Vell'dryn Rydralle's Journal

[lonnarin]

Character: Vell'dryn Rydralle
Age: 110
Gender: Male
Class: Bard
Race: Elf
Alignment: Chaotic Good



Biography:

My father is Lonnarin Rydralle, a Folianite wood elf ranger of minor reknown from tales long ago. His career ended abruptly when he met my mother Eris, a moon elf minstrel of Ilsare. While my father was righting wrongs and liberating livestock from nefarious, cruel farmers, he came across my mother in his travels. Being a compassionate and free spirit herself, the spark of their romance quickly culminated in my conception under the starlit sky as I am told... though I suspect they omit the amount of wine consumed. In any case, they soon eloped and father retired from his missions to save the world in order to make family as his focus. He moved into mother's tavern in the outskirts of Wolfswood, scouting for our safety and hunting food for the larder. My mother handled most of the business and bar tending. I suppose I take after my her lineage most as I am a far sight prettier and less muscular than my father is, though I do share his auburn-red hair and ability to tan well. Best of both worlds, the ladies tell me!

Being an elf and having been born and raised in a tavern, my childhood was most different from the run of the mill commoner. Indeed, and the son of an adventurer at that. Mother and Father were far less strict with me than most people's parents, allowing me personal freedoms and allowing me to make mistakes and learn from them while still instilling a strong sense of morality within me. I always try to do the right thing, "but just because its legal doesn't make it right, just because its illegal doesn't make it wrong", as dad always told me. Often times law enforcement was worse than the criminals they pursued, always trust my gut and hear both sides of the story before acting. I am also rather an animal activist, with strong disdain for traps and cruel masters who drive their horses and oxen too harshly. Many long years as a stableboy instilled a deep respect for these majestic animals who ask so little of us, and too many give back far too little in return. I find myself drawn to hopeless causes and defy any authority which does not serve the people it is supposed to protect first and foremost.

In my near century spent there I've become the darling little boy of generations of drunken locals, bouncing on their knee and fetching them their drinks for a taffy. Generations of midwives, wenches and barflies have pinched these cheeks, told me how cute I am and hugged me oh so close to the lands of paradise. It does wonders to a young boy's esteem it does! Of course it's rather ackward when the girl you shared your first kiss with long ago is serving you milk and cookies and calling you "darling child"... *shudder*

Having witnessed so many cycles of these humans' lives, I've become rather adept at their socializing. I can spot all kinds and types of people, know from where they hail or what fuels them from something as little as the way they part their hair or the types of music they listen to. Every man, woman and child has a story that they're willing to share. Even the most gruff of customers need only a few kind words and a cold drink to cut through that rough exterior of theirs. Call me a people person. **Since dwarves frequent bars often and live long enough to form stronger relationships, I've found myself regaled by their adventurous tales most often. Father was friends to many of them in his adventuring days and made certain that I not be as prejudiced as other elves in our dealings with them... they were our best customers after all! In time they taught me their tongue so that I could appreciate their battle operas fully, having always being a fan of foreign music. I even play a mean pair of bagpipes if I do say so myself, and dwarven war epics make for the finest reading around. Other people find them gruff and unsociable, but I rather appreciate their blunt honesty and sarcasm.**

Old Rograhm Grogtooth was a personal favorite of mine, a bearsark berserker hermit of the hills with a thousand different tales of battling ogres and running with the bears. He hated the city, but my father was wild enough to convince him to come by for a pint or twelve at least a few times a week. Of course the numbers of enemies he killed in his day seemed to grow every time he told the tale, and with every pint he drank! After many years as my godfather, Grogtooth took it upon himself to instruct me in the tongue of dwarvenkind, as well as the finer points of rune-script. Dad and he figured that teaching me dwarven from such a young age would help forge a bond between our two cultures and that the more I could learn of their ways and their history, the better. I rather enjoyed the artistry and straight-forwardness of their script. A Forge looks like a forge, a hammer looks like a hammer. Some runes however have an entirely different meaning depending on their context and usage. It's entirely necessary to immerse oneself in the tales and mythos of the dwarves and their history, otherwise very strange mistranslations can occur. While dwarven history can be dry, it does remain the most meticulously accurate in all the tongues. If a dwarf said something happened in 1203, then it happened on this day, of this month down to the very hour. It is for this reason that dwarven tax accountants are feared throughout the lands!

