Kythorn 7
Walked into a cave and met a woodsman looking for "subterranean trees." Riiiight. This "Peter of the North" was raising baby wyverns, training them as guards for the Iron Throne. Quite an ugly fight. The wyverns went straight for me, for some reason. Stupid little flappers. I was forced—yes, forced—to fly out of the cave as quickly as I could, in order for everyone else to shoot at them. I don't want to be bait! If this happens when we go after Coran's wyverns...someone is going to pay. Oh, and we've been attacked several times by Shadow Druids. One of them gave us a potion of invulnerability instead of attacking, but Jaheira recommended throwing it away.
Tarrasque now comes on command. I've taken to carrying a leather glove around—his claws are sharp. Imoen and Xan in particular still jump when I call him, and I am still amused.
Kythorn 8
Argh. Immy's been teasing me mercilessly since I stopped being quite so irritable. She keeps pointing out that Xan and I have been talking a great deal. She thinks we'd look "cute" together. Her words, not mine. Yeah, Coran talks to me a fair amount as well. Doesn't mean that I'm interested. Quite the opposite. I find him amusing in a "what the hell is wrong with him" sort of way. Jaheira's phrase, not mine.
Incidentally, Coran found twelve different flowers somewhere. One, he claimed, for each month, and all for a beauty heralded by the year as a whole. Pardon me—it was eleven flowers and a frozen branch. Oh, Coran, of course I'll sleep with you! No, dream on, elf. Turn your sights elsewhere. Oh, but I'd already told him NOT to flirt with Imoen. That leaves...Jaheira. Gods, what I wouldn't give to see that.
Coran: O lady of the woods, your beauty shines bright as a dryad's.
Jaheira: *THWACK*
Unfortunately, I think Coran knows better. A pity.
Kythorn 9
Imoen's been looking particularly smug. She does that when she thinks that she's right—very irritating habit of hers. Why? Because I *gasp* hugged Xan! This must mean that I'm deeply and irrevocably in love! Actually, he was looking especially depressed, and I thought a hug might help. And if Imoen's told anyone about her half-witted "theories," I swear I'll hex her.
...probably not. But I'd have to do something. I still haven't forgiven her for the itching powder four years ago. Or the overnight face-painting. Or the pitcher of water placed oh-so-conveniently on my door—when I closed the door, being soaked was not enough. No, the pitcher hit me as well. I had to stay in the temple for two days—it was quite a heavy pitcher. For that matter, I still consider the break-in and journal theft rather serious offences. Especially since I still don't know where my other journal went. Yes, the score is yet uneven. But I shall have my revenge!
I'd cackle evilly, except that I'm not entirely serious. Also, I don't want any strange looks from my companions, and evil cackles don't transcribe well.
Kythorn 11
Writing this at the Friendly Arm Inn. It was a very long trip back through the Cloakwood, so I haven't had much chance to write. Anyway, we finally got through the forest. Then we made it into the mines. Run by slaves, no less. Well, that had to change. After fighting through three levels of the mine, we found the man in charge—Davaeorn. Psycho evil mage, and consequently #9 on my list. Good thing I'm writing this down, otherwise I'd worry about forgetting all the names.
1. Xzar—no comment
2. Mysterious mage in pink—how does he measure up to his own standards?
3. Marl—not insane, exactly
4. Portalbendar-whatshisname—no idea WHAT he was talking about
5. Minsc, owner of the one and only miniature giant space hamster
6. Zordral—the hypocritical mage
7. The "Great Gazib" of exploding ogre fame
8. Bassilus the Cyricist
...Just in case, you understand. We killed Davaeorn, and searched the rest of the mines—having been otherwise engaged on the way down. We met a man named Rill, who made arrangements to flood the place when everyone was out. Also met a dwarf named Yeslick—a fighter and priest of Clangeddin Silverbeard, and the last of the Orothiar dwarves who once dwelled in the Cloakwood. He...didn't make it. He wanted to make sure that no one was still there, and then turned the key to the floodgates himself. He had nothing left to live for. No home, no clan...I didn't know him, and now I never will. Nonetheless—farewell. Yeslick Orothiar, may the Morndinsamman, the high dwarves under Moradin, smile upon you, and may you find the peace you did not know in life.
Strange, to write a stranger's eulogy. I could not write one for my father, because I could not think where to begin. I can write this for Yeslick because I knew so little of him. I do not think I could do this for any of my friends.
I noticed a disturbing similarity between the dwarf and certain of our group. Upon Tazok's death, Kivan will have nothing left. I'd guess that he would simply depart to Arvanaith. Xan believes that there is no point in anything, and that death will claim us soon enough. I intend to prove him wrong on this, but that's another matter. And myself. After the end of my quest, what will happen? In all likelihood, we will all go our separate ways. But what will be left for me?
Interestingly enough, there is a dye merchant at the Inn. Imoen, beware.
Kythorn 12
We're off to Firewine tomorrow. Lucky us. Who doesn't love ancient deathtraps? I hope Imoen's up to scouting, as she's the only one capable of finding traps without stepping on them first.