bit more sun, you know?

Steinbjorn: Your god doesn't choose those that walk in the shadows.

Ragnarr: No. And he doesn't give me a damn clue how to go about it, neither.

Steinbjorn: Tell me, have you ever heard the saying "The gods work in mysterious ways"?

Ragnarr: I know they do, lad. I've spent my life trying to figure the bastards out.

Steinbjorn: What do you know of Angr-Boda.

Ragnarr: Damned impossible to find. Vaguely respectable in certain parts of the world. Other than that, not much.

Steinbjorn: I've spent my life serving her. She teaches that we ought to find balance, that the powerful need to use their power only when needed. And, more importantly, she teaches her followers how to walk in the shadows, how to exist far from her, to do her bidding in dark places, far from her.

Ragnarr: You've come to the right damn place for that.

Steinbjorn: And, more importantly, she teaches us how to control the powers of others. That's what I do.

Ragnarr: (long pause) Lad, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?

Steinbjorn: You're tired. You're worn down. I've only just met you and I can see that. I'm not saying that I can do a better job that you, but I'm saying that I'd be willing to try.

Ragnarr: And your wife?

Steinbjorn: That's up to her, isn't it? I don't know where her duties will take me. But if I can teach this girl, help her to understand what's at stake.

Ragnarr: But it's not that easy, is it? I mean, I can't exactly trust some damn stranger with the life of the girl, now can I?

Steinbjorn: Of course. I understand.

Ragnarr: I didn't mean it like that. It's not that I think you're a bad man, just that I have to know, aye?

Steinbjorn: Of course. You'll need time to think about it.

Ragnarr: Aye. Time. Seems like if twenty years here can be a few months back home, we've got plenty, aye?

Steinjorn: More or less.

Ragnarr: I'll think about it.

Steinbjorn: Good.

Ragnarr: Aye. I suppose I should be off to have supper with the girl.

Steinbjorn: May I come? I'd love to meet her.

Ragnarr: Oh, the hell. I suppose it can't hurt.

The pair leave to have dinner. A dinner during which Steinbjorn will exhibit patience, kindness, and fascination when dealing with Leaf, completely devoid of fear. It will, along with speaking to the rest of the party, eventually convince Ragnarr that, if at least someone he trusted were left here as well, it might be alright.

Journal of Arcadius

Pelor help us.

So here I am sitting on a vehicle that resembles a sort of long extended coach, save that it travels far faster, and between planes. We are traveling between what I believe to be Arcadia or some other plane near Mechanus, and the city of Sigil.

As one might surmise, our plan failed.

It is as if some great malevolent force, beyond the gods themselves, rules the universe. Pelor forgive me for such thoughts! Surely, there is no mysterious power or being manipulating us with cruel play, like the master of a game. Surely not!

We succeeded in the first parts of our plan - collecting help from allies, trapping the Aboleth, setting up the gate to the Far Realms, and protecting the party from mind control.

Except for one important person.

The second blue being, the male, was under no individual protection, and failed to join Steinbjorn when the others retreated into his magical defense.

Alas!

He was taken control by the Aboleth, attempted to kill the female - the alienist - and then sent us on what was meant to be a one-way trip to the Far Realms. Instead, we stopped on the shore and turned back to escape before the gate closed. However, when we passed through the other way, we came out on the aforementioned plane near Mechanus.

The place itself is admirably well-run, and inhabited by helpful beings who know their roles in a most worthy way. We ascertained how to return home, but it would require going to Sigil. Paying for passage proved to be quite cheap, as it is apparently a frequent route.

Also, Walter-Tupper and Hrogar felt the need to buy mechanical clockwork hats. If I recall, Walter-Tupper is in debt to several party members, and still he foolishly squanders his money. Ah well.

There is one good thing... Ragnarr was last known to be in Sigil. If he is still there, he may have some help or advice, or perhaps be willing to rejoin us. With Ragnarr and Steinbjorn together - what power we might have on our side!

But for now, we wait.

Pelor forgive me and guide me.

*A*

Journal of Lt. Tupper, Day 261-262

Day 262
I am on another plane of existence.

So after that last bout of entries, the others came back with fresh supplies. Got a large, gaudy, booby-trapped hat from Steinbjorn, but this was disarmed and given to a tortured elf girl we met later to wear on the principle that it was the best place to hide it from her. Steinbjorn also forgot to acquire a new net for me. I get the feeling he does not like me. Throw him in with all the others, then.

As we stormed the keep, we faced terracotta golems and the Seneschal; and found a yuan'ti unit, a large blue guy, and a dungeon's-worth of people who probably shouldn't be loose. Naturally, we only let the more dangerous ones out. One of them, another blue person, said she could transport the aboleth to the Far Realms. Another was a being that claims it's not there. Another was a yuan'ti with no legs. Like I said, probably shouldn't be loose.

So after some preparation and discussion, we set up a trap to teleport the resident aboleth to the Far Realms, where its organs will turn to arachnids or something similarly nasty. Just as we're about to close it, however, the blue guy stabbed the blue girl and transported us through. We managed to make it back to the portal before it closed, but ended up in an incredible place that looks like it should be Gnome Heaven, or perhaps rather Gnome Hell since everything works perfectly. There are gears and spinning metal bits and mechanical beings as far as the eye can see. Apparently we can get back to our home plane, but we have to get to a place called Sigil and go from there. Oh yes, and I got a hat from a shop at their automated trans-dimensional caravan dispatch as proof that I was actually here. It's covered in gears and bolts and strange writing, and makes this soothing little clicking noise. Hrogar got one as well, but he's not wearing it.