Mom saw to it that I tended the bar at an early age. They were hardly strict compared to most parents, instead allowing me free reign over self determination, and guidance in the areas of their expertise. She taught me a plethora of musical instruments from an early age, though I favor the string instruments as the mandolin and guitar, as one cannot sing readily with a woodwind. I was also taught spellcraft and proper lore as befitting a bard, as she noticed the spark of magical talent within me. Dad took me hunting with him often, "to make sure my ears stayed pointy" as he put it. I've been able to shoot a bow almost as long as I've been able to walk, and am a fairly good scout at that. I cannot for the life of me see the tracks and clues that my father can however, as I am easily distracted by the inspirational beauty that nature provides me. **He did teach me the meanings of animal calls and birdsong. I have always been fascinated with birds in particular, their trills and calls much like beats and melodies of music. The behavioral patterns of animals are interesting to watch, analogous to the movements of the humans I watch at times! Does not the mating dance of water buffalo remind one of a lusty drunkard? People often look at me strangely when I am chirping to songbirds or meowing to chatty cats, but I can tell you almost immediately should a horse have sore hooves needing shoeing, or a dog senses danger rather than squirrels. Rograhm even invited dad and myself to his cave a few times, sharing tales by the campfire and tending his bear family.** One of them in particular, a big dire brown bear was the Legendary Black Angus, so my dad said with pride. He had journeyed far and wide with dad in his adventures, and now tended a family of his own. Such was their bond of friendship, Angus even let me pick up his cubs and give them belly rubs. "Don't feed the bears only applies to those who aren't family", dad and Roghrahm said." (Black Angus was the name of Lonnarin's animal companion)

For many long decades, my Father and Grogtooth instructed me in the animal tongue they knew. We started small with birds, as they are the most readily talkative, watching them for months and months at a time while we hunted the woods. "Birds are some of the most important to know" Dad instructed, "as they make the best scouts and are always chatty! The town criers of the forest, they be!" My favorite of these avian friends must be the mockingbird, his ability to mimic my instruments and play my own melodies back to me make him a fine bandmate! Next we learned the various tongus of mammals, especially the bears Grogtooth lived with. Bear talk is rather groggy and slow, much like a drunken farmer would speak upon waking from a long mid-day map. Wolves were next, their howls in the night difficult to discern at first. After many years, I finally started to get the hang of their diphthongs and inflections which could be the difference between a mating call, hunt or plea for help. Luckily animals don't have as complex conversations as you or I, mostly addressing base concepts like hunting, mating, danger, territory or food. Try as I might, I just couldn't get the hang of talking to fish, though Grogtooth assured one could talk to them if they listened. Sticking by head beneath the waters a glubbing and bubbling, it wasn't for many months that I realized he was just pulling my leg, laughing his hairy butt off while my head was underwater and trying to keep a straight face when I surfaced. "It's all for the best lad!" he howled, "What would a fish have to say anyway, other than 'I'm a fatty, eat me with chips!'?"

Whether it is in the solitude of nature or the bustling busy-bodied life of the tavern, music is my life. It is the one language which rings true universally, a note is but a note in any other land. As my talent grew, my duties in the tavern shifted from serving and cleaning to bartending and performing. It is through music that the elven right of magic courses through my veins. I can feel the power of the Alnoth glow when I perform, and my focus at menial tasks improves with the power of song. I've also tried my hand as a stand-up comic and buffoon at times, panhandling for drinks and coin to buy more drinks. Even with my family discount, I still manage a sizeable bartab.

When I finally matured to get as tall as I was ever getting, and thankfully finished my nearly decade-long voicechange & acne phase, the age-old phenom of elven wanderlust welled up within my bones. I came to my parents and told them simply "it's time", and both of them understood immediately. After a few more weeks of preparations, final training and saying my farewells to the regulars, I set forth with mother's finest cornbread to Hempstead to find my fate.

So there you have it, the story of a tavern child and bard whose parents are more or less still happy and alive. No ruined farmlands, no legions of orcs, no evil nobles executing his dog A fresh change, no? I also do not follow any gods religiously. Though mom and dad have their Ilsare and Folian, I'm more of an Orn and Ausir kind of guy. Indeed, if we are to look for the stars alone for guidance and tidings of fate, why neglect the moons and the tides they bring? I often ponder this as I meditate at night, gazing upon the celestial sky.

[lonnarin]

My first few days as an adventure have been harrowing at the least.  When looking for work in the crafthall, a rather buxom lady there used her feminine wiles to convince me to clean out the cellar.  What filth resides beneath that place!  Upon entering the dank corridors, legions of rats and slicer beetles descended upon me, driving me topside in shambles.  When I finally mustered enough training to make any real progress, my effotrts were cut short by an impenetrable wall of webs, protecting deeper catacombs within.  Unable to proceed, I returned to the surface for less lethal work.

