Dearest Caedmon,
How brightly the moons shine tonight! Selûne glows pale and full, while Io gleams with a pink halo, the shape of a bronze scythe. Nights like these remind me of the lunar festivals we used to enjoy on Talpin, where the Moon Goddess, the mistress of the tides, is so highly esteemed. Do you remember how we loved playing with colorful animal-shaped lanterns on those evenings? So often you managed to set yours on fire by putting too many candles into it—but part of the reason, I suspect, was to get me to save your lantern with some water magic. While the Peggotties discouraged me from doing anything that would draw attention to my unusual origins, you were always fascinated by my little water tricks—if only you knew how many hours I spent practicing in secret to impress you!
It is comforting to imagine that, in spite of the miles dividing us, we rest under the same vast, beautiful night-sky. I hope that your journey to Sriss was a smooth one, and that you have the chance to read this letter during a moment as serene as the one I am enjoying now. For we have just finished eating a delicious meal of roasted quails that Wynlynn caught for us; Panthagion and Tilia are beginning the first watch while the rest of us prepare to slumber. The air is crisp and cool, autumnal—perfectly conducive to a few hours of restorative sleep.
And we badly need such rest after the day’s adventures, which have been not only physically but emotionally draining, especially for Val and Wynlynn. Two of the bravest—and deadliest—members of our party, they suffered the most at the hands of the beautiful enchantress we encountered in the dwarven tunnels today. Yes, it was a succubus who appears to have been leading the underground blood cult had colonized the tunnels, and the weapons she used against us were in some ways more deadly than those made of mere steel.
You may remember the woman of fortune known as Hot-legs Jen who used to frequent the Glade—well, now we know what became of her, or perhaps who she really was all along. There she was, clad in metallic bikini with strange skull iconography on it, looking as alluring as ever, though in a particularly sinister kind of way. (Yes, even I, who have never had eyes for voluptuous women, could feel the raw, sexual energy emanating from her, and wouldn’t have dreamt of attempting to attack her without any provocation.)
Jen, whose real name Agenar soon discovered is Ifrini, appeared suave and friendly at first, but she soon revealed her true colors. Val, already intensely infatuated with her, fell quickly under a powerful charm, and helped Ifrini recover a silver key from the tomb in the chamber. Then, without the slightest warning, the succubus unleashed a cloud of poisonous gas on Panthagion, Travis, and me. Fortunately, I was able to dispel the noxious cloud away with wind-gust, and Agenar used his holy relic to cast a spell that seem to put the fear of Corellon into Ifrini: she reverted to her natural, winged form and teleported out of the chamber—taking Val with her.
A few moments of blind panic ensued. Everyone was horrified, but Wynlynn was completely beside herself. I have never seen our ranger friend so heart-wrenchingly distraught. As you know, I have grown fond of all my companions, but besides the wise Tilia, Wynlynn (whom you met at the Delectable Comestibles just the other night) is the one I trust the most. She reminds me of my dear cousin Marina—responsible, quiet, but with a reservoir of courage and determination that would put flashier adventurers to shame. The poor elf seemed ready to tear her beautiful silver locks when she remembered that she had placed her hunter’s mark on the succubus, and sprinted out of the chamber. The rest of us followed, though it was difficult to keep up with Wynlynn in her frenzied state.
I reached the top of the stairs with Agenar in time to see the ranger cursing Ifrini—who was now airborne—and shooting arrow after arrow at the succubus. No doubt those arrows would have been deadly had the evil beauty been any closer. Then, seeing that her target was well out of range, the expert archer threw her bow to the ground and gathered the semi-conscious Val in her arms, giving her a long, passionate kiss.
I have always wondered about the close friendship of our elven companions—and now, it is clear that theirs is far more than the sisterly bond of warrior women, as intimate as that kind of relationship might be. Stumbling upon their moment of intimacy, I felt almost like I was desecrating holy ground, and immediately averted my eyes. I would have attempted to engage Agenar in casual conversation—but you know that I am always tongue-tied in the presence of attractive men. So I kept my peace.
A wave of compassion for Wynlynn and Val washed over me—what must it be like constantly to risk death in battle with one dearer to you than life itself? No wonder Wynlynn circles Val like mother-hawk when the bold fighter rushes wildly into the fray, assiduously keeping Val within range of her bow’s protection. And truth to tell, Caedmon, it brought to mind my sense of panic when you suggested accompanying us to the dwarven tunnels the other evening. If anything were to happen to you, I do not know what I would do. For truly, my love for you is akin to what Wynnlynn and Val feel for each other.
But the hour grows late—and I must rise early to take the third watch. Rest well, my dearest friend! Perhaps I will seek you out in Sriss to continue this conversation.
Ever yours,
Teal
UNOMAHA D&D 