IntoTheMouthOfRavness

Adventure, it seems, is the offspring of happenstance. Following my exhilarating passage through the mists on the edge of Paridon, I was relieved to discover that Algernon Crane, the latest of of my would-be victims, was good enough to be truthful when he swore to me that there existed an entire new world beyond our own. How fortunate that I let him live. There are in fact a multitude of places more charming (and sometime less) than the land of my conception, primitive as they are compared to it.

I first emerged in a land of vast vegetation and splendor and found a small hamlet where I attempted to acquire some accommodations for the evening. The travel through the mists must have disoriented me a great deal to convince me that I could simply stroll into a secluded rural town and call on the local innkeeper to see to my needs. I caused a complete panic as you can imagine, women screaming, children running, men reaching for their farming tools to fend off my offensive presence. I was given little choice but to take a hostage, a teenage girl with red hair and freckles on her hands and face. I can be such a dreadful stereotype sometimes.

In hindsight, a less fragile captive might have eased the negotiations between the villagers and I; the sight of my “monstrous” hands around her puny frame made the townsfolk even more excitable, and I was soon forced to flee into the streets to avoid unnecessary casualties. Once there I took refuge in the flower mill overlooking the village, and began my first official reign of terror in the undiscovered country. The hostilities would end with the girl being released, then a rather large meal courtesy of the frightened villagers, and my introduction to Symeon of Pillar, a curiously well-spoken and progressive Ascetic. Symeon came from boorish and primitive culture of sheepherders and serfs, yet you could not guess this from his calm manner and disposition. Bathed and groomed, he would have been a dead ringer for Falstaff Leland, the former editor-in-chief of the Paridon Herald; the irony being of course that Lealand was in fact dead from the thrashing I gave him when he refused to withdraw his second-page expose on “daddy dearest”. But more about that another time.

Symeon and I set out into the unknown together, and eventually happened upon another exceptional creation of Nature, this time in the delightful shape of a feisty little mulatto girl called Constance. Of course I would never call her “little mulatto girl” to her face, for fear that all 95 lb of her would be upon me in a moment, kicking, screaming and clawing at my eyes. As I said, delightful. Good that we happened upon her too when we did, or she might have had her brief existence brutally interrupted at the hands of more ignorant peasants (they ARE everywhere!). This bunch was less spirited than the last, as one short appearance by yours truly later we were on our merry way, having added another worthwhile member to our family.

Before we knew it, our trio had become a quartet, when we were introduced to our most interesting future-companion; a pacifist knight in not-so-shinning armor named Ephraim. He came to us by way of a brief altercation with some brigands in a port town I have never heard of. I say “brief” because Ephraim was good enough to send them packing after failed peace talks, and this without even showing the color of his steel. It was like witnessing a theatre production of the Hood, with the brigands circling our Hero, closing for the kill, as he lashed them into unconsciousness one-by-one with his scabbard. Who knew pacifists could be this much fun?

The hands of Fate would lead us back into the mists once again, when news of the altercation roused the local authorities. This time we emerged on the rocky edges of a small valley overlooking what was likely the only settlement of a small uncharted island. The name of the town escapes me, but it’s infrastructure was impressive in light of its isolation from the “mainland”. Once there we took refuge in an abandoned monastic edifice that had (by account of a ledger I found there) belonged to the Order of St-Raphael. Our stay there was be brief, as an unknown assailant promptly set fire to it all, forcing us from our makeshift shelter into the frigid arms of the wilderness. Symeon had the good sense to organize a diplomatic mission into town to familiarize himself with the locals. He was greeted quite warmly in fact, for reasons we would discover only later down the line; namely Ephraim’s presence, to whom the town mayor took quite a liking. We really had no idea what
disasters awaited us in this small community.

Symeon and company (minus one stone giant who made himself scarce) became aware, through pleasant conversation, that the town’s mayor had a daughter that he had been looking to pawn off on some eligible strapping young lad. He had been unsuccessful at this so far, but one look at Ephraim and his ambitions returned on the spot. And while our dashing young captain (Ephraim) politely declined the offer of marriage (citing his existing and unquestionable devotion to another lady called Ezra), there was apparently another suitor in their midst whom had not been acknowledged. As it turns out, the officer of the Guard, Elisius had
been intent for some time on asking for the chief’s daughter’s hand, but to no avail. Our unfortunate friend would later meet with ultimate failure in that respect, and take his own life in a rather gruesome (and damn inconvenient) fashion, under the very roof of St-Raphael’s discarded sanctuary.

Well, as you can imagine this caused quite a stir, but not as much of a stir as I experienced when the circumstances of the doomed romance came to light. The mayor’s daughter, (as I would discover by means of petty property theft and skulking in the night) turned out to be an abomination of Nature the likes of which I cannot even qualify. In all my studies and research I remember only one entry in a badly damaged journal from a place called Lamordia, that discussed in very radical and provocative scientific terms a creature that might be used to offer a comparison to the chieftain’s daughter; a Golum of Flesh (if I recall correctly). A ghastly construct, a blasphemous manipulation of discarded body-parts with the purpose of imitating Life. At least that was my closest guess to what she might’ve been. And they dare call me a monster…