I've already met a few of our kin in these parts, notably Sehky and his awesome bow.  Looking closely at it, twas a composite enchanted with the finest magics.  I was envious to say the least.  What I could do with an enchanted bow!  While lamenting my poverty and hunting for provisions, I stumbled across a strange mushroom man and foul spirit.  Both descended upon me with impunity!  Then suddely a hawk swooped down from the heavens and protected me from them, making short work ofthe mushroom but unable to land a blow on the shadow form of torment before me.  Wishing again that I had a bow more like Sehky's suddenly I felt a jolt of sudden power in the mundane hickory bow at hand.  To my astonishment, my previously worthless arrows actually began to penetrate this ethereal foe!  Making short work of him, I learned of a power within me.

I always knew I possessed some form of magic, indeed it powers have been manifesting far more often and with greater intensity than ever before.  For some strange reason, these powers manifest most easily while I am fully naked, most likely indicating that the goddesses have been taking notice of the 500 sit-ups I do daily.  I find that when I am singing, or even humming a tune, my arrows strike more true and bite harder than usual.  On top of that, my bow will occasionally glow for a short time, allowing me even urther prowress.  Could this be the legendary arcane archer technique my father told me about?  I shall have to investigate more, no doubt Sehky knows for certain.

[lonnarin]

I've been looking through the recipes for new ammunition and this fletcher's table is mind boggling!  It would appear that the aerodynamics of certain compenets will comepletely change the trajectory and impact of the ammunition used.  

I first became aware of this while digging through some arrows left behind by the bandits of Vehl.  Copper tipped hickory owl-feather.  Very interesting find.  The copper itself is almost negligable, as i the hickory design, as both are typical in the standfard fare of ammunition.  The owl feathers however would fan out in such a way that much of th impact of the blow struck with a bludgeoning affect; very useful against the skeletal crypt dwellers!  I imagin i I used a sturdier shaft than hickory and silver tipped arrows, the effect on undead opponents would be far greater.  

Unfortunately when inquiring about how to create such specialty arrows, the crafthall woman asked me for 500 true for the license!  An outrage, I tell you!  I should have to find a much more lucrative line of work than my animal skin trading.  A detestable little goblin by the name of Nonac offered me work digging sand, though manual labor of this nature has never been my strong point, and there are serious questions as to whether or not doing open business with a goblin would be viewed by the populace here.  I find it strange that Sehky, Keela and Karn seemed to tolerate the little grubby munchkin in the city, so I suppose he can't be all bad, or at least that his money's good enough for them.

So back to square one.  Seeking magical enhancement for my bow will be fairly difficult if even mundane solutions are outside of my price range!  Still, 500 coin sounds lik far more money than it really is, if only they accepted payment plans with monthly installments.

Following a hot tip, I have also been hunting the beetles of Silkwood for their glands.  Alchemical reconstructuring of the fire element within could potentially lead to fire-tipped arrows.  I must experiment with the alchemist's fire available for sale first in order to determine if that is he case, or if instead they are merely fire grenades.  I've also taken an interest in those stinkbombs of choking poweder I have found before, and have used grease scrolls to good effect to help slow my opponents for the shooting gallery tactics of mine.  

That little hawk from yesterday has been back again.  Upon closer study I've realized that he's not actually a hawk at all, at least in the physical sense.  He is actually a construct of magical energies that I have been producing amidst times of panic and loneliness.  He is rather friendly and takes well to being hand fed, his feathers being patted and scruffled. Since he is a creation of my interaction with the Al'Noth, I shall have to come up for a name for him.  Hmm, this may take some time, I'm horrible with names!

[lonnarin]

Why does everybody just automatically assume that I'm a ranger?  Can't an elf just wear all green, sneak well, use a bow, have a hunting hawk companion and speak to animals in their own language and not be a ranger?

On second thought, I see where their confusion stems from...

Maybe I'm just confused? *shrugs*

Or maybe this is all just part of being an elf, and non-elf rangers are all just really trying to emulate our behavior.  Poor sods.

[lonnarin]

Ran into a friendly mage by the name of Celdor today, a friend of Sehky's who showed me around a few places today.  He seemed quite knowledgable, and shared with me his findings in weapon enhancement.  Wizards such as he make use of a particlarly useful spell which ignites the arrowheads or blade wit a burst of flame upon impact.  My jaw dropped as the effectieness of my ammunition increased incredibly rightbefore my eyes.  Foes that once plucked my meager toothpicks frm teir hide with minor discomfort were suddenly pitching forth and keeling over in a burst of flame.  While this made the smell unbearable for many of the fur-covered ones, I can put up with a little olfactory discomfort if it mean less trips to te bindstone.

