The Journals of Lady Holla

It is 15th day of the Khroma Moon. We are in the 13th year of the 602nd cycle. The season is Utna.

We awoke the next morning on the floor of the dwarven caverns, bestridden by the peerless statues of their heroes and their gods, and faced now by the majesty of their titanic mountain gate. I must confess, I had no concern for them whatsoever. The immense pain and fatigue I felt in my lower appendages, caused in large part by the week long hike that we undertook to arrive at this place, had robbed my limbs of their vitality. The past two days of rest should have restored life to them, but the method of sleeping practiced by the dwarven warriors who had accompanied us left my legs twice famished of life and vigor.

As is their habit, they huddle and pile onto each other when they sleep. Add onto this the warriors’ practice of sleeping whilst fully clad in armor, and it should be clear why my legs were so completely squished. Their bristling beards were pressed against my back, abdomen, and chest, and they were very reluctant to allow any open space in-between. I managed to raise my upper torso above the mire of dwarves, and saw my companion Kurilya in a similar predicament, having awoken and being very much unable to move. Opingini the Felid, our third companion, was quite well rested in her solitary slumber. Irksome though they may be, dwarven sleeping habits were no doubt born from some ancient survival strategy, and it seems no one in our company wanted to try their fortune by sleeping on a Felid.

Awakening the dwarven troop proved a trivial task: Once I successfully rolled one of them off my legs, the others roused from their slumber as well, tumbling from their mound in one great jumbled movement of limbs and torsos. Relieved from the press of dwarven bodies, my legs needed a few moments to fizzle to life before I could stand on my own. Kurilya, with that distinctive elven vigor, was on her feet immediately after being unpressed, and I could clearly see Opingini bounding towards me. As Kurilya aided me in the process of standing, the dwarven commander Gartok rallied his men, and ordered them to prepare the gate for opening. Hobbling towards him, I inquired as to what manner of world was beyond this gate.

“Always night during Utna,” he said. “A forest without end. High trees, much rain. Cold and foggy, too. Only Merchants go there, never warriors. The Northern Dregs. A lawless land of elf tribes and outlaws. People go there to vanish, to never come back. Much luck to you.”

He was as lively as a body swinging from a tree, but to his immaculate credit, it was a well-spoken warning for what was to come. The gate, which required eight men spinning an enormous wheel to open, sounded a deep stony growl as it slid upon the cavern floor. The wind that blew into the cavern from its opening was sufficiently cold for Opingini, Kurilya, and myself to at once furl our cloaks around ourselves. The forest beyond was both unexpected and unimaginable.

There was no solid ground. When we stepped out of the gate at the side of the mountain, what we walked upon was a tangle of vines grown into the shape of an enormous bridge. The 3 of us could have stood side-by-side and not covered a fifth of its span, although the dwarven merchants who followed us, with their carts full of wares, made the reason for its size very clear. The bridge’s slimy tendrils needed to be felt rather than seen, for it truly was as dark a night as Gartok had foretold. The only things that could be seen in the dim lantern light of the dwarven carts were the silhouettes of the giant trees, towering above us into an endless canopy. And far below us were the sounds of a great sea, churning in the distant darkness.

Our destination was unclear, but the dwarves told us, to look out for a massive opening in a tree, crowned by an elf.

I did not dwell upon what they meant by this for long. The rain began to retract, the cold began to settle, and Opingini, who had been guiding us with her nocturnal sight, disappeared into the darkness. It had only been a trek of 30 minutes, 45 at most, but the cold made it feel much longer. Even the dwarves were beginning to worry.

“Where’s your friend? She wander off?” They asked.

I called her name, sending my voice soaring through the dark, distant woods. It carried farther than I was hoping, considering the unknown factor of who might be listening, but instead of a reply, the first sound we heard in response was a snap, then screaming, and then the very distinctive screech of an enraged felid.

Kurilya and myself, casting off all caution, rushed into the darkness after Opingini, and arrived at a large, circular platform attached to a tree where a scene was playing out. Opingini was to our left, crouched on all four limbs and on the verge of attacking. To our right was a group of 10 elven men who were holding on to a fellow elf, bleeding profusely from his left arm and abdomen, apparently from a strike by Opingini, and having a broken spear at his feet. The object they seemed to have been carrying, now slumped behind them, looked to be a giant blue fish. A whale perhaps? We were very near entering this altercation when, from the direction of the elves, an elderly elven man arrived to diffuse the situation.

