The Journal of Eek

The quiet clicks and thumps of footsteps accompanied the Pixie Pals (as Eek had taken to calling them in the absence of a formal name) down the featureless corridor. Only the sub-audible din of an underground river provided an indication that the group's second day of travel was getting them anywhere. A few steps ahead, Seped lifted a spread hand over his head and slowed - causing the bored flier to whisper past him, twisting at the last moment to avoid the raised hand, then bouncing off the wall and arriving in an indignant pile of robes on the floor. Eek made a rude gesture and attempted to put his person back in order as the cautious scout and his vile gnomeling accomplice passed him, again, and continued through the tunnel. Having experienced the same maneuver earlier in the day, Eek was beginning to suspect the flight-obstructing aspect of Seped's signals weren't entirely unintentional. As he took to the air once more and resumed his place in the subterranean queue, the pixie gritted his teeth and dug impatiently into a pocket. The next time that happened, Seped might find that a spell-bear had taken up residence in this particular warren.

This time, however, the rogue really had seen something. Several hundred feet down the corridor, an oversized doorframe was barely visible in the torches' twilight. Alerted by the prospect of something other than endless walking, the entire group made their way toward it. As they drew closer, they could make out bronze gilding on the enormous portal, with steel bands reinforcing the doors themselves. Two keyholes, obviously crafted with care, secured the center. The coincidence with the two keys the party had liberated from their enemies was obvious, and they were fished from packs while Seped examined the artifact blocking the Pals' way. Apparently satisfied that nothing too dangerous was rigged into the door's mechanism, the more experienced thief gestured to his companion to approach. Whispered words of advice and gestures toward likely places for traps ensued for a minute or two, until Havoc grew impatient and shouldered his way to the front.

Favoring Seped with a key and furrowed brow, the knight inserted the remaining key in its hole. Seped followed suit, and together the keys were rotated until they ceased to produce metallic grinding and scraping sounds in the portal's innards. With a grunt of effort, Havoc heaved against one side of the door. Its enormous weight swung slowly, and Eek rose toward the ceiling to get a glimpse over his friend's head. In the room beyond, brighter lamplight already flickered over a number of large brownish-green and rather egg-like lumps. One of the eggs twisted suddenly, revealing a pair of eyes that gazed toward Eek and Havoc in dull surprise. Only then did it register to the pixie that the egg-like things were heads, attached to large bodies, which in turn wielded weapons and shields. Havoc growled an oath, provoking several grunts from the orcs on the other side, and then surprise passed and it was time to act.

Eek sat, cross-legged, in the middle of a cleared cavern. Familiar voices muttered in the background, words turned to gibberish by the myriad echoes and reflections produced by the former mine's haphazard construction. The pixie's wings moved slowly outward and back again, out and back, a hypnotic reminder of mayflies for the companions waiting some ways apart for the caster to ply his trade. Curious runes were scratched with studied carelessness around him, the bare minimum effort to cast an irritatingly-complex spell. An ornate cup sporting similar markings (albeit carved with far more care than the pixie might ever muster) sat just in front of its owner. Eek produced a small vial of red liquid from its robe, removing the cork and gently tipping the substance into the cup. A finger was dipped in and a few words muttered to mix the arcane cocktail. Eek lifted the cup to his lips, drank deeply, then sat a moment to let his potion run its course. As his eyes glazed over, he lifted the first of the unidentified items from the floor.

* * *

Some time later, the fatigued spellcaster lifted the last item from the small pile: a tiny, yet detailed, model of a cabin. The windows flickered in the dim torchlight, seemingly lit from within. As the pixie's fingers explored the surface and his mind explored less-visible realms, a word jumped fully-formed and almost audible into his consciousness. Eek shook his head confusedly, and attempted the divining again. The word almost-sounded again, the same as the first time. Stymied, Eek ended the spell and slowly, stiffly, stood. The party's mutterings grew louder and closer as they saw their Modifier rise and moved in to see what new enchanted baubles the group had discovered. As they approached, Eek strode a ways to the side of the piled items and placed the tiny cabin on a convenient spot. When his companions drew close enough, he backed away from the cabin and indicated for them to stop. "Behold," he intoned, "CaaAAAaaAAAabiiiiiIIiin."

