Thoughts from the road

Once again I find myself in the Feywild. Rapture. I’m jotting this down as I ride in a caravan on my way to our next destination. Our meeting with the Plane Wardens on this side of the veil went well. The information I was able to provide them about the mysterious Mr. Amaranth enabled them, in turn, to provide us with some useful information as well. The druid Kirell nul Moman was not incarcerated as I was led to believe but was summarily executed shortly after being delivered to Matron Sorrow. At least that’s what the official records say. My dear Uncle Howlynz either witnessed the execution himself or signed off on a lie for whatever reason. Regardless of which he did he didn’t see fit to update the family records when he returned. I believe when all is said and done here I’m going to have to have a very long and potentially uncomfortable talk with Uncle Ambroze and Uncle Ozzryk. I need to get some insights from someone who actually knew the gnome. Someone who knew him more closely and is slightly more trustworthy than Mr. Alabaster that is.
 
El’s had to forfeit the competition. Evidently something arose back on her homeworld which prompted her to leave the night before the trial began. While I’ve no doubt she’s more than up to facing whatever challenge awaits her back home I hate to see them miss out on getting their scale and she’ll be sorely missed on the trial. I’m going to guess intrigue, ancient lore and the history of the place will figure in heavily here and our resident bard would be a wonderful asset to have. Plus with her gone the party cynics are woefully outnumbered and Nymyra and I are only capable of generating so much sarcasm at any given time. I even took solace in helping Fen meal prep for our journey last night to let you know how dire the situation has become. Not that our resident godly gargantuan isn’t positively delightful company mind you. It’s just that level of wholesome positivity can’t possibly be healthy. Perhaps the Rose Quartz Spectacles Brigade is rubbing off on me. I’ll be knitting little sweaters for zombies before long if I’m not careful.
 
I’ll have to cut this entry short. Screams are coming from the woods we’re passing and I think our head caravaneer might need to have the futility of half measures when hags are about explained to them. More later.