Savage Tide: ECL 11 Guinet Westenwold gnome illusionist 3, master specialist 4, shadowcraft mage 4: Journal 4

You know, I had basically reconstructed my memories and identity (as one does) after waking up in a demon's satchel in a cave with basically none of those (as one does); and it happened very quickly, so much so that I basically stopped writing any of them down so much as vaguely alluding to them in an inside-joke sort of way that only I would get (this being my diary, after all)...  If it was so easy to remember everything, well, the need to keep notes must not be as dire as I first thought, right?  But I find I kind of enjoy writing these, so, hey, let's keep going.

But what I discovered in the Planck time¹ it took for us to transition back out of the Astral is that I actually, very literally did not remember seeing the sun.  I may as well have lived my entire life in a notably execrable cavern.  If you don't think that would have a detrimental effect on your psychology, your flippant attitude has left me tempted to recommend the experience to you.  On the other hand, if you aren't the person from the previous postulate, I can actually recommend the experience plus the exit transition.  'Cause, let me tell you, it's transformative, I feel amazing.  Let me get back to you after I have a bath, if I haven't transcended.

But it's not time for baths, yet, evidently.  First it's debriefing, with a Lady Lavinia Vanderboren my new gang is employed by, and with whom I've just realized I have not yet secured similar employment.  (Yep, might as well.  Not going back north.)  She seems nice.  She's in charge of this place, a real frontier woman, at least as human nobles go.  I can't quite comprehend why anyone would pick this particular frontier to be in rear of, but they're making a really good go of it.

Still not entirely sure what's going on.  I should ask more questions, but everyone seems so full of purpose and certainty and I suspect they're all just playing along with the one guy who actually knows, so I fell in step.  At the very least, I believe I have determined that they settled this area before the business with demonic cults and evil superweapons.  Yeah, you got to stand up for what's yours, even when what's yours is some hastily built cottages that are only marginally more hospitable than the surrounding jungle, and then only because lately the bloodsucking insects are also extraplanar.

Help me, I'm slipping.  It's not really that bad.  The place is actually pretty charming.  I'm just getting slightly testy because I'm still in this waiting room and they still haven't told me where I can get a decent bath.

1. Planck time, as you might be, but probably aren't wondering, has nothing to do with Max Planck or the speed of light.  Planck was the name of a gnome in the Corusk Mountains who theorized the minimum duration in which a reasonable gnome can accomplish anything meaningful.  He said it was about six seconds.  His theory is not well known or, indeed, known of at all; Guinet knew him personally.

Savage Tide: ECL 10 Guinet Westenwold gnome illusionist 3, master specialist 4, shadowcraft mage 3: Journal 3

Well, we're all warned about it.  Just one of many phenomenons in the sociology textbooks.  I'm talking about what's known as the "I'll show them!  I'll show them all!" moment we're prone to when we mix with the big folk.  What we don't ever actually intend to show them all is roughly half a minute of getting really good and ready, during which time the situation gets basically resolved without us, but more often than not, that's what happens.

Actually, I was really unimaginably lucky.  Lesser gnomes get eaten, crushed, or disbarred.  I just had to perform the Walk of Shame as a hydra, so, hey, that was new, although the winking and hooting from the surrounding buildings made it feel just like home.  Okay, so really it's less "hooting" and more "agonized whale calls", and do not mention the "winking".

And yes, technically in order for it to be a "Walk of Shame", it's implied that I helped make the beast-with-two-backs-and-even-more-heads as a hydra, which did not happen, although now that you mention it... aw, Hel, this is how we got owlbears, isn't it?  I think uncanny perversion must be an undocumented feature of polymorph, right?  It's not just me?  It must be because it was a male hydra.  I never realized they have as many heads down below as they do up above.  That kind of sudden unexpected sensory input would occupy anyone's attention for a couple dozen seconds, at least.

Wow, and how long ago was I criticizing these guys for exactly this sort of behavior?  Note to self: ask druid if these oh-so-cuddly building-critters might be emitting some kind of pheromones...or maybe ask the psion if there could be some kind of memetic compulsion related to that statue...  Second note to self: don't actually ask any of those things.  I mean, imagine the implications if they said no.  Or yes.

Hoo boy.  Is it fair to call that a digression?  More like an ethereal jaunt.  Anyway, we made it back to the artifact to have a very comfortable nap on the dried, moldy siliceous ooze of an ancient seabed, and I'm sure it's hard to believe that we learned there are reasons not to do that above and beyond what I've just described.  I've never been so thirsty.  The tiki head just has a tiki-typical expressionless grimace on its face, but I couldn't help but see it as a little bit derisive at the time.  A proper magic tiki head would at least have had the decency to offer me some rum in a novelty glass.

