#mage hunter

Well I guess I'm starting this. Finally had some old memories of how the weave of magic works click with me again so I might as well get back into this whole written word business. I got used to my missing arm long ago but I haven't done much writing in the past... however long it's been, so this is still awkward feeling. Feels good to have a reminder of what should be driving me though. I've gotten too complacent with myself lately. My memory isn't what it used to be (or so I like to think. Perhaps I've always lived in this haze) so it seems pertinent to maintain a back up.

Recent events are as good a place to begin as any. I've been running with a strange group lately. Some tunnel elf obsessed with seeking “knowledge”, likely to make up for his utter lack of any, was the first of them I came across just after a group of clients I was leading got struck down by a pack of gnolls. Ilivyraen he's called. Or “Seeker”. He's harmless enough but a fool nonetheless, searching desperately for things beyond his comprehension. Reminds me too much of myself in my past life. It grates on my nerves. It seems he was simply born with access to the weave. He has no respect or understanding for his own powers. That's the problem with sorcerers. Power without effort.

The others I've known for less time but are no less out of place. Dune is some form of humanoid to a house cat as gnolls are to dogs. Temperamental. Naive too. Stabs things. Fuzzy. Blidnol is a short bald blueish fish-man that carries a banner with him wherever he goes. He's a goody-goody, too caught up in ideals for his own good. Needs to learn to hold on to his weapon when he swings. Maybe it's the lack of water resistance on land. He seems to have some kind of divine power in him, though I haven't a clue what sort of divine being would put their faith in seafood.

Then there's Welsimyse. I'm not honestly sure what kind of creature she is yet. Definitely inhuman, I can tell by her voice. It doesn't sound like she has a normal mouth. She keeps her entire self concealed in robes and wraps through and through. Never eats with the rest of them either. Uses arcane magic but I'm not sure on the source. None of my business though, I suppose. O'arian, being a half-elf, is the only “typical” member of the group, if you can call him that. Bard with a mouth so big I can scarcely believe he hasn't been run through by anyone yet. He calls us “The Honest Men”, appended with “And the dishonest women”.

They're all idiots.

But I suppose that may not be much of a problem. Working with those I thought were near my level is why I'm now a walking corpse after all. And for all their lack of understanding of the arcane it seems like just being in the presence of the weave as often as I have around them has reawakened something in me. And besides, following around a gaggle of bumbling simpletons is an amusing distraction to the monotony of eternity.

As for what they, or I suppose we, have been up to lately, it's as absurd as ever. We met some merchant who wanted us to help him raid an old elven ruin for stock. They agreed without so much as negotiating price. When the job was done he paid us in a large sack of what turned out the next day to be a magically disguised pile of scrap metal. Dune in particular was quite emotional about the whole ordeal, likely as he nearly met his end on the excursion. The fish was also quite incensed as well. Frankly I hardly see their grounds for anger when they were so unconcerned when taking the job, but I suppose creatures that need to eat and are used to sleeping with roofs over their heads would find coin more necessary than I. Another perk of this “blessing” I was left with.

The job itself did have it's excitement, as mentioned with Dune's brush with death. Gnolls lay in wait in the old ruins along with a few eyeless humanoids I couldn't identify. Overall it would have been a rather unremarkable encounter except the last gnoll refused to simply die: it burst into green energy as its body decayed and it lashed out in a mindless rage until we finally felled it and its body burnt away to nothing. Not even ash remained.

We would later learn thanks to an orc woman named Divinter or some such that it is, apparently, some sort of magical affliction gnolls are suffering from. She has tasked us with travel to more elven ruins, this time a library, in search of a cure. The others suspect an ulterior motive. They are, perhaps, not as hopelessly inept at judging their situation as I had thought. But it's of no great concern to me. The grand plans of mortals mean nothing in the vastness of time. As long as I can keep myself entertained I will be content. At least for this fleeting moment.

-Elena