“Enough, enough!” The old elf said, waving his arms whilst taking the dangerous position in the center of them.

The elven men erupted into a chorus of objections. Opingini, back arched and claws erect, held herself from immediately attacking at the sounds of their complaints and jeers. The elderly gentleman scolded them.

“Alright now, stop it! Take Golby there, take the fish, and get inside. You guys…”

He turned to address a second group of elves, twice as large as the first, who had followed him from wherever he’d come from. Appearing from the darkness like a troop of phantoms, their sight made my blood run cold, as I had not noticed them before, neither did I know their intent. I was on the verge of leaping in front of Opingini and pleading for her life.

The elder pointed and shouted, “Go, snatch another one up quick before the water freezes. Hurry!”

At his word the elves flew straight upward, and in perfect unison, dived down past the viney platform and into the abyss below. Having had occasion to catch my breath from the previous fright, I rushed to the edge to watch their plunge. I could only see darkness, but Kurilya said they were carrying some sort of amulet that gave off a light that only elves could see.

“You cold?”

We turned to see the elder motion for us to follow him. Opingini was still calming herself down, her hairs slowly sinking.

“Come on. You can warm up at my place.”

We were unsure of where ‘his place’ might be, but followed him regardless. We called out to our merchant entourage, whose lights could be seen approaching on the bridge.

We followed the man across the platform, nearly the size of a town square, to its head, where we were greeted with the biggest tree we had yet seen in these woods. On its face were cut many small doors flanking an enormous one at its center. The portico in which the doors were set formed an enormous arch with many intricate carvings scratched onto its surface. The nature of the establishment was made plain by the sculpture which protruded from the crowning point of the arch: the familiar image of Khertumnos, the King of Thieves, carrying his ill-gotten consort. It was a comforting sight despite how obscene it was. Knowing now what to expect, we followed the elder into the building to discover for ourselves what was inside.

Of all the taverns I have visited, this was the most grand and beautiful to behold. The room that we beheld upon entering was unbelievably spacious. 60 adult oxen could have stood in line, nose to tail, and would have covered only half its width. Its length was easily 120 oxen long. Four gargantuan fireplaces were carved into the wooden walls to our left and right, two on each, and sitting before these were mobs of travelers, bandits, and merchants conversing with each other.

We were still foul and smudged from our trek up the dwarven caverns, and now wet from the torrential rain outside. Kurilya was still shivering and Opingini’s fur was becoming very hard to manage, shedding in dripping wet clumps.

“Yeah, I could tell just by looking at you three that you’re all new to these parts.” He said, maintaining his casual stroll.

“I can tell ya that I ain’t ever seen an elf from outside of these woods.” He said, speaking to Kurilya. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cat-person before at all.”

He assured us, sensing our exhaustion, that a private room in the higher reaches of the tree would be made available in a short while. His name, as he said it in his curious elven dialect, was Geriqthoul. Having at once a good look at his face, I can say that its deep wrinkles and stern appearance contrasted greatly with his jocular humor. The leathery quality of his skin, in both color and texture, accentuated the fissures on his face, as well as his aquiline nose. His arms were well muscled, standing in contrast to his bulbous belly which, along with his chest, was covered in a sort of body paint styled in intricate patterns.

He wore no upper body covering whatsoever, only a white cloth draped around his hips and flowing to his ankles, much like a dress. The younger elven men he commanded, were likewise dressed. How they were able to withstand the cold of this region with such sparse clothing I do not know, although if I had to guess, their body paint may have had some exceptional heat trapping quality to it. This was likely meant to free up their wings, which on elven men are located on the upper back. Kurilya had only a bare patch at her lower back to free up her wings. It was draped over by her cloak, and was very uncomfortable by comparison.

Two of Geriqthoul's men rushed to us from the back of the hall and handed us three bowls of gruel, warm and smelling quite nice. We had to decline the third bowl since Opingini, being a felid, could not eat such food, and would therefore have to wait for the fish/whale (still unclear) to be cooked, for which she was very displeased. We were instructed to wait in the great hall while our room was being prepared.

The mobs huddled around the fires were gathered in groups of 4 or 5 people, and they looked to be having very lively conversations over cups of ale. Some were hunched over, eating by themselves. A few others were sleeping soundly, and were very difficult to avoid tripping over.