We delved into a water filled cavern inhabited by lizard folk in order to right some wrongs done by them near a mountainous area.  I could tell that had I gone by myself, I would not have lasted long.  With his magics to assist us, it was a far sight easier.  His fireballs dealt with the swarms of lizardfolk nicely, leaving only a meager handful to deal with after the smoke cleared.  Those which remained were easy to drop with a single arrow each.  I'll have to study further and add explosive arrows to my collection.  He says he's seen it used before, so hopefully my studies will not be in vain.

[lonnarin]

With the small fortune I made from the Lizard King's bounty yesterday, I've finally been able to afford thicker armor.  The copper chain shirt looked ugly at first, but when I changed around the color scheme and accesorized it with these smooth butt-hugging leather tights, I look in the mirror and see a bonafide lady killer!  I think I'll go with a black & geen motiff fo now.  Of course the colors of my cloths seem to change drastically with each cycle of the moon!  Mom always said I was subject to lunacy.

[lonnarin]

I just met a delightful little ray of sunshine by the name of Cherry Sherry Butterfly.  A Lucky Clover of the Prunillite religion, her mission is to seek out and unify her brownie kin so that they might retake their homeland.  Apparantly some monsters drove them from te place and scattered their numbers.  The exact details behind this are unknown even.  She has been very helpful thus far, so I aim to return the favor.  I've heard tales of a wee litte cooking brownie by the name of Annie, others named Richie and Peanut. (though the latter may be a short halfling)

There's something to be said about a girl and her shambling mound.  Oh, did I mention that?  Shambling mounds are like living compost heap golems.  The fight and fight and fight and when finally defeated, leave behind a nutritious pile of fertilizer behind.  Very eco-friendly!  In the true fashion of Prunilla, Cherry can make most vermin and spiders flee or literally explode into buggy guts.  Very useful, as I detest spiders myself.  (most surface elves do).  We made short work of the filthy critters beneath center, mostly consisting of me slinging my toothpicks while she dusted them with impunity.  

One of my favorite spells is her "darkfire".  I don't know why they call it that, as it burns brightly as any other light.  What is notable is that it burns safely upon my arrowheads, unlike he alchemical fire which destroys all arrow shafts it comes in ccontact with.  Testing the few fire flasks I had found, I was dismayed that it only worked on my useless rapier.  Now that I have trained so well in the bow, I just use it on the enemies in melee, my point blank shot makes short work of them and leaves very litte openings.

A rather wild and large orcblood named Tane has become a good friend of ours, showing us around the lands of Rilara and the Dragon Isles in Cherry's quest.  We managed to help two Rilaran farmers in one day, truly a blessed event in the eyes of her Prunilla.  Famer Part of the river has had his scarecrow problem handled in a true scarecrow vs. scarecrow fashion!  Thanks to my arrows and Tane's blades, they fell to kindling quickly.  Next we took on the griffon for farmer Borden.  I have to say there are few sights more intimidating than seeing Tane leap 15 feet into the air and tackle the gargantuan beast to the ground, it hardly stood a chance!

My arrow accuracy is getting better, already I can loose twice as many shots in the same amount of time as when I started.  If I use my magical bardsong and inspirational arts of jestercraft, I fnd that the arrows fly even more true with a magical bite unlike any other.  In addition, I can now focus my magic to enchant my bow.  Even with my new Oak bow there is a marked improvement, as the Oak craftsmanship only increases accuracy but will not bite through resistances like a Tyrantfog's skin or an allip's shadowy form.  The more my magic grows, the more powerful the bite of my bow.  If I could only focus it further!

[lonnarin]

Another notch in my belt today.  Practicing my rapid shot long enough, I can finally let fly two arrows per blink without even rushing.   If pressed I can fire three, though my accuracy suffers a wee bit.  No matter, these foes seem to be getting larger and more lethargic with each passing day.


I've doubled down in my efforts to assimilate even more magical theory.  Sure, it may seem like a waste of time, considering that my skills in spellcraft are innate rather than studies.  Still, it's not wise to launch magic foolishly.  I still embarass myself every time I remember the fate of my old hickory.  If it's any consolation, the fire damage on the handle smote my fingers most admirably before it turned to ash.

I've increased by time with Sehky, an arcane archer of the realm.  Our methods of magic are very much different, he a studied spellcaster and me an innate songsmith..  Still, the fundamentals of what I'm attempting to do are very much the same.  I've studied his use of the bow magics in detail, and feel that I may be coming close to unlocking my true potential as an archer.  Magic weapon spells, fire arrows, this is all secondary to the attunement of an archer and his chosen weapon.  The more I train, the more I infuse the bow, the more it comes to life in my hands.  From what I have gathered, there is no secret society, special handshake or set society of approval to be inducted into.  Its is simply a matter of being able to do it or not, much like my bardly magic.  It's neither tied to Ilasre nor Folian, though many among their faith have been legendary arcane archers.  Looks like it's up to me now, sink or swim, do or do not, there is no try.

