"Of Elves and Adventures"

Hargoth, 27SC

Will you look at that? Just like an elf to draw a knife on a guy for doing what comes naturally. If she didn’t want menfolk coming onto her, she bloody well should stay out of taverns—or at least she should dress in a more modest fashion!

 Have I ever told you how much I hate elves? Gods, it makes my blood boil just to think about those pointy-eared know-it-alls breathing the same air I do.

 Why? Because they’ve made my life a living hell, that’s why. Just about every time I had a racket that looked like it would work for the long haul, some damned elf has come along and screwed it up!

 When I was a kid, I’d set up this nice little scheme where me and a partner were peddling visions from Takhisis. We’d set up shop in one of the temples in the Old District where we’d found a hollow that would let someone in a secret chamber pose as the “voice of god.” You’ve no idea how much drunken or stupid Dark Knights would pay to hear their goddess speak once I “channeled her” through my body. Worked like a charm . . . until some damn elf showed up. Didn’t know there were elves among the Dark Knights, did you? Well, there are. And this one had been around for the construction of the rooms we were using. I barely escaped with my life, and my partner—who had taught me everything I knew—was lynched by the Dark Knights right there on the spot.
 But, hey, that’s what happens sometimes. That’s the risks we take. I could have let it go if it’d been just that one time.

 But a few years later, another elf ruined things for me. I’d gotten settled in Caergoth where I was doing a brisk business in selling Kagonesti herbal cures for everything from gout to impotence. Of course, the cures were nothing but applesauce, oatmeal, and thyme, but people were snatching it up anyway. Until this holier-than-thou elven wench with feathers and flowers in her hair and a leaf tattooed on her cheek, I was doing fantastic business. I guess she came looking for me, thinking I was one of her pointy-eared cousins or something, and when she discovered I wasn’t, she first gave me a lecture about truth and honesty . . . and then she started kicking my ass.

 Hey, there’s nothing funny about this. Between her and the townsfolk I barely survived!

 But that’s not it. If that had been the end of it, I might have just chalked it up to bad luck. But two months ago, it happened again! Another damn elf showed up and ruined by life!

 After Caergoth, I eventually ended up in Korval. I’d headed north instead of south, because the idea that somehow elves in general were just bad news for me was already starting to form in my head—I had no desire to get any closer to Qualinesti than I’d already been.

 At any rate, Korval looked like the perfect place for a completely fresh start. It was a quaint little village with about a dozen citizens that still held regular services to Mishakal and Paladine in a little temple at the heart of the town, and everyone was the perfect stereotype of ‘salt of the earth.’ Even better, with ** Daron still having a reputation of being a charnel house due to that problem with undead a few years back, there wasn’t much traffic passing through the place. Basically, it seemed like the perfect place to take it easy while dusting off some of the old stand-bys like faith healing, spirit channeling, and fortune telling.
 For the first four months, Korval was paradise. All I had do was ‘read’ a few goat entrails and correctly predict that one of the town leaders was sleeping around with another town leader’s wife and I had free room and board.

 But when I heard the legend of the River of Healing, I knew I had it made. According to a favorite story there, there was this river and lake up in the mountains where Mishakal liked to skinny-dip. A by-product of this practice of hers was that the waters permanently took on part of her divine essence so that anyone who bathed in the water would be cured of whatever ailed them. Problem is, terrible creatures haunted the only pass leading to the valley where this river could be found.

 Being the resident all-around supernatural good guy, I announced that would brave whatever foes lurked in the pass to bring back bottles filled with the blessed waters. After all, if there was anyone who deserved the benefit of Mishakal’s gift, it was the people of Korval, and, clearly, it was fate that had sent me to them. The good people said there was no need for me to risk myself—they were doing fine without the healing waters they said—but, being the brave and selfless soul that I am, I put myself on the line for them.