"What kind of egg-sucking fool name is th-", Seped demanded, only to interrupt himself with a surprised yelp.

With a whoosh of air, the intricately-modeled cabin erupted into a full-sized version of itself. Light flickered from inside the windows, and smoke rose gently from the chimney only to curl a few feet above against the cavern's ceiling. All involved stood, and pondered whether the command word or the item itself were more bizarre. The word, it was eventually decided, was the more disturbing feature, and from that day forward any mention of cabins (with or without the addled intonation) was greeted with a panicked scuffle to make room for a possible expansion and subsequent glares of consternation.

The scrabble of footsteps diminished slowly in the cavern, as the party's remaining undead antagonists were reduced to twitching piles of bone and tissue. The occasional, rolling echo of thunder set the lone oil lamp ashiver, as though yearning to join its brethren in violent dissociation. Eek fluttered, barely-audible, near the center of the cavern - its few remaining spells would hinder the mop-up as much as help. Amid the flailing limbs and flashing steel lurked the party's new gnomeling companion, adding the occasional poke to persuade a zombie to follow its master into oblivion.

A gnomeling. A gnomeling! Gawds, Eek broadcast to exactly no-one within range of thought, the sneaky little human had brought a gnomeling to join them. A vile, ankle-biting, Grel-helping... and of course it would be Seped's fault. Who else would associate with such creatures? Surely it was powerful greed that could blind a human so completely that they would stand for this. Still, the party's oft-missing scout had done much these last months to help the people of the Haranshire. He and the... new one... were obviously useful allies in ridding the land of its recent and bizarre evils. But why did it have to be a gnomeling? Maybe it would be okay if Eek just didn't look at it.

The elvishly-thin druid, though... Eek was immensely pleased with her maneuver with the second oil lamp. It would have been perfect if not for the thrice-damned spellcaster who shrugged off Eek's spells so easily. It was... some consolation that Eek was equally hard to pin down this time. But regardless, this was a partnership that could go places. Loud, explosive places, like the splintered corner of the mining shed. Eek wracked its mind, trying to remember if Oleanne had ever mentioned anything about the ethics of druids setting things ablaze. Perhaps it would be okay if the fire were promptly extinguished? The pixie tucked that particular question away to be asked at a more convenient time.

The unconscious Ez's makeshift bandage seemed to be staying an unpleasant shade of crimson. Eek gave it an uncomfortable pat and hoped again that someone more proficient in wound care would be along soon to take a look. Rozelyn could do it if she were there. Sigh.

Eek sat cross-legged on a small hillock outside Thurmaster, watching a young harvest sparrow select its favorite amongst the rye seeds spread on the grass. Only few handspans away, a tiny frosted finch hesitated as the sparrow drew near. The finches normally deferred to the larger songbirds, but this time there were so many seeds that most of the feeding customs were set aside. The finch’s extended family barely glanced that direction, although an enormous raven’s attempt to land amid the flock provoked some consternation. Around them, hundreds of birds in every variety (many of which the pixie had never seen) hopped and chattered while enjoying the feast Eek had laid out for them. They spoke of seeds and plumage, of nest-building and borrowing, and many of those who had followed from the forest regaled their cousins with tales of strange bugs and the enormous thermals one might catch over the rock-strewn land to the east. But mostly they spoke of Olean the Druid with her pack-less wolves, and of the pixie who had enlisted the birds’ help in an urgent search for her. This last bit made Eek smile to himself – the birds would not remember anything long that was not frequently repeated, but other creatures of wood and plain certainly would. Perhaps word of him might make its way back to pixie lands sooner than he could return himself. Rozlyn would be disappointed not to hear anything until the next Meet, but Eek had yet to meet a courier who could be trusted to deliver a message to a place so far from human settlement as Kuristan.

“Why did we leave flock and fine nesting-places to look for the forest-wanderer?” inquired the recently-descended raven. Eek peered into one of the glossy red eyes for a moment before answering, a little surprised at this one’s manner – ravens typically cultivated a sense of haughty aloofness, and few had deigned to participate in the foreign pixie’s improbable mission.

“Our flock-member was very sick and about to die. He needed Olean’s help,” Eek replied.

“Those old enough to sicken will perish when the frost comes anyway,” the bird suggested. Such animals viewed sickness and death as inevitable, and certainly less objectionable than being consumed by a hawk or cat.