I shall continue to redouble my effots training my bow and magic.  Learned some new abilities in that aspect too!  My jesting can confuse the heck out of foes, sending them into a blind rage or drooling catatonia.  In order to cast this, I must consume walnut, further lending credence to the belief that crazy people are "nuts".  I could also cast a more powerful version of my bow enhancer spell, though it seems to be just as powerful as my regular one right now, and required me to ea sticks of carbon.  Needless to say, I shall have to find the secret of eschew fast, my stomach can't take all these crazy components!

[lonnarin]

The red haired ranger practiced his bow in the Wolfswood encampment with vigor.  Eyes squinted and trying to concentrate with the sun's unyielding rays burning his eyes, the arrow flew true and pierced it's target with perfection.  Bulls Eye, circle-kabob, kit n kaboodle I say!  My archery's getting so good I'm starting to speak in the third person!

I suppose it doesn't hurt that the enemy's too demoralized by its own confusion at my magic jests.  It's hard to explain what exactly I do.  I know the words for it in arcane theory, I use my power of will to manipulate the Al'Noth into releasing energy which is directed through a series of formulae, etc etc. Yaddy yadda.  Yeah, I know how it WORKS and could write a hundred thousand page efforts, like the ones mum and auntie made me do... but it doesn't even begin to EXPLAIN what I DO, I just do it!

I blow peoples' minds for a living.

How I enhance my wordplay and buffoonery with magic is much akin to how I enhance my bow with spell and performance.  Indeed, being a Jester I am more prone to inspiring with absurdity than with any modicum of what could be called focus, yet somewhere in that fit of mania there is a state of clarity that leaves sanity blind in comparison.  I have now unlocked the secret of spreading this madness unto others, though what positive effects they could glean from it remains questionable.  Mostly after the discordant limerick takes hold, they are either rolling on the floor with laughter, insulted by my insinuations to the point of murderous rage, or so incredibly enthralled by it that they attack their own kin and allies to prevent them from harming me.

I suppose its strange that comedy could influence such things, though I even see it in my allies the magical effect of bolstering them.  They hit harder, withstand magical attacks, dodge better, and every time they connect with a blow, an itty bitty pop of magical bludgeoning can be observed to the trained spellcrafter's eye.  How much of that is morale alone and how much of it is manipulation of the Al'Noth is difficult to judge.  I would like to think it was proper evidence to support that if people would just chill out a bit and enjoy the little things in life, they could be better people.  Literally better people, not just some huggy, lovey dovey metaphoric, "oh Billy's smile's worth than a thousand true" kind of thing, more like better living through comedy.  Rael needs a good stiff ale and dirty limerick.

[lonnarin]

Ahh yes, I have it!  The ugly lobsterhelm of Haven!  Hmmm, whoever came up with this design must have been heavily influenced by a craving for shellfish.  In any case, it has to get stretched.  A little helm polish and elbow grease, thrice churned and chanting backwards the Laws of Firmality and presto!  Sculpt it like a bit of clay and mold it into the form most befitting.  ahhh.  A jester's mask of the ages! Huzzah!

Now all the realms will know I died with a smile on my face.

[lonnarin]

This adventuring thing is fun!  But most of all, it feels good to help people.  While hanging out with Cherry in Center, we cam across a distraught halfling lass by the name of Maggie who was looking for her husband Gulliver in the hills.  Or maybe she was a gnome?  Hard to tell.  In any case, she had some delectable meatpies, so we were sold n the task of finding her husband for free lunch.

We trekked many miled and days into deep gnoll territory of the Ire Mountains.  Quite a disgusting and despicable race, gnolls.  I don't get why they're aways acting spiteful and rabid.  We were nearly defeated by the first group of them, Cherry and myself only having survived through invisibility spell at just the right time.  Tending our companions, we brought them back t health and ready to continue our search.

Our tracker found a cave matcing the description on the map.  Rory I think her name was, and a halfling named Tuggins.  I tried to scout with them, but they told me to stay back, pffft.  I'm a great scout!  Just because I'm aJester doesn't mean I HAVE to wear the bell-jangled whoopie cushion shoes... doing so merely makes it more challenging.  In ay case, Cherry cannot sneak well, so I stayed back and guarded her while they did their work.

Somebody had it in their mind to try and interrogate the gnolls, dumb indeed.  Told them it was, nobody ever listens.  The wretched mongrel simply gnashed its teeth at us, growled and howled fo backup.  Instantly we were overtaken by legions of gnolls.  Luckily my bow training came in handy, and we and the team were able to fare much better than the previous assault.  