 Well, no, not really. All I did was load up on dried fruit, bread, and cheese and rough it for a few days in the hills to east of town. I’d brought a dozen or so bottles along, too, and after three weeks in the hills, I filled them from one of the many streams running through the hills and then headed back into town.
 Of course I knew that the yokels would eventually catch onto the fact that the bottles had nothing but drinking water in them. Part two of the plan was to tell them that I had discovered a way to put the evil spirits of the pass to rest so that they safely travel to the River of Healing themselves . . . all it would take was that platinum holy symbol from their temple and that jewel-encrusted medallion that’s been the mayor’s symbol office since the time of the Cataclysm. You see, the angry spirit in the pass is really a priest of Takhisis and only those two mighty symbols of good can smite him. Yeah, you can see right through it, but I’m sure the good people of Korval would have swallowed that line without hesitation.

 I never got a chance to even try it, though. While I was enjoying my hero’s welcome and distributing bottles of water to the old, infirm, and sufferers of colds, a trio of griffins flew by overhead.

 Yeah, you’re absolutely right. Griffins mean elves. Believe me, my blood ran cold at the sight. I silently prayed that they would just keep going, but no. They circled back and spiraled in for a landing.

 There were two of them . . . two males. One of them was a total loon. Thought the mayor’s daughter was his sister and mistook me for Sturm Brightblade one moment and a draconian the next. Oh, and he thought Korval was some place in Qualinesti and that we’d assembled a feast in his honor.

 At any rate, the sane elf, named Left or some-such, said he’d come looking for a guide to the River of Healing, or at least a map—his raving pal had been poisoned and needed to be dunked in it before it was too late.

 First, everyone pointed fingers at me. Then the villagers offered up some of the bottles of water I’d given them. The crazy elf—who at that point in time believed himself to be Kith-Kanan, founder of Qualinesti—guzzled three bottles of ‘sweet wine, the like of which he had never tasted before’ and suddenly seemed to become lucid.

 I was the only one who was startled, of course. The madness went out of his eyes and Left, or whatever his name was, started relating a whole string of very confusing events to the other elf—you know how elves can babble, and babble he did. All sorts of nonsense, about diamond-filled valleys and all sorts of other stuff.

 Meanwhile, I did what I could to subtly encourage them to get their scrawny butts out of my town. ‘There’s a storm coming,’ I said, ‘and if you don’t leave now you may be trapped.’

 He looked like he was buying it . . . but then the Salt of the Earth decided to pipe up again. ‘Are you sure, Seer?’ asked Old Man Wellbyt. ‘My knee ain’t swollen.’ And then the Widow Nell started talking about her arthritis. And then they all started talking about wanting to feed the elves before they got on their way. And of course the blond one had to use his new-found coherence to say, ‘It’s not that we doubt your abilities, soothsayer, but my experience says that the ailments of the elderly are more accurate in predicting the weather than even most Wizards of High Sorcery could. I think we’ll do just fine if we leave tomorrow rather than today. Plus, I’m famished, and I would be honored to share a meal with the good folk of Korval.’ And, of course, Left agreed with him. Those pointy-ears stick together like glue. Wait . . . was his name Left? Perhaps it was Leapt? Oh well, doesn’t matter.

 Naw. It’s never a problem to recover from the ‘But my knee doesn’t hurt!’ when doing the weather prediction bit. C’mon, give me more credit than that! Plus, I had the advantage of demurring the great wisdom of a ‘the wisdom of many lifetimes, collected in this one man, in he who is Gilthanas.’

 Yeah, I laid it on thick, but it worked. If there’s one thing I know about elves, it’s that they have egos as big as their ears . . . and if you want to distract one, you appeal to his ego.

 But, as it turned out, I shouldn’t even have bothered. I was still buttering up Blondie and making suggestions for the feast when his face suddenly took on a hateful expression and he said, ‘I’m going to tell you something I should have said years ago: I find the whole idea of you and her making love revolting. She’s still a child, and she’s only going after you because it makes her feel like an adult. If you lay a hand on her, I may just have to kill you.

