19 Kythorn, 1361 D.R.
When I’d left off, we had just defeated Alysanda’s minions and were preparing to leave town to talk to Markollus in Maykle, where we hoped to learn more about the Rod and the Whisperer in Dreams. Since it’s a fair old trip, and since it was late enough in the day, we decided to wait for morning instead, and spent an uncomfortable evening in our inn, wondering when Alysanda would show up next. Fortunately for her, the little wench never did, so off we went. The women of the party, being naturally more intelligent, opted for a quick easy boat ride up the river, and Tass, being naturally a pest, decided to come with us. Prihelm, being nautrally an idiot, decided he’d rather walk, and Blaze, being afraid of water, went with him. Baxter decided he’d keep the two lunatics out of trouble, and so when we got to Maykle, Morgana, Jess, Tass, and I had an evening to ourselves while we waited for our foolish companions to drag into town.
Let me pause to say a word or two about Maykle. This town is... well, pretty awful, really. It is most famous for its insane asylum, if that helps. Most of the citizens seem to belong as inmates, even those who are not. Consequently, this is not the type of place I enjoy, although I’m sure Blaze and Tass and the other strange people in my little group here like it. In any event, once you’ve wandered around town to see the asylum from every angle, you’ve pretty much exhausted Maykle’s attractions. Thus, I was not pleased that Prihelm’s idiocy doomed me to an extra night there. He shall pay for this!
Midway through the next day, the men finally staggered into town, looking bad and smelling worse. Which was quite the pity, really, as Jess had actually managed to convince Prihelm to bathe before we’d left. Being allergic to cleanliness, I’m sure the fool paladin took his first opportunity to roll in the mud, ruining all our efforts to clean him up. Strange, that lad is.
After a thoroughly frustrating interrogation of the locals, we eventually found out where Markollus lives, and on going there, discovered his home to be one of the typically depressing mansions that seem to thrive so often around here. You know the type: large, gloomy, decrepit, with gargoyles here and there, rusty iron fences, peaked gables, that sort of thing. Really, all it lacked was the perpetual lightning storm.
One thing it certainly did not lack was the typically cadaverous butler. I mean, at first I thought he was a zombie, and only the fact that I couldn’t smell him over Prihelm’s own horrible reek kept me from smiting the poor man. He needs about twelve square meals a day for the next two months!
In any event, we talked briefly with Markollus, who has to be the single most creepy individual I have ever met, and that’s saying a lot in creeps! First of all, he’s old and sick and hobbles about in a wheelchair, coughing up his lungs on a regular basis. This isn’t so much creepy as just sad, although I hope whatever he has isn’t catching; I’m far too young and talented to spend the next 500 years or so hacking in a wheelchair!
More irritatingly, the man has an unhealthy fascination with spiders. He collects the blasted things, keeps them in his house, and has entire rooms devoted to webs and jars and whatnot. It’s really really strange, and really really really creepy. I do not like spiders! And then he had the gall to tell me that I am like a spider! What a jerk! I mean, yeah, sure, that may have applied to Mitsy, but not to me!
Having thoroughly insulted me, he decided that he was too weak to speak any further and invited us to join him for a distressingly early dinner. Morgana and I were half afraid that he’d serve us spider-silk soup or something like that, but we reluctantly agreed to come back later for more information. So back we came, at around what I would have called time for a nice afternoon snack, only to find that Markollus doesn’t eat with his guests. Boy, is that a way to make guests comfortable... Spend an hour babbling about the dangers of spider venom, then serve food but refuse to taste it yourself!
His first course did little to reassure me, resembling as it did nothing so much as clotted blood or something like that, but he assured us that it was a tomato soup of some sort. I do wish the old dear realized I don’t like tomatoes. Then he brought in a nearly raw roast. I do wish the old dear realized I don’t like raw meat.
Have I mentioned that he’s sort of creepy?
Anyway, in the end, he decided that before he’d tell us anything, we’d have to do him a favor. People around here are not big on being helpful, I’ve noticed. It’s not a particularly neighborly place! I have no plans whatsoever of retiring here.
It seems that some group calling themselves the Eternal Order is full of bad bad people, most of whom are somewhat insane anyway. A pair of them, Marke Longsword and Ieroldus something-or-other I can’t remember at present are in town, and Markollus wants them captured, alive if possible, and returned to him for no-doubt nefarious reasons of his own. Just once, why couldn’t we be asked to do something simple? I don’t think that attacking high priests of death and destruction in their own temples is a great way of living to see another day, personally! But we’ve no choice if we want to learn more from old Markollus.
He’s a creep, I tell you.
Well. This has been a revolting development, as they say.