Entering the cave, we fought our way to a room with cages and many captives.  Gulliver had been taken with 2 young women and an older lady, who we freed quickly.  They were hungry, cold and scared, so I shared with them te meatpie Maggie gave me earlier.  Gulliver lamented that he should never leave home with a wife that cooks so well.  

Turns out that his master plan was to sell he golls a flea dip shampoo.  Well they likedit so much, they decided to keep him!  Just goes to show that gnolls are not to be trusted in matters of business.  I took a few samples of the flea dip and will be testing them on my arrows in my fight against spider and insects.  I don't know if this qualifies as poison use, per say, but nobody ever lost any sleep about poiwsoning a bug.  Perhaps I can craft some special vermin-bane arrows?  Prunilla would bless them for certain!

[lonnarin]

As my teeth are beginning to decay at an alarming rate, I am trying to learn how to cast spells without the magic candy.  Gum arabic isn't all that bad, but all the licorice and sugar roasted walnuts are taking its toll.  Sure, having lots of candy makes me popular with the ladies, but I doubt they will be quite so inviting once I am fat, lethargic with chronic hallitosis and a smile like a coal deposit.

My mage friends have been telling me that there is a way to cast without costly compoinents.  It certainly would save me many expensive and time consuming trips to the stinky beetle fields of Mariner's Hold.  I get nervous collecting components so near to that dreaded bugbear island.  I swear, the hills have eyes when I gather there.  I feel I am being stalked and sized up every time I'm there.  In my attemps to blind their eyes, I've taken up gathering compenents in the buff.  It makes the tall grass troublesome, though if Lucinda's will is for me to cast naked, then perhaps this method will result in even more magical cashews than ever before!

Oh Lucinda, you saucy wench.

[lonnarin]

Visited my folks in Wolfswood in preparation of Ilarian's Mother's Love Day.  Ever the follower of her goddess, mom keeps grilling me on the girls I've met and when I'm going to "settle down".  Settle down?  I only got started!  She seems to not accept my new profession, keeping my room well-kept still in case I change my mind and move home.

Dad took me out to the wolfswood ranger camp for some advanced survial training and archery practice.  Which mushrooms to eat, which snakes to avoid, where to find shelter in a desert.  I'll likely never have half th ranger training that he does, but then gain he can't carry a tune or work a crowd like I can.  Up until we got to the marksman targets, it was clear that he was at least in some part disappointed in my lack of focus to the ranger training.  This changed quickly howevr once I began to arch.

Firing up my bow with bardsong and magical enhancement, I notched my arrows three at a time and showed him what a bit of al'noth and elbow grease can do!  Increasing my alacrity with grace and haste, I ilicited a whistle of admiration from him as I pelted a smiley face of arrows on the board.  We went out further intot he woods for a bit of practical application of my skills and took down a couple swarms of gnolls and even few forest giants for good measure.  When all was done, he gave me his blessing and told me I am already turning out to be a fine adventurer.  He was especially pleased with my tales of how we saved Gulliver, especially so that our only real payment was some meat pies an a job well done.  "Too many people on the road pretend to do good in the lands, but most are little more than murderous mercenaries" He warned me.  "You would do well to choose your friends wisely."

[lonnarin]

A fine weekend spent in Wolfswood.  I swear, mom's cooking was never this good when I was growing up!  I even tended the bar and helped around the tavern for good measure.  Many of the regulars showed to see me as well, especially old Grogtooth.  He was excited to hear that I met an Ironguts, he having ventured with a Dorandite named Bjorn back in the good old days. We drunk and stunk to the glory of dwarvenkind and shared a good battle-hymn.

Need to get back on the road though.  Still have many items to save up for in Fehriel's shop, and a bartender's tip jar just isn't going to cut it.  Just need one more ring, some gloves and boots, a belt and a few more items of clothing.  

No doubt this excess of clothing shall disappoint Lucinda greatly.  Alas my saucy magic one, there's always bath-time to peek, you marvelous bum-looker, you!

[lonnarin]

WHY WONT IT WORK???!!!  I'm doing everything I can here.  Magical study.  Check, I am well versed in spellcraft, know the ins and outs of the Al'Noth as well as any arcane wizard of my seasons.  I have sought out different spells told to me in legends of the arcane archers.  Fireball for the imbued arrow, firebombs found in the field and alchemically tested, fire flasks, fire rods, regular freakin campfires... NOTHING!  I have no idea how to blow up the arrow, I've tried singing, dancing, knock knock jokes,setting my bow on fire, setting myself on fire... nothing!  I can get the bow enchanted, but only through a spell I cast on it, and it doesn't last.  It lasts a little longer as I train, but it hasn't improved in power or become a permanent fixture of my arm.  I've tried enchanting my gloves, setting THEM on fire... now I need new gloves.  Sehky can't even tell me what to do, or else he's holding something back.  That Gellarion guy I'm supposed to find is in deep hiding, so that's pretty much a lost cause.