 I don’t know what he meant, and I never found out, because the next thing he did was shriek, “Silvara! Silvara!” and run up to the Widow Nell, run his hands through her white hair and start raving about how he has desperately searching for her and how only she could fill the emptiness in his heart. Flowery elf courting nonsense like that.

 Yeah. He’d flipped out again. It was all we could do to keep him from running off with the old bat. Left turned on my angrily, and I thought the gig was up, but then Wellbyt piped up, ‘The legends of the River of the Healing says that people must bathe in it for its effects to take hold. Wylan will take you there, I’m sure.’

 Yeah. ‘Wylan’ is what I told them my name was. Seemed sort of magical-like. I mean, who’d ever buy into a magical-mystical-worker named Pehter?

 At any rate, Left started pushing me to show him to the River of Healing, and once again, the Salt of the Earth decided to be helpful. ‘No, you should go with them. That poor elf needs your help more than we do. Perhaps they can assist in slaying the spirits in the pass?’” And of course, Left said ‘We will help you in any way we can . . . if Gilthanas recovers, I’ve no doubt he will join your mystic in slaying the Evil spirits that are keeping you from the River of Healing.” And then he proceeded to bore us all with the mighty deeds of Gilthanas—who was hiding under a nearby handcart, screaming about blue dragons with the heads of snails.

 No, I’d never heard of Gilthanas until that day. Huh. So, he really was some kind of elfking. I never would have guessed. Not that it would have made a difference one way or other. He still got strapped to the back of one of the griffins like an unruly baby and we took off for the mountains, flying low along the pass that the yokels thought led to the River of Healing.

 Here’s a bit of advice for you—if someone ever offers you a ride on the back of a griffin, turn in down! Not only is it damn cold—why those pointy ears don’t fall off while they’re flying around on those beasts—but you’d never think that creatures with beaks could have such foul breath! That, and they’re damn unruly. As I was mounting mine, it almost bit me in half.

 At any rate, we flew low through the pass, the lifeless gray slabs of rock that make up the Vingaard Mountains rising on either side of us. Then Left—who was riding the lead griffin and seemed to be commanding all three of them somehow—lost control of his griffin. It seemed to buck in midair, and if he hadn’t been strapped into the saddle, I’m sure he would have been thrown to his death. A split second later, mine did the same and it started screeching and climbing steeply into the air as it thrashed its head back and forth. I found myself flung against the back of the saddle so hard I feared my spine would break
 The griffins were screeching and Left was shrieking orders to get them back under his control and the one I was riding suddenly went from a climb to a steep dive, throwing me forward in the saddle . . . and when it did, I saw what was causing the problem. Then I started screaming, too!

 Clinging to the griffin’s side was the ghostly shape of a strange man-hawk—a creature with a human torso and head but winged arms and the legs of a bird. Its transparent talons were tearing its belly and it was stripping flesh off the griffin’s side with its ghostly teeth. When I screamed, it glared at me with red eyes and released my mount. The griffin snapped at the phantom with its beak but the terrible creature was unaffected. Instead, it fixed its eyes on me and shrieked, ‘Huuumaaaan! The destroyer of our aerie! Huuuuumaaaaaaaaan!’ My mount once again jerked upward in a sudden climb, Left pulled his griffin away from his attacker, and the monstrous creatures pursued, swarming all around me.

 I’m not ashamed to admit that I wet myself as they came at me. I’m a con artist, not an adventurer, so real ghosts are not my forte—and ghosts of some bizarre flying humanoid are not even on my list of things I knew existed! So I started screaming like a lady-in-waiting confronted with a spider: “Get me down! Get me on the ground!”

 The phantoms were swarming all around me. One of them came straight at me, its glowing red eyes locking onto mine and a sensation rushed through me that said that gaze was searing my very soul!

 “Huuumaaaaaaan!” the creature shrieked, bearing fangs and preparing to rip into me with its talons.

