Tilia's Field Notes: Streets of Dranseri

I hate the city.

The noise. The people. The smells. The greed and cruelty. It’s too much. But I’m no delicate flower, and am duty-bound to keep my tribe safe, so I can only hope our stay in this place is brief.

We’ve wandered up and down the streets of the city, taking in a variety of views, experiences, and completing a few tasks, like obtaining magic permits for Teal and me. Despite the absurdity of the associated bureaucracy, my magic often proves useful for preventing untimely demises, so presumably the wait was worthwhile. The dragon’s teeth I’ve been carrying were worth quite a bit of gold, though I’m not quite sure what to do with so much wealth. Agenar too entrusted me with his purse before disappearing down a side street, though I cannot fathom why.

My observation skills have improved considerably over the course of our recent adventures, and I can’t help but notice all manner of details out of the corner of my eye. But despite the wide variety of shapes and sizes of people we’ve passed by, I haven’t seen another firbolg. I wasn’t really expecting to find another of my kind here, just holding out a faint hope. It seems we may be stuck here for a few days more, so there’s still a possibility of it, although even if such a rare event were to occur, I wouldn’t begin to know how to ask for news of my tribe. We don’t have family names and lineages that can be used to identify us in a place like this, far from home, because we’re stewards of nature who rarely travel. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.

My most interesting observations in Dranseri have been the manticores that we fought this morning at the arena. The idea of fighting wild creatures as entertainment is repugnant, but these are strange beasts that were created and then naturalized; they don’t really belong to this world. And my responsibility to the tribe trumps my distaste for battle, so I took part. It was my first opportunity to try the druid magic of taking on the shape of an animal, which surprised my companions, who probably don’t realize that I can also take on the appearance of other races of people as well. Wearing the skin of a black bear felt… strange and yet comfortable. My armor melted into the beast’s skin and the sudden transformation confused the manticore briefly, although it still struck me and the crowd seemed delighted by the appearance of a random bear in the arena.

Ultimately we triumphed in battle, a little too quickly for the crowd’s tastes, but we still got paid. Some days, that appears to be as good as it gets.