All in all, nobody died or contracted spider-brain, and we're in this amazing place. It's been a good day.

I was wrong

Take back all i said about magic. It is not the answer. It is unpredictable and dangerous. Give me a good sword and shield and the blessings of my god. That is all I need. So why the change in heart. So we tried the magic way, we decided we would try to send the abalith to the far plans. We spent several hours preparing and in just a few seconds the magic gets turned back onto us. So now we are on the far plans and the enemy is safe. I can not believe i let these magic users talk me into this. I should know better. Magic is to unpredictable and not safe.
Anyways we are off, we are in some alternate plane seeking a way home. Again we have to rely on magic to get us back. O and Tupper has decided to waste money on a dumb looking hat. It amazes me to hear how much he owes people and yet keeps spending money on crap like this. It is interesting to see how people are outside of the empire. He would be a slave until he paid his debt off. Looks like the train is stopping will be interesting to see were we go now.

Ragnarr: Are You There, Pelor?

I wonder if the sun still shines back home.

It doesn't here. I suppose that Pelor's out here, maybe. I cast a spell, and it still does pretty much what it's supposed to do, so there's got to be something out there. Supposedly.

But it's different, back at home. I never had to wonder if Pelor was watching over me, never had to wonder if he was there. I could look up into the sky and bloody see him, the sun hanging in the sky, bright as a bastard, too damn hot, but it was always there, you know? And you didn't always know why, and you didn't always know what the hell it thought you should be doing, but at least you knew it was there.

But out here, in Sigil, it's just gray. Gray half light reflected by an arse-ton of mirrors, so that it makes the gray even bigger. It stretches off farther than I can see, farther than Pelor himself could shine. There's nothing out here. Pelor himself has written me off, given the damn mist lord leave to call in the favors I owe him.

And he has.

And I've paid the bastard back, damn it. I've paid him back in blood, sweat, and limbs. I've meddled in his petty disputes, done my part to see that he won, and cursed his name every damn minute of it, until his finally declared us even and promised not to bloody bother me again.

Which, while Ryan's out exploring and learning or whatever the hell it is the cheerful bastard does, leaves me here with the retarded girl.

By Pelor's beard, I shouldn't call her that. I like to think I'm making progress, but I can't even bloody tell. Hell, I can't even tell how long I've been here.

At least I've found a decent liquor supplier. It's about all I've got left.

Pelor, if you're even still listening, get me the hell out of here.

Not that it matters. The bastard isn't paying attention, anyway.

Dantroe

This group does seem to associate with some strange people. I understand the logic of releasing the enemies of the aboleth, and at least they left the ilithid caged. But now they want to use the strangest of the prisoners to send the aboleth to the far realms? She treats the question as if it were a mere curiosity. even if she can, it sounds like she will require much preparation, which we can't afford to wait for.

And when she's done, how do we know she won't just send us to the far realms with it? We've (well, okay, they've) killed one of these beasts the old fashioned way already, why do they hesitate on this one?

I hate mist

As i my group checks the cells I am keeping an eye on the mist. As I sit here watching it I think there has to be a good way to combat it. Surely there is some steps that can be taken to make this mist less of a threat. I do not know of any. Perhaps this is the fault and short coming of the empire. I understand why they made magic illegal. I have seen the earth were nothing grows and life is sucked out of living items as casters us their spells. I guess a balance needs to be determine. Sadly I fear a lot of knowledge is going to be lost due to the sins of our fathers.

Hmmm there is a lot of commotion going on down the hall and do i see a snake creature. WHAT THE HELL.

Steinbjorn: Priorities and Pragmatism

I have never really understood honor.

You would think that I would. I spend enough time around it. My wife certainly understands it, and would follow it to the death. So it's not that I've never seen it, it's not that honor is unfamiliar, or that I despise it. It's just that I don't get it.

Sometimes I think that's how Valdis and I have kept each other alive. Her conviction keeps us going through times when anyone else would falter. And, for my part, there are times when I can look at a situation, consider the finer points of right and wrong, cost and benefit and, sometimes, make a decision that one with a sense of honor could not.

I know enough about honor to know that I should keep these things to myself. Tupper's hat was a fairly innocuous example, an attempt to convince one who should probably not be on this quest that he is not welcome, without resorting to sending him to a distant plane of existence.

I've done much worse.

We were sent to destroy a lich once. It was a foolish quest; we were not remotely powerful enough to stop the damn thing, but we were sent anyway, just the two of us. Face to face, it could have killed us, but it decided that it would be more... interesting, I think, to toy with us. It was awful, a great blur in my memory, nothing clear until I found myself, alone, in the dungeon of the lich's fortress where I found... something. To this day, I'm not entirely certain what it was. Some great demon that would, under normal circumstances, as soon consume my soul as speak to me.

But he was trapped by that lich. Somewhere, I knew that Valdis was trying to fight the thing, probably dying. And if she wasn't yet, she would be soon, and she would fight that damn undead or die trying.

She would die. I knew it.

So I let the thing out. All it wanted was to destroy it's captor, so I let it out. And Valdis later expressed her curiosity as to how the lich had ended up dead before she ever found him.

She still doesn't know. She didn't know then. And, should that illithid find it's way out of its cage to take vengeance on it's captor, she won't know now, either.

It pains me to lie to her.

But if it keeps her alive? It just might be worth it.