Advent Stories: The Naturalist's Odyssey
Well, dear readers, it likely has not escaped your notice that my previous expeditional publication was cut rather abruptly short. I had rather the adventure in the time between correspondences, an adventure which began when I delved between the lost isle of Frørholm (a now even more pertinent moniker since its sinking below the roil of the Ur-River). I imagine this document shall serve as an epilogue to my brief stint in Frørholm, though it is far more fantastical than my usual scientific approach. Indeed, I did witness a good deal of biological wonders, they pale in comparison to my meeting with the Source, and subsequent escape from the sinking city. But I am rather getting ahead of myself, a character flaw that no doubt infuriates my loyal readership no end. I shall begin where we left off in my previous treatise.Having set my sights on the mythical Lichen Pit beneath Frørholm, I began to scout the surrounds for any scrap of information on the whereabouts of a potential entry point into the underworld, a task made exponentially more difficult by the warring rabbles that infested the frozen streets. It was while avoiding a band of mask-wearing hooligans that I ducked into an unassuming side street and found myself face to face with a rent in the fabric of reality itself. I, being of curious disposition, ventured into the dank environs of the cave beyond, filled with dread and wonder at what might await. I was disappointed, then, when the cave opened into a Skaven warren. An impressively large Skaven warren, to be sure, but rather mundane. Less mundane was how welcoming this particular warren was, calling itself the “Gnawmarket,” and selling a variety of esoterica from across the Realms. It was here that I changed upon a shadowy information broker known simply as the Emissary. The creature was rather complimentary of my work during the Bleed event, having apparently obtained a copy in the months following that particular adventure. I furnished them with my latest piece, my report on the native flora and fauna of the island, and was given an approximate location for entry in exchange. Thanking the odd broker profusely, I set off at once to prepare for my expedition. I won't bore you with those particular details, and instead shall skip ahead to the beginning of my descent.I made my entry by way of a rent in the earth within an old smuggler's tunnel. I had expected the caverns to be dark as pitch, and had brought with me a luminescent hyshian oniscid, bound within a cage lashed to my helm. I scarce required my crustaceal companion, however, as from the rent in the earth spilled a startling viridian glow. As I ventured forth I discovered that the very Lichen for which the pit was named was wreathed in bioluminescence. It was, as well, startling in its enormity, great sheets of the stuff lacing through the cavern, forming natural walkways across the abyss. Testing the structural integrity of these verdant bridges, I found them to hold my weight quite sufficiently. With renewed purpose, I began my exploration in earnest.Many strange sights did I witness there, and my journal began to fill quickly with sketches. There were enormous blind rats with prehensile tails and batlike snouts, their lengthy whiskers reflective in the green glow of the lichen. As I ventured deeper, I discovered one dead, its corpse writhing with small leechlike creatures, which upon further inspection I discovered to be closer to lampreys. They scattered as I approached, darting away upon the aether as though it were water, leaving their dessicated victim behind. Beyond this were stranger sights still: bubbling oozes that sunk into the mat of lichen as I passed; bellowing troggoth-like beasts that swung about like apes; glowing eyes in the gloom, staring at me before blinking out ominously. For once I did not stay and observe each in turn, however, for I had a goal: to reach the rumoured source at the pit’s nadir.The once-soft viridian glow would better be described as a harsh green glare the further I delved, blinding light radiating from the lowest point of the cavern. Despite the pain this caused my dark-attuned eyes, I ventured forth unto the breach, the small companion on my head coping as it absorbed the radiant magic, its glow transforming from the pure white of Hysh as it attuned itself to this new source of arcane nourishment. It was at this point that I began to hear the voice in my mind, high and clear, though somehow imbued with a deep pain. “Come,” it called, and I found myself obeying as a matter of course. The world around me ceased to be anything but green and light, howling faces resolving in swirling mist around me. They reminded me of the haunts of Shyish, but I did not feel any dread. In time I came upon a tangle of roots that seemed to reach out into infinity. Within those boughs was cradled a vulnerable form, and as I stepped closer it turned its piercing green gaze upon me. It spoke to me not with its mouth but with its thoughts, reaching deep into the recesses of my racing mind. It told me of the island's past, the tragedies that befell its inhabitants, the sacrifice of the entity's sisters to create this meagre sanctuary, as well as the imminent demise of the city above from which there could be little chance of escape. This cavern would be swept away and lost forever, and there was only one form of salvation that the Source could offer. It could open the Greenway for me, so that I might live to tell of the lives lost to the roil of war sweeping across this blighted isle.I might have travelled the pathways of the Everqueen for seconds or centuries, my mind lost to the green, but eventually I emerged back into myself, feeling scoured and raw- and rather