 I squeezed my eyes shut and started whispering a prayer to Reorx. Why? Well, honestly, it was the only god I could think of at the time! I’m not very religious to be honest, but I found that dwarves part with their cash easily if you convince them that you’ve got a piece of something that he touched or regurgitated during a drunken binge or whatever. So, Reorx came to mind because he’s the god I’ve dealt with the most.

 Ha! No, I pray regularly. The gods have never really done anything for me, but they haven’t done anything to me either. Why attract potentially negative attention? Plus, if you can believe those people from Schallsea, the gods aren’t listening anymore. Interesting, Selin, I never had you pegged for the religious sort. Branchala, huh? That’s fascinating. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Well, you’ll have to introduce us some time.

 At any rate, I closed my eyes as the ghost rushed toward and muttered a prayer. My mount changed directions again, once again plunging downward. I felt the air rushing against my face with unprecedented force and the icy chill of the phantom claw as it cleaved the air where my head had been moments before. I huddled in the saddle, keeping my eyes shut as the rush of wind in my ears drowned the cries of the ghosts out. I thought my skin grew so numb that I could no longer feel the wind upon it, and then the rush of wind faded in my ears as well.

 And then Left’s voice: “It’s all right, Wylan. You can open your eyes now.”

 I looked around and discovered that the griffin had landed; my face hadn’t gone numb . . . the wind had just stopped. I looked up and saw that the ghostly bird-men were still circling above us. They seemed unable to come any closer.

 “You saved our lives,” Left said. “And I owe you an apology. Back in Korval, I was thinking you were a fraud, but you’ve proven me wrong. I have some small knowledge of spirits, but even I never would have guessed that their existence is restricted to the air. What kind of spirits are they? They remind me of banshees, but their behavior is different.”

 I was so stunned that it took me a moment to find my voice. I had impressed an elf! My mind started reeling with the possibilities. Where to begin, I was thinking. How much could I make out of this? So many ideas flooded my mind that I didn’t know where to take things from there. So I started talking to stall for time, basically spinning lies about the ghosts. I started explaining how the spirits were slain by Dark Knights during the Summer of Chaos and how the bird-men have been haunting the pass every since.

 “Were they aarakocra or kyrie?” Left asked.

 “Aarakocra,” I told him, not really knowing what either of those things are but, as you know, as long as you sound authoritative, people believe you. No, it’s not strange how I remembered those two names when I didn’t catch Left’s. Just let me tell my story! I told Left, “They were once peaceful, loving creatures . . . look what kind of monsters they have become in the afterlife, all because of those hateful Knights. It’s terrible. Terrible.” Which, of course, triggered the response I wanted. The Dark Knights have been squatting in Qualinesti for at least thirty years now, and I was pretty sure Left wasn’t too happy about it.

 Anyhow, I got him ranting about the Dark Knights for a bit, successfully making him forget all about whether those ghosts were aarakocra or kyrie. And when Gilthanas started howling about the slugs that were filling the sky, Left decided that we should get underway. The River of Healing awaited and soon Gilthanas’ mind would be restored.

 That was one of the moments I wished I was a violent man. I could have bashed his head in, right then and there and turned back. Oh yeah, “the danger was over.” Don’t you know anything, Selin? I thought being a worshiper of a bard god and all you would be familiar with all those stories about adventuring parties that either go up a mountain or climb down a hole. The first monsters met are never as bad as the ones that follow!

 But, since I’m not a violent man, and since I couldn’t come up with a reason why we shouldn’t take the loony up to the top and dunk him in the river, we started out again, walking the griffins along the ground instead of flying on them.

 That was a creepy couple of days, let me tell you. It felt like we were being watched the whole time. I didn’t dare look up because I knew what was watching us—those ghostly birdmen. They were just waiting for us to take the sky again so they could succeed in ripping our hearts out. The only upside was that Gilthanas slipped into a semi-conscious state and stopped his howling.