So WHAT?!  WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, BOW???!!  I've been good to you.  Sanded you.  Lacquered you up and even outfitted your handle with basilisk teeth and pixie spit.  I asked some ranger guy what I was missing, he just shrugged and said "I dunno, just shoot some magic arrows like an arcane archer".

GEE, REALLY???!!  That's what I've been trying to do for the last few months.  If I actually did it, then I would already BE an arcane archer.  To that he just belched and nodded, "exactly mah point!"

It's enough to make a grown jester weep.

[lonnarin]

I see the target, I pull, I hit.  Is it magic?  Is it just skill?  How the heck will I ever know?  I suppose every single shot I land could be evidence of true-striking.  I mean it struck, right?  And statistically, if you count all of the lucky shots, then they are all 100% accurate.  Maybe I'm going about this all wrong, maybe I'm not supposed to aim?

*with that the elf put on a blindfold and began firing arrows randomly into the woods, totally missing his targets.  Infuriorated, he hasted himself and shot as quick as he could in all directions, just hoping to hit the bullseye just once.  He ate handfuls of walnuts and cast confusion on himself, screamed and vented.  Then a scream answered back.  Lifting the blindfold, he gasped in horror!*

"Ogar!  Sorry old fellow, didn't see you standing there!"  The sleepy dwarf squinted his eyes, looking down at the arrow and back to the elf.  RIpping the arrow straight out of his side, he handed the arrow back to the elf and belched.

"oi believe this be yours?"

And with that Vell'dryn felt a thump upside his head, and would rest well for many long days, face-down in the woods.

[lonnarin]

I aim for target one, but I WANT to hit target two...

I'm trying to get this seeker arrow thing to work.  If the powers of the arcane archer stem from will-power channelling through the bow, as Sehky said, then maybe will alone is the focusing agent.  I stare down my fiery, magic enhanced arrows, see the target in the corner of my eye, but I AIM for the target straight ahead.  It is my mind and skill which point the arrow to one, but my heart and soul seek it to strike the other.

When I can get the arrow to curve, mid flight.  When it takes on a mind of its own and like a bird of prey, swoops down on it's intended foe rather than its most convenient one, then the arrow will know life.  A swift death for the enemy.

Try as I might, I keep hitting the stuffing out of target one.  They're great shots, the poor wooden dummy is splintered from the magical impact and on fire.  I can see the residual aura of the Al'noth on the target that I shot.  But nothing... NOTHING on target two.  No matter how hard I wish it, the arrow still follows the laws of aerodynamics.  Maybe I am to prepare the arrow somehow?  I can use the true strike scroll to seek it easy enough, but that is cheating.  I must do it for real.

And I must do so quickly, for I'm spending a fortune on target dummies.

[lonnarin]

My next experiment, I have tried to combine the spell and song and archery all in one.  Taking the base phonemes of the magical incantation for magic weapon, I rearrange in a more aesthetically pleasing rhythm and beat.  Mouth percussion!  Often when lacking a drum to strike, I like spitting air into my hands and dancing to a funky beat, get my feet moving and sway with the music.  Add a back up chorus of ignatio horus, lead vocals by accosci nohalis, beat that tongue like a drum.  Meanwhile, the cymbal crashes I ring are the targets I sting.  Big buckets, pans, dishes and bottles of glass, anything that makes a nice little ring.  Boom boom, sim chaka ka!

Spell, song and arrow strike all in one.  Add a little dance with jingle bells on your toes and its a one-man band.  Sway with the rhythm, move to the beat.  This is more than mixing bow and magic, music bow and magic.  Arch well and look good doing it.  The flight of the arrow is a performance within itself.  The distinct creak of the wood and the twang of the strings, the bow sings.  Oh yes, she sings.

[lonnarin]

Perhaps an understanding of string instruments will help me better attune to the bowstring.  I've heard of a man known as Andrew who tends a bar in Mariner's Hold, and is known for his connections among the most influential people around.  Surely he would know where to procure some sort of lute or harp to harnes the Al'Noth through my fingers.  I've heard that such items relieve the strain of spellcasting somewhat due to a meditative focus.  If this is true, perhaps it will help my mind adjust to manipulating its etheral matter into my hands.  I already boggle the mind, the rites of a jester.