Oh, our psion died.  Not recently, though.  As far as we can tell, he's been dead as long as we've known him.  Only today, his body finally gave up the ghost when it was squeezed out of him by a copru.  We brought him back, if not good as new, at least as good as he was before.  I don't see a reason to make a big deal about it.  I'm sensitive to the needs of folks whose corpuses have different planar energy needs.  Some of them are kind of triggered by it.  Heck, the head of Necromancy back at school would hit you with a shivering touch just for saying the word "positive".  That was probably actionable, now that I think about it, but obviously, he had tenure.

Savage Tide: ECL 9 Guinet Westenwold gnome illusionist 3, master specialist 4, shadowcraft mage 2: Journal 2

Okay, boys and girls: if you're like me approximately twenty years ago, you've just finished unpacking in your new room at ye Ancient Unmistakable Magickal Society Concerning Spells, Their Usage, And The Teaching Thereof.  Finally, you've left behind the cold waters and the fishing nets that you'd resorted to partaking in to pay for all this, and the occasional incidental raiding parties that you didn't really have a choice in, but who's complaining when you get a cut of the loot?  Okay, so maybe your experience isn't exactly like mine.  (If it isn't obvious, I finally remembered what Krakenheim is.  Despite what you may be thinking, I can actually recommend the place.  But I'm getting sidetracked.)

Your eyes are probably sparkling and your mind is reeling with the majesty of all the magic you're about to learn so much about.  I mean...yeah.  It's magic.  That is the right way to be feeling right now.

But here's the thing: they don't tell you, as a prospective illusionist, that you're probably just going to end up as a major image slave for some adventuring party you've never even heard of.  The feeling you'll get when you realize they could actually cast it themselves, but they need their hands free for a good vigorous tug on their wand of fireballs.  Worse still, it's not even an interesting image they're asking you to make, just project the once-living visage of this abomination onto the skeleton we've animated and try to keep up as we order it to slowly (well, fairly quickly) lumber over this hill.  Where's the art?  Where's the creativity?  A familiar could do this job.  And furthermore: statistically, you're incredibly likely to be captured by a demon.

They tell me the experience is invaluable but I'm really not sure I can put any of this on a resume.  If I use them as references they probably won't bother to respond to the sending (oh, sorry, I was in an antimagic field...).

The reason for all of this, my friends?  Well, illusion is a crowded field.  Something like 80% of young gnomish wizards become illusionists, and while numbers aren't available for other races, my personal anecdotal evidence says up to 10% of them do, too.  Do you really think the Sultan of Zeif needs a gnome like you to put up unbelievably tasteless permanent images in his boudoir?  Last I heard, he can actually do that himself.  And more power to him, I say; really, what is home decor without the personal touch?  Now, if you want to hear about a really bad job, look up the sorcerers he has clean the place after hours with prestidigitation.

But enough about Corusk life.  Gnomish nonsense like this is why I left the place, and why, if you're somehow reading this A. at all and B. in Corusk, you should get out while you can.  That attitude is why the big burly norskmen down the hill (and even the less burly one who minded the general shop and you sort of fancied but never said anything) all shake their heads at you when you talk.  I mean, it's also because you're a gnome and the Fruztii aren't exactly the picture of cultural sensitivity.  But the attitude definitely isn't helping. 

(Aside: Seriously?  "Fruztii?"  Do they know how silly that sounds?  I mean...I guess it's unlikely anyone's brought it up.  I guess that's why the cartographers just write "frost barbarians" in that corner.)

See, what I've actually just described above isn't a picture of a young woman (yes, young, I'm not even 80 yet) stuck in a dead-end job.  It's a story of adventure!  Saving...something!  The world?  Maybe.  Almost definitely we're down here for a really good reason.  I mean...nobody would come down here just for jewelry, right?  It makes people "strangely evil"?  Yeah.  I know.  I've seen it happen.  Well, maybe some jewelry is just that bad.

There are gnomes in Corusk who clip their toenails with the kind of power they use down here to usurp kings.  Ultimately, I'm not sure who I pity more.

Savage Tide: ECL 7 Guinet Westenwold gnome illusionist 3, master specialist 4: Journal 1

Hm.  I was really hoping there'd already be something written in this.

So, uh, hi there, future me.  Here's what I know, in case I forget again.

My name is Guinet Westenwold.  (Whew!  Easy one.)  I'm currently a little too deep underneath the "Isle of Dread" (two miles underground, I think they said?) with a gang of horny old wizards who've been down here a little too long.  It's exactly like a class reunion, only it smells much worse.  I mean, mage hand?  Really?  One, I've heard it all before, and two, you aren't getting any sensation from it, so what's the fucking point?  The spell you actually want to cast is...well, I wouldn't know anything about that.