cold. I had found myself in a frozen copse, surrounded by snow-wreathed evergreens. The hyshlight was pale and turgid, marking my location as Ulgu, but whereabouts within the realm I could not begin to guess. Somewhere along the way I had lost my journal and all the sketches contained within, as well as my helm with its glowing occupant. I have to assume the Everqueen would not allow it to come to harm, so I have no doubt the creature is alive and well, but I found myself resenting my lack of light in this dark corner of the worlds. I was thankful of my Rovskyr-made cloak at least, which was warm and twinkled with the celestial energies of its native Azure. Not as much light as I'd have liked, but something, at the very least. Small blessings.I found, as I emerged from the scant woodland, that the blessings I had received were greater than I had anticipated, for I found myself facing a stark city wall. A port town, by the look of it, on the banks of the Ur-River. It looked to have been ravaged by some disaster in recent history, but was in the process of rebuilding. The freeguild guards were surprised to see anyone emerge from the wilderness, least of all a duardin carrying little more than the cloak on her back, but they allowed me entry and recommended a tavern that had largely recovered from the disaster which they referred to as “the passing of the Longblade.” It was at said tavern, the Manticore’s Sting in what turned out to be the Free City of Raven’s Watch, that I set about devising how I would find my way back to Kladi II and my mobile research station upon her cranium. This was confounded some by the discovery that my absence had been a matter of months rather than moments, but I hoped that Kladi II would remain in the general area that I had left her, even if the island itself was long gone. She'd no doubt find a way to feed herself, intelligent as she is, so my only worry was that she'd give up on waiting for my return and move on to greener pastures, presuming my demise.My salvation, as it turned out, happened to be one of the very warlords that had confounded me so on the streets of Frørholm. On the third night of my residence in the Manticore's Sting, when my welcome, paid as it was by little more than tall tales and promises of aqua ghyranis when I was able to return to my research station, was thoroughly reaching its end, she arrived. Captain Lissea of the Blackwing, as it turned out, had docked at Raven’s Watch on her way to the very place I wished to travel. She intended to pay respects to a lover lost during the final days of Frørholm, and offered to take me with her, free of charge. Though suspicious of her generosity, I agreed to accompany the Carrion Queen on her venture, for it seemed my best hope of finding Kladi II. My journey upon the Blackwing was an eerie one. I had anticipated a crew of seasoned cutthroats, and there was that, the ship was also occupied by a band of peculiar children, all possessed of strange stigmata, similar in aspect to the broad wings that stoned the Carrion Queen herself. They clung to Lissea like loyal hounds and stared at me with hungry eyes, and I found myself wishing to retreat to the scant quarters provided for me much earlier than I had anticipated. We would apparently arrive at the site of what was once Frørholm early upon the morrow, so after supper I made my excuses and retired, finding myself much wearier than I had thought. It was as I slipped into deep slumber that panic began to grip my fading consciousness: I had been drugged.I awoke to find myself bound and gagged upon an old wooden chair upon the Blackwing’s deck, an eight pointed star chalked about me, the weird children's eyes boring into me from all angles. Lissea stood over me, a wicked sickle gripped in her dark hand, her eyes hard as they stared down at me. As I awoke and gazed back, her expression flickered. For a moment she looked so very old and tired and sad, but she hardened again, returning to her impassive glare. Nevertheless, her voice was almost kind, and not a little apologetic when she spoke.“I must ask your forgiveness for my deceit, but your coming willingly was important for the ritual’s success. I need them back, you see, we all need them back, and this is the only way.”I tried to shout and scream through my gag, but it was fruitless. As the Carrion Queen raised the sickle high above her head I was sure that this was to be my ignoble end, when of a sudden a brain-deafening psychic roar crashed through all present, rendering us dazed and inert. I was brought rudely back to my senses by the sensation of hurtling through the air, my bindings snapping as my chair was hurled from the deck, shattering upon the boards and riddling what little bare flesh I had on show with splinters. As my vision cleared, I caught sight of my rescuer: it was Kladi II! Her enormous fists hammered into the deck, splitting the Blackwing’s hull. The crew and the strange children rushed forth to bail the water that had begun to rush forth from the rent, leaving me to scramble to my feet. Quickly, I clambered up the tangled fur of Kladi II’s great arm, chased by the desperate, mournful howls of the Carrion Queen behind me. I do not know what ritual Kladi II averted, but it can't have been good. I can only hope Lissea does not manage to convince any other poor soul to follow willingly to this gods-forsaken stretch of the Ur-River. Much of my time since that day has been spent regaining my constitution and ordering my scattered thoughts. I fear I may have taxed myself somewhat too far with this particular treatise, but I did not wish to leave my loyal readership wondering of my whereabouts a moment longer.Until the next adventure,Vala Edrasdottír, Adventurer and Natural Historian