 Eventually, the pass opened up into a beautiful lush valley, the kind of place where in those stories I mentioned before you’ll find two-headed ogres enslaving unicorns and fair maidens.

 No, of course there was nothing like that in the valley. It was just a valley, although a beautiful one. It was shaped a bit like a bowl and from the mouth of the pass we could see a lake of sparkling clear water with a small building by its side. A broken and overgrown road led to the building, and a river that glittered like the lake snaked its way out of view among some evergreens.

 I proudly pronounced that this was the River and the Lake of Healing. Left asked what the building was, and as I fumbled for an answer he volunteered one. “Is it a Temple of Mishakal?”

 I quickly agreed with him, and made a lucky guess that it was abandoned based on its run-down appearance. I told him that priests had settled here after the War of the Lance but that the Dark Knights had killed them too. That triggered another round of cursing and condemning of Dark Knights—Left was about the easiest guy to manipulate that I’ve ever come across and I was starting to wonder if I should just go ahead and join him and his friend. Living off them would no doubt be easy.

 But then I remembered that these were elves I was dealing with. I just had to get rid of them before they ruined my sure thing in Korval. So, I reminded Left of his unfortunate buddy.

 We walked the griffins down the shore of the lake. Here, we untied Gilthanas and started to undress him. At that point, he started muttering about Silvara again. Hey, that isn’t funny. But I can tell you that I let Left deal with undressing him after that.

 At any rate, he got stripped down to his undies and we walked him to the shore of the lake. Left asked me what we were to do. I shrugged and pushed Gilthanas in. Left cursed my name and jumped into the water after his friend. They both emerged moments later—I don’t know if you can picture it, but elves look even skinnier when they’re wet. And, based on Left’s foul mouth, I think they get about as angry as a cat in water as well.
 Gilthanas seemed okay, though. For a split second. Then he slugged Left, shouting, “Foul Konnal! You will not imprison me again! Not when I am this close to finding my beloved Silvara!”

 Cursing under my breath, I waded into the lake. Gilthanas was trying to drown the stunned Left, still screaming about Konnal and Silvara. I grabbed hold of his shoulder and he whirled on me. “Tanis!,” he bellowed when he spotted me. “Tanis, you will pay for robbing my sister of her virtue!” And then he grabbed me by the throat and thrust me under the water.’

 I have no idea who this Tanis guy is, but I hope for his sake that he never crosses paths with Gilthanas. I don’t think he’d walk away from it. Gilthanas would have killed me if not for Left. Left hit Gilthanas upside the head and dragged both of us from the water.

 “Why didn’t it work?” he demanded as I tried to cough the water out of my lungs. I suggested that maybe there’s a reason it’s called the “River of Healing.” Then I realized that my sarcasm might have tipped my con and I quickly added: “Drinking the water of the lake works for minor ailments, but perhaps only the river itself can cure serious conditions.”

 Left looked doubtful and distrustful, but he still grabbed the unconscious Gilthanas and tossed him over the back of one of the griffins. He then rode the beast across the lake. I watched as he submerged Gilthanas in the river. The crazy elf regained consciousness and struggled. But Left forced him under the water and held him there for several moments. Then he dragged Gilthanas out and threw him on the shore. He stood over the other elf for a moment, and then Gilthanas stumbled to his feet. They stood across from each other for what seemed like a very long time, and then they embraced. It had worked. The river had cured Gilthanas of his madness. It was a happy ending for everyone but me.

 Well, I guess it might have been if Gilthanas hadn’t turned out to be such a damn ‘credit where credit is due’ honor freak. First he apologized profusely for attacking me, explaining that he remembered mistaking me for Tanis, his sister Laurana’s dead husband.

 Really? That Tanis. Huh. I didn’t know the Golden General was married to him. That does make sense, though. And I can understand why Gilthanas would be ticked. After all, he wouldn’t want human blood contaminating his precious elven bloodline, now would he?

