Journal of the Quest Against the Slittermask

It seems like a different age but it was only a day or two ago, when we were back at the fair. Although I do not care for its gaudy appearance and whimsical nature, I must at least admit that it is a warm safe place to dwell. Now, sodden from an accursed swamp and battered from a great fall, I long for the warmth of civilization. But press on we must, for the sake of mankind. And I must impart to you the sorry tale of the last few days, incase it may be of use on a similarly weighty expedition.

We spent our last hours at The Fair attending the small tent of a fortune teller. She was a lady of some repute and all the party who entered seemed pleased with what she foretold. For my part, I learned that, although the Mask remembers the quests that have gone before, she is bound by to follow the same routine. So long as we play our parts correctly she must follow the pattern.

We then set out for the “Paths Less Trodden,” as instructed by the quest. As I predicted, these paths were not to be located in the usual way. A garbled mess of signposts pointed us in one direction at once and then another direction a moment later. It was my learned opinion that we venture on in whichever direction we please; the paths would find us. The Baron, of course, accepted my wise council and ordered that we march on. That was the last we would see of Tamar for some time, as a short way into the journey he mysteriously disappeared. His absence almost cost us our lives, as without his riding skills and deadly mace to lead the charge we were a lesser fighting force.

Shortly after the Baron vanished, a volley of arrows were fired at my familiar as he scouted the road ahead. Cedric is a nimble hawk and skillfully evaded the missiles, and the party steeled themselves for the inevitable onslaught. From the brush exploded three deadly warriors, two with horrible glinting swords and the other brandishing a razor-tipped spear. My lighting fast intellect soon divined that they were members of the Kingdom of War, but my prowess at Human Lore brought me little comfort.

Fenix and Bellbois bravely surged forward to meet our attackers, but were matched blow for blow. Sir Henry took a few ineffectual swipes at one of the interlopers, but soon withdrew to intone some magical enchantments. Without the Baron’s aid our warriors were suffering greatly at the hands of these relentless foes. Fenix, who had already demonstrated his ability as a great swordsman, had his leg cut clean off by a scything strike. Thankfully the Baron had the insight to bring a long Silkene the healer and so the offending appendage was quickly reattached. At one point it seemed as though an arrow had pierced Sir Henry’s helm, but at the last moment it veered of course. Fenix later mumbled that his pagan god may have played some part in protecting Henry, but I suspect that was merely superstition.

With the warriors flagging, it typically fell to a Wizard to end the conflict. While I prepped my most deadly Venom incantation, the pagan Vera - who had been lingering at the back of the crowd - suddenly called forth an electric strike from the heavens. It was certainly an impressive pyrotechnic display, but it failed to destroy the spearman it hit. My magic, on the other hand, was rather more refined and less showy. I spread my insidious Venom among our three assailants and was convinced that the spearman had been slain. But as his life drained away he gained a second wind. Nevertheless, it was enough to convince them that the battle was over and as soon as they had appeared, they were gone.

A little worse for ware (accepting yours truly of course) the group rode on in the hope that this test was passed. Sooner or later we came across the Baron, who had been waiting just were we lost him. An odd thing, considering that we had only travelled in what appeared to be a straight line. With the correct chain of command restored, we rode on to encounter one of the great challenges mentioned in the records of Talor’s quest.

The Chasm stood before us. From the side we could see nothing but fog, either down or across. With Cedric as my willing subject, we experimented with ways to cross the gulf, but soon discovered that an invisible magic barrier stood between us and the drop. Consulting the ancient texts revealed to me that this was a test of faith. Fenix and Henry made some limp attempts at besting the barrier, before the Baron ordered that we all saddle up and ride full pelt at The Chasm. Secured on our mounts we charged at the edge and leapt head first into -murky nothingness. I should take this moment to note, that the Grand Knight Henry failed to correctly marshal his horse, and was required to go back and try again.

We were now falling, rather than crossing. Many of us lost our horses in the commotion, and what exactly became of them I have elected not to contemplate. After our short aerial excursion we splashed into a disgusting black pool. Fully armoured and bereft of swimming ability the group began to sink. If the sudden lack of breathable air was not trouble enough, I soon noted that the strange tendrils at the foot of the pool were intent on catching and devouring us. While I contemplated our imminent demise, the party sprang into action. Vera the Red uttered some prayers to her pagan lord and gifted the stocky Bellbois with the power of flight. This he used well, plucking me from the depths.

With the vital members of the party safe, Bellbois dove back into the water to fish out the Baron - who was unconscious and drowning. Meanwhile, Vera made use of her magical spear to glide around under the surface. Fenix made some noble attempt to aid Tamar, but was unceremoniously grasped by the sentient plant-life. It took Vera’s full strength to pull him free. While the rescue mission continued, Sir Henry donned a magical wind cloak and floated ineffectually up and down. With the Baron safely on the banks, Silkene, Cedric, and I combined our healing powers to restore his well-being. And then we sat, damp and cold, pondering our sorry fate.

After a fitful nights sleep we awoke to a muted dawn. Scouting by my familiar revealed that were in an endless marsh, one of the many challenges reported by those questers who went before. By now our small fire had petered out and the general mood was not one of mirth. Yet, somehow the simple minded pagan Silkene found something to laugh at. As soon as she had chuckled, she was gone. The others were agog, but it soon dawned on me that the key to escaping the marsh was the power of laughter. It seems that none of us are natural comedians, but before long the majority of the party had found some mirth and duly disappeared.

Left here are Sir Henry, as dynamic and interesting as you could hope of an Hrestoli Knight, and the anger-fueled pagan Vera the Red. I know a good yarn about a miscast befuddle spell that goes down very well at the Monastery, but these two do not seem to appreciate my humour. A number of hours have passed and the air of negativity shows no sign of abating. As I write, Henry sulks on the grass, while Vera appears to be talking to herself in the corner. Wait...is that a giant pink rat?! Where did this monster emerge from, and what is this strange one-wheeled perambulator he is piloting? What an absurd spectacle; rather amusing actually...