Author Topic: A cracked, leather-bound journal  (Read 508 times)

BioSpark

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Re: A cracked, leather-bound journal
« Reply #15 on: April 20, 2018, 12:23:16 PM »
Erasmus has been working hard.  I stepped out of my room this morning and was met with what can only be described as an industrial nightmare.  He hasn't modified the pub, no, he has infected it.  I respect him, I truly do, he has a very well developed work ethic and a decently logical approach to life but good lord, he loves his toys.  I am quite afraid to approach once he's truly engrossed in a task.  This one I do not approve of, however.  He could have asked prior to installing the beating heart of a fully automated delivery system right outside of where I sleep.  Thankfully whatever magic has created my tiny piece of heaven also would appear to suppress the worst of the noise.

I suppose I did threaten to practice my craft upon his wife in the same way that he's practiced his here.  A fair trade, maybe.

More chat.  We had a meeting lined up with a representative of the Isaacs.  Can't say as I trust them particularly but then neither do the others.  I cannot tell if they are becoming better judges of character or are slipping further into their fey selves and naturally mistrusting humans.  I am sure that if it's the latter, it will only serve to further drive the wedge that separates us socially.  I went to the appointed meeting place with Al to "case the joint" as it were.  Quite how Al can discern any details about an environment through his near-constant inebriation is a question that would thwart the finest minds of a generation.  I would surely love to see how even a few days of sobriety would affect him.

The park was pleasant enough.  The meeting was to be in a public place, probably as safe as could be hoped for, so Al took his position and I mine in the guise of a failing artist.  Thinking on it, actually trying to look deliberately like a failure, like a social leech who believes in the strength of words and expects society to compensate him for his meaningless craft, maybe such things would better single me out as a fey.  Very little happened, nothing suspicious was witness although I do believe that the park is home to some nature spirits.  Childlike, innocent things.  Rather like those abominable poppets we saw a while back.  Explains where they're being harvested from, I suppose.  It might do to alert the fey authorities (ha!  Authority...) and tell them of our findings, arrange some protection but I rather prefer the idea of letting them roam free and possibly following their trail should they get kidnapped again.

We got a call from Erasmus.  He'd found Xander and brought him, broken and bloody, to his lab.  He needed medical attention quickly, attention only I and Al could provide.  But no, dear friend, trouble yourself not with this trifling matter.  I shall attend to his needs with all haste as, after all, I have spent a short time at this lab and remember its secret location.  Whilst not formally qualified, I am profoundly learned in the ways of medicine.  He will be in the surest of hands, receive the best of care.

The leprechaun still trusts me.  Bless.  He's a shocking judge of character.

As I stepped through the door, the poor lad was quite the sight.  A man-sized squirrel, barely breathing and lashed to a chair.  I would have to hope that pooka biology in animal form resembled the familiar layout of a human's.  But what of an alternative?  After all, first aid can be a tricky business at the best of times and these were hardly ideal conditions.  A malfunctioning device span on the floor, emitted steam, made a whistling noise rising slowly in pitch.  Who could say if it was stable?  Why, it would be terrible, surely, if the nosy little rodent were to perish here and now.  "I did everything I could", I would cry, "I feared that one of the machines would certainly combust and was unable to move him in time!".  Plausible.  ABSOLUTELY plausible.  And yet, as I drew the blade and prepared to relieve myself of one more inconsequential burden, something stayed my hand.  Ah.  That blasted oath.  I KNEW it folly to commit in such a way!  This contract was necessary, unfortunately, if I wished to retain my newfound abilities.  And surely, had I let him die, the others would know.  They would suspect, without evidence of course, and things would be... difficult.  No, now is not the time.  He will make further mistakes, of that I am sure, and like so many of life's little problems, this one may well resolve itself if left alone.

He will live.  I have seen to it.  But know this, my sweet patient: you'll have a much harder time trying to work out what I'm up to from now on.  We'll see how you react once you realise, shall we?

I waited a short while in the hopes that the device would do the job for me then contacted Erasmus.  Informed him of the state of the device but bumbled over the details to feign confusion and worry.  That would provide an alibi but it wasn't necessary, the machine held.  As the others came back, I learned that Xander had been poking around where he didn't belong (the revelation of the century), and had found a store of demon traps.  Presumably trying to take one, he'd set it off and nearly cooked himself.  They say he wasn't acting of his own will, that he was being coerced.  I believe none of this.

The others have set off in search of this premises.  They are welcome to it.  I, for one, am unwilling to leave Xander alone.  If he dies due to poor treatment then as the most qualified medical practitioner present, the responsibility may be seen as mine.  I have ensured his safe return to the Carp's Tongue and am providing further care.  Jake believes that the "magic pub" will heal him because it hastens the progress of recovery through a hangover.  He is unconscious, he is bleeding, he may have a concussion.  I am not going to rely on fey magic, unpredictable and treacherous at best, to heal this.  I find Jake's attitude quite disgusting, to be frank.  He even suggested that the ravens would be able to inform us of any developments.  The ravens!  If they were able to diagnose a severed arm, let alone any degradation in a potentially complex cranial injury is laughable in itself but even then, the wretched things would only get distracted by seeing their own reflection somewhere and forget what they were doing.

I feel that for the most part, I am in the company of dependant children.  Their attitude will be their undoing and not, this is certain, by my hand.
Bless the children of the world
Give us all a chance to grow and live
Give us all you've got to give
Bless the children of the world

Bless the children of the world
We're the one's who'll have to carry on
Even though all hope is gone
Bless the children of the world

-Don Henley