Kurilya and myself proceeded to find a place to sit among them. Opingini very lethargically followed us. Kurilya wished for us to sit far from the fire, safe among the drunks and sleepers, but too far to adequately warm ourselves. I suggested sitting at the corner of one of the hearths, where fewer travelers would bother us. I could clearly see the uncomfortable amounts of frost clinging to her wings, which she was trying to obscure underneath her cloak. She needed to warm them up. It was likely because of this that she relented.

“Just, please be vigilant, Holla. Caution at all times,” she said

“Of course,” I said, although the moment we seated ourselves, near some lone travelers, I cast away all caution and plunged my face into the gruel, nearly choking myself with each gulp of its sweet, chunky goodness. Kurilya was horrified.

“Are you even chewing?” she asked.

I gave her a perplexed look, my stuffed face half submerged in the bowl and covered with splatters of grain and milk.

“Mmmm-hmmm?”

I was completely lost. She sighed.

“Nevermind, please continue.”

And continue I did.

It was while enjoying my first meal in 3 days that I noticed an old human man creeping over to me. Under normal circumstances this man’s approach would’ve proved sinister. But in my desperate hunger, my sole concern was his untouched bowl of gruel. I paused my eating and began thinking of how to obtain it. I thought of allowing him to get just within arm’s reach, and then deftly dashing his head against the ground, thus claiming my second bowl. I felt Kurilya place her hand on my shoulder, thinking perhaps to dissuade me, but I was already set.

At the hall’s entrance the mighty central door opened, and into the hall came the dwarven merchants along with their carts of fine crafts and trinkets. This had the effect of inducing nearly everyone to arise and rush at the cart with bags of coin and items to barter. This great cacophony of boots, jingling coins, and yelling was the perfect moment for me to seize this man’s food. When I looked at him to pounce though, his hands were outstretched to me, and in them was a tattered collection of loose papers bound with string.

“I want you to read this,” he said. It was the last thing I was expecting.

I took the pages from his hand and asked, “What is it?”

“It is…,” he said, failing at his attempt to subdue a shiver, “Something that will be more useful to you than to me.”

“Useful?” said Kurilya, coming from behind me and examining the pages in my hands, “Useful how?”

The old man, his hair looking like loose cobwebs, pointed his skeletal finger to the reception desk in the back, where Geriqthoul was shouting to his men.

“He knows. Somehow. I know that you will not squander those pages, Holla. You will find what you know not.” He wiped his nose, leaving a trail of blood on his sleeve.

It took several seconds for me to catch my breath, and for my heart’s rhythm to slow down. How did he know my name?

Before I could ask him, Kurilya put her hand over my mouth and said to him in her calm, soothing voice, “Thank you, honored elder. We will not waste this gift.”

He didn’t acknowledge her statement. He took a long drink from his bowl of gruel, and when he put it back down, several of his teeth, and a large draught of his blood, were mixed in with the grain and milk.

Some hours later, after we’d been lodged in our bed room and Opingini had gotten her fish, we finally had time to examine the object given to us. The loose pages had once been a leather bound book, now badly damaged and only being held together by strings interlaced along the remaining spine. Neither Kurilya nor myself had any knowledge of the script used. We were sitting on one bed, the codex open in front of us, while Opingini was enjoying her meal on the bed near the door.

“Mwhat’s it say?” Opingini kept asking us while crunching the bones of her fish. And each time we had to tell her that we didn’t know.

“Mwhat do yew fhink it says?” was her reply, which was easier to answer since the text was often accompanied by images. Many of these were drawings of elves, or at least their ears and wings indicated them as such. Interspersed between these were images of humans, but I couldn't tell what they were doing. The codex was frustrating in its opaque mystery. Kurilya suggested that we go back downstairs and ask the man what it means.

“Mmmm. Mhe’s ded now,” chimed Opingini.

“What?”

“Yeh. Tsey were carryng hiss bowdy owt when Iy wint teh git my fistch.”

I thought back to the blood on his sleeve and in his gruel. I’d thought he was just recovering from a scuffle.

Opingini took another giant bite out of her fish.

After gulping it down she added, “Mhe was dying mwhen you were towking to im,” she nodded, “Iy could smwell the blwood unter his clwothes.”

For now I have resigned myself to asking Geriqthoul about it tomorrow after a well earned sleep. The pages rest under Opingini’s bed for safe keeping, and Kurilya sleeps beside me. Our answers will have to wait a while longer.