Still, the minstrel, harpist thing is so... bloody stereotypical.  What now, I am to hug trees and order big salads with walnuts and yogurt?  Bah, I was raised in a tavern with dwarven war veterans bouncing me on their knee.  Still, mom wasn't bad at minstreling.  In fact I remember fondly the times I would help clean the kitchen and she would take me over for lessons.  I seem at odds with my elven heritage at times, I suppose from both parents being so different, Dad's rugged, naturalistic and militant wood elf outlook is such a contrast to mom's sweet Ilsarian song.  I guess that's why I never gravitated towards much cultural heritage of my people so much as I have explored the cultures of others.  The comings and goings of dwarves, halflings and men, of gnomes and their wild tales of fascinating contraptions.  

Jestercraft is literally unheard of among my people, I believe I am the only one.  Though Alazira has mentioned that the one in white and red does have an abundance of buffoonery, I think that was an insult rather than a vote of professionalism.  Gnomes and halflings make natural jesters, with their quick tongues and acrobatic statures, and they are held in high regard.  Halfling wit and gnomish hysteria are some of the best times of my childhood.  Always playing pranks and doing mischief!  Among humans, jesters bear a certain stygma.  The humans are so tied up in their class warfare and royalty driven hierarchical structure that they never laugh with some one, but rather at them.  Anything that helps them feel superior.  Dwarven comedy is highly underrated however, and mostly misunderstood for the gruffness they portray.  Direct insults are an open form of comradery, and open blows are to be shrugged off and enjoyed rather than to take offense.  Their extreme sarcasm makes them a delightful people, very biting and to the point.

Elves however have mostly minstrels, singers and instrument artists.  Their sense of humor is fine enough, very lighthearted and uplifting.  They don't very much like my more risque jokes, so prim and proper and easy to offend.  They're more ones to jest idly and then revert to grim brooding or basking and frolicking, depending on which strain they be.  

The one true thing I share with them is my love for archery.  To feel the bow in my hands, to see a target and pull the string back to the ear and let loose a volley.  It's very meditative and relaxing, like you feel that you are in a zone of blessed aura after taking a warm bath and hot pie.  It's in our blood to arch, I think every kind of elf not born in a fish shack takes great pride in it.  It's not so much pride for me though, but the elation of it.

Now that I mix spell and bow, study further the meaning of my goal, I see too that I should study my own people, perhaps to gain a better understanding of them.  Those that I've met thus far have been nice enough, thought here is that certain ackwardness that tells me that they see me as an alien or oddity, some kind of outsider.  It could be that I'm just not meeting the right elves, or that living with humans for so long has made me an alien in my own right.  I ponder.

[lonnarin]

Cherry's beginning to worry about me and my obsessive ways.  Last night after the 10th hour straight of training, she dropped by to check up on me as I was 2 hours late for dinner, truly a sin in te eyes of Prunilla.  At first she was upset with me, asking why I was so focused on a skill for killing.  But then I explained to her, it's not killing, it's an art.  Archery is an art in itself.

Art was always a point of contenion between me and my father.  A Folianite ranger of duty, he was more focused on less frivolous things, like how to survive in the woods after a cataclysm or how to keep warm in the winter by slitting open a render's belly and curling up inside its warm entrials.  As rugged and manly as these thing are, there's more to life than grim-faced devotion to fighting.  Mom was constantly reminding him that I was HER son as well, and saw to it that she had equal time with me in the tavern and on  the stage.

Still, it was my promise to my father that I wouldn't let the way of the bard interfere with my archery.  That no matter how frivolous I got, I needed to learn how to fend for mysel and others now with dangers like the Green Dragon Cult and Prantz looming on the horizon.  I admit, I could be better.  I see elven rangers and militarists who are somewhat more accurate than I am with their shots.  I hav already allowed my jester training to affect my archery as it is.

This is why it's imperative that I mesh bardly magic wit the bow, as the techniques of Arcane archery are even more rewarding.  The kinds of things I hear archers like Sehky, Xillow and Gelleron can do are mind boggling.  It is in this way I can fulfill and even surpass my promise to him.  I CAN let my dedication to the fine arts influence my archery, butin  good way.  Following dad in his footsteps might feed his ego about his own skills, but if I can surpass him at it, and even show him some new tricks of my own, then perhaps he will finally look upon his jester on with pride rather than shame.  No, shame's too strong a word, more like anxiety.  

In any case, I do what I do because I made a promise, and I'm sticking to it.  I only have about a thousand more years to fulfill it, but I still feel rushed.  The end of life as we know it may very wel be looming on the horizon; Hilm can't hold out forever and soon I will be tested not in the training yard but in the streets as the enemy invades.  Or maybe some bandits will get lucky one day and catch my parents off guard, razing their tavern to the ground while I'm off playing hero.

Cherry seemed to totally understand that explanation, family being sacred to the flock o Prunilla.  As such, she tend to be far less cross with me for being late, and instead just saves me a plate to warm up later.  How this plate evades the enrelenting jaws of Ogar is a mystery.