Obviously, I'm kidding.  It's not like I haven't used mage hand to goose a freshman before.  (Yes, that was absolutely the extent of my adventures in magical misconduct.  Absolutely.  Look, me, some things you don't write down, even on a secret page, which this isn't.)  Also, these guys are far better company than the giant, soul-sucking monster that stuffed me in a bag and left me inside the anus of a giant barnacle.  I mean, what appears to be the anus-slash-front-door (back door?) of a giant-barnacle-slash-domicile.  The point is, they look like anuses, we're calling them anuses, and the people(?) here live(?) in anuses(no "?").  And if these guys hadn't come along, it's unlikely that Mr. Teeth would've left me there indefinitely, and even if he might I'm not really sure which of those two potential fates I would've preferred.  (I lie: it's the anus one, obviously.  It might leave a stain on your soul and your clothes, but the clothes are still yours and you can burn the soul.  Wait, I might have that backwards.)

Hey, I remember more than I thought, don't I?  I can almost see the translucent shape of my old Glamers professor intersecting the Ethereal.  I also remember, say, the idea of having parents and siblings and a (large) extended family, if not their names, faces, or how much I really liked them, anyway.  I'm sure they're doing fine.

What I don't remember is anything about this Isle of Dread or why in Krakenheim I'd be anywhere near it, much less two miles below it.

Hey, "Krakenheim"!  Something bubbled to the surface!  Now, is that the name of a place, or...?  If only I had a map.

Well, anyway, I have the assurance of an expert (me) that any memory problems are probably definitely only a result of my brush with a "devourer" (Mr. Teeth above, the expert had to consult with a taxonomy consultant for this taxonomy) and they will definitely probably go away with time.  Yes, it's all very reassuring.  No, I haven't really wanted to get into it with my saviors.  I get the distinct feeling that if the amnesia isn't monstrously induced, it's probably something I did to myself intentionally, though only Callarduran knows why (or how) I would've.  And if I'm right, he can keep knowing, I don't want to, because isn't that exactly the point?  I'm not going to be one of those people who doggedly seeks out the truth of their lost past life only to become that which they feared, or die on an altar, or go insane, or... Well, you get the picture.

Savage Tide: ECL 4 Babafemi human spellthief 1, wizard 3: Journal 1

سجل لليسافر ولي العهد الأمير بابافيمي من زئيفي

Wond'rous!  Tho I must now away my pretenses, I am blessed not to be in the company of base assassins.  Perhaps I was foolish to hide at the outset - Ah, but no, my foes are many and their arms long indeed.  My present foothold is precarious, and owed to fortune alone.

Our party, numbering five now, returns to the Olman ruins where my immediate predecessors met their fates.  Foolhardy, perhaps, but I say nothing, and I say nothing again when we reembark numbering four.  In my heart, I am not sad to see the dwarf go.  His brashness unnerved me.  But his cursed, agonized corpus shall haunt my dreams for a time.

And now!  The stumbling, suffering priest.  In my heart, I know: that poisonous egg was meant for me.  It emerged from Bassam's foul gizzard, and the hapless fellow ate that vomitous meal in my stead.  The debt he owes me, he can never know, and never will.

But let it not be said that we set out a macabre voyage of envenomed knives and the hideous, misdirected vengeance of long-dead kings.  We surely do, but so goest all daring ventures.   Scattered amongst that bitter gruel, though, are candied plums.  The fruits I speak of?  They are those of sweet Lavinia.

She is a capable woman, having organized this expedition almost single-handed, noble enough for a tryst not to be unseemly, and beautiful besides.  I think she is as intrigued as I am, and how could she not be?  I am all that I am.

لوالدي، ووالده، وجميع من أساتذتي، سأعمل جاهدا من.

Savage Tide: ECL 4 Babafemi human spellthief 1, wizard 3: Bio

The crown prince of Zeif is a reclusive, mysterious figure.  Typical for children of the sultan, he was born and raised in the harem at the Palace of Peh'reen in Zeir-i-Zeif, the fortunate son of one of many concubines.

He has seldom made public appearances, and then only as a small child.  More recently, his father the sultan has been afflicted with a terrible illness, and rumors circulate furiously among the populace that the unseen prince must be dying of the same disease, missing, or dead.  Some doubt he ever existed, the young boy in lavish robes remembered by older folk having been merely a slave conveniently playing a part in some greater political machination.

In the apparent absence of able royal blood, the Sultanate is governed by the Grand Vizier, Bassam ibn Bulus al-Zeif.  The Grand Vizier is a man who is loved by all without exception; a man of unwavering, unparalleled honor and morality; a man with no failings or unfortunate predilections whatsoever.

Zeif is lucky to have Bassam.

The man aboard the Sea Wyvern is not dying of a terrible disease, nor is he sequestered in the Palace of Peh'reen, obviously enough.  He seems to be nothing more than a genteel crook who isn't as good at lying as he thinks he is.

Maure Castle: ECL 12 Sebejias Vickit svirfneblin illusionist 3 / master illusionist 6: Entry 1