 At any rate, we spenr the night in the ruins of the Temple of Mishakal—which was quite the place by the way. There were images of a naked woman bathing in the lake. Gilthanas thought that it was an image of the goddess Mishakal. There were a couple of statues of her in there as well. Selin, let me tell you, if I were to start attending service on a regular basis or worship someone, I think it would have to be Mishakal. If the service gets boring, I’d just sit back and enjoy the scenery.

 Okay. You’re right. That’s being disrespectful to the goddess. I apologize. And I got myself sidetracked again.

 As I was saying, after spending the night in the ruins, we headed back to Korval. I tried convincing Gilthanas and Left that I would make it back just fine on my own. And once I got there, I told them, I’d round up a bunch of the young men and we’d come up here and repair the temple and use it as a shelter for the sick who need the healing waters. I think I could have convinced Left to go, but damned Gilthanas wanted to travel to Korval and thank the people there for their kindness. What kindness? I wanted to ask. All they did was point their fingers at me and say, “He’ll take ya to where you want to go!”

 But, being that he was the elf prince, he got his way. We walked the griffins back through the pass—Gilthanas was a lot harder to bamboozle as far as the ghosts go than Left was but I nonetheless did it—and we eventually reached Korval. The Salt of the Earth gave Gilthanas his promised feast. They hailed me as the greatest thing to happen to their village since they discovered fire. They offered Left their daughters. No, not really. I’m kidding about that last part. But they did go way over the top. Still, if Left and Gilthanas had just eaten their pork and been on their way, it might still have been a happy parting for me as well as them. But have you ever known an elf to keep his mouth shut where there’s a chance to get in front of an audience and impress them? No, of course not. And neither have I. And let me tell you, Gilthanas behaved true to type.

 During the feast, the Lord-Grandwhathaveyou of Kalaman and Qualinesti got up and Gilthanas gave a toast and a speech in my honor. He told them all about how I intended to reopen the Temple of Mishakal in the valley and started urging all of them to relocate up there where the ground was fertile and the magical waters would keep them healthy. “You can create an island of tranquility, joy, and health . . . and you have Wylan of Solanthus to thank for it!”

 The next morning the elves left. By the end of the week, some of the younger people of Korval were preparing for a mission to explore the pass to the River of Healing. After Gilthanas’s little pep talk and grand explanation of how I’d discovered the ghosts were no threat, they were no longer afraid. That Gilthanas. He could probably sell sand to the people of Relgoth. By the end of the month, the young folk had come back and they decided that moving to the valley was the thing to do. Everyone was so excited that I was going to lead them to this wonderful new place, away from illness, bandits, and probably even bad weather.
 The following night, I gathered my belongings and left town. Why? What do you mean why? I’m not interested in having villagers fawn over me unless there’s a take to be had. Helping them move their damn town would have been hard work, and being a real spiritual leader is a lot harder than just pretending to be one. Leadership is for blabbermouths like Gilthanas and Dark Knights. Me, I just want people’s money. Once Gilthanas told the Korvalers that the River of Healing was safe, there was no money to be had. There weren’t even any free meals, because they were going to expect something of me. Something real. Damn elves. Like I said, they’ve ruined every good thing I’ve ever—

 No, don’t you give me that. Gilthanas and Left didn’t leave me the opportunity to do good. They fouled an opportunity to . . . hey, isn’t that just the strangest damn thing. Look at that. That elf woman, the one who threatened Stumpy with a knife . . . isn’t that her? Heading up the stairs with Sir Lorannus? Elves are crazy. She’ll turn down a perfectly good guy like Stumpy, but is perfectly willing to share her bed with an officious ninny like Lorannus.

 Damn Dark Knights. They’re almost as bad as elves if you ask me. They deserve each other.

 Oh, speaking of Dark Knights and deserving each other, I didn’t come here to bore you with stories about elves. I came to recruit you for my latest scam. How does this grab you: Fragments of Sturm Brightblade’s sword. I have the perfect buyer already lined up.