“He is not old. He was harried by tiny foes which he could not fight or escape.”

“Olean is larger than our flock-mate, and so are her wolves. But they are all very unusual” the raven admitted.

“They are,” agreed Eek, “They are more like you than me. But she speaks the tongues of plant and sickness, and she was able to save our flock-mate from them. I could not have found her without your help.” He gestured to the grains and birds scattered around them. “You have earned eating-rights from me.”

The raven pondered this for a moment, and then bobbed its beak down to swallow an oat resting near its feet. “Our flock will not demand them,” it replied, acknowledging that the debt was singular, among peers, and satisfied. This was well, for the ravens would remember and settle any disputes or embellishments among the lesser songbirds. “Our flock will enjoy this story,” the avian decided aloud, “I will tell it.” It hopped forward and snapped its wings out, ending the conversation in the abrupt fashion birds were accustomed to and causing more than a few outraged chirps from small ones bowled over when it took off. That was fine, too – ravens were very possessive with new stories, and being part of it was more than enough for Eek.

Sensing an opening in the conversation, a pigeon took the opportunity to start telling him how very nice her eggs were and what each one looked like. Such were the perils of letting birds know that you could speak with them.

Ranchefus' wicked-looking flail slammed into Stick's chest, provoking a bloody cough as the battlemage bounced off the side of the priest's sumptuous bed and slid, oozing red, to the floor. Next to the magic-user lay Seped, catatonic and clutching the boneless lump that was once his elbow. A sneer spread across the priest's face as he raised his flail for another strike, and his eyes glanced briefly to the doorway. "You're next, pixie! Give my regards to your friends on the way to hell!"

"I think not!" Eek floundered, searching his exhausted mind for a way to keep the man from making good on his threat. Shrieks and cinders, that was pathetic. He needed the priest to concentrate on the living! He had to say something, anything. While his mind reached out for William, or Gardenia, or anyone, words spilled out into Ranchefus' combined sanctum and quarters. "That flail of yours seems to have some 'fail' to it - a failure priest who can't even build his own castle! Who had to borrow it from better and stronger men, to play king and court with mercenaries and mindless drones!"

Something must have gotten the priest's attention, for his eyes snapped up and his weight shifted for a charge. "Die, weakling! Huaaaaaagh!" Just as Ranchefus began to pick up speed, Havoc popped through the doorway and ducked beneath his hovering comrade. The former seemed to think better of his reckless approach and merely closed to arm's reach, perhaps reminded of the several wounds he sported thanks to the big man's prowess in battle. The rattle of chains and a glint of reflected firelight followed Ranchefus' weapon as it snapped down against William's raised shield. The warrior's bastard sword answered in a deceptively lazy thrust, and was not hindered by any such obstruction. Links of Ranchefus' chain shirt gathered around the blade as it caught him off-balance, until something gave way with a low pop and the sword slid through his midsection.

"Urk-", the man announced, as his eyes widened in surprise and the flail tumbled forgotten to the floor. William added his shield hand to the pommel of his sword and pinioned the priest to the floor. Ranchefus strained to rise, then collapsed with a small cry as something white and limp boiled out of the wound in his midsection.

"But... you promised.." the priest pleaded, staring into the middle distance - some unearthly place - the same as he had when invoking his god's unholy magic not five minutes ago. William answered his foe's earlier laughs with one of his own. "Where is your god now?" he demanded, not waiting for an answer before delivering a coup de grace that transformed the one-eyed priest of Asmodeus into just another corpse. Eek still hovered just behind Havoc, stunned, thankful, and disappointed. Then time seemed to catch up, and the pixie was snatching at the vials on Ranchefus' belt and asking if anyone knew what they might be and could they help Seped or Stick? Others half-ran into the room after finishing off the last of the deceased's skeleton bodyguards, then pulled up short when the close-quarters fighting seemed to collapse all at once. A muttered conversation ensued as those who thought they might be able to help tended to various wounds and discussed what should be done next. They needed to rest before risking any further exploration of the halls beneath the keep. The presence of orcs in the dungeon was almost as worrisome as that of Ranchefus, and there was no telling how far the sounds of battle might carry down the hard stone hallways. Still, the prison was just within reach, and in it they might find Jelenneth...