On the Road to Carangoroth

My night was restless, and I remember not what I dreamed. I woke up feeling like I took a dip in Lake Ulmarog in the middle of winter -- my body shivered with icy cold. I am convinced that there is something left in me from the previous evening's dance with death. I felt an awareness of my body's insides more keenly than ever before, and that awareness seemed to bleed outward, like a leak of my soul saturating the area around my steps.
 
Morning introspections were interrupted quite rapidly by Avindir's alarum of the sable dragon eggs hatching. We hurried over (with Calliope and Makaan lagging behind due to their armor) to listen to the dragonlings devour each other and their shells. After the scuffle in the pit, Avindir was convinced a single dragon remained. I could barely see its shiny malachite scales behind a pillar, so I maneuvered to better spy it.
 
Avindir proceeded to try and persuade it to listen to us. I tried encouraging Avindir to be more assertive and authoritative, for my understanding of a freshly born dragonling's temperament requires a strong, disciplinary hand. As we feared, and possibly expected, the dragonling did not seem receptive. Thus, we chose to end its threat to the area as an invasive species.
 
I leapt into the pit and chased it down. In a strange experience, the sensation of my proprioception leaking outside of my self proved more useful than expected. Even in the dark, which I know I struggle to see in during the best of times, I knew where each pebble and pillar and dragonling was around me. A fascinating sensation, one of which I would have explored more fervently if I wasn't at the moment in melee with a dragon.
 
I tried to rapidly strike it down, but the dragonling was more resiliant than I hoped. It spat vile acid at me, which I nimbly dodged mostly out of the way. It still struck my left arm and leg through the clothes and I still feel the ghost of the acid eating at my flesh. I began to push my medicinal qi and my medicines at it as soon as I could, which left an opening for it to retreat from me. Luckily, Makaan stabbed his shield into the back of their head, severing the spine and ending the life.
 
We harvested what we could from them as signs of the dragonlings taken care of (horns, scales, and so on), and then we proceeded to bury their bodies outside of the cave. Even though they were aligned as foes against us, dragons are still fantastic beings of might and magic. They deserve respect and their deaths are a loss for the world. Hopefully, if we are forced to take action against dragons in the future, it is because their lives are more so a blight.
 
I prayed to Thuses for mercy on the three dragonling's lives and for Zindraaldein to take their fledgling souls under his platinum wings. Hopefully, they will find a peace in the next life they seemed intent on breaking in this one. After the funeral, I apologized to the vanguards for my poor performance of late. I regressed to roles assumed by the monastic training I received and failed to communicate my strategies and expectations to my peers. This, in turn, almost cost us our lives, and I feel a crippling weight from my failure.
 
After preparing the horses, having breakfast, and performing morning rites, we proceeded on the road to Carangoroth.
 
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I was not an attentive sentry today. Every time I breath, I feel as though my innards aren't position right. It's like an intestine's fold is not pleated right, or the stomach was pushed too far left, or my diaphragm catches on a shard of something embedded in me from the axe that almost cleaved me in two. I have been trying to push my soul's breath into my body, purging any injury my enhanced sensations tell me are there, but they evade me like an itch. It's almost like every small wound I mend inside of me begets two more elsewhere. This itch in my gut, this scratch in my core, it distracted.
 
I didn't notice the riders over the hill, of which Makaan spied and described as members of the Order of Metal. We decided to hail them as fellow travelers and potential allies, and thus we met them around their camp. There was the high elf Vidan Cullen, the only male in the party; shadow elf Holcyn Thela; tiefling Sapiona; gnome Fenhanna; and mountain dwarf Inga. I was earnestly surprised to see such a motley crew -- I can't recall any tiefling I've met outside of books, nor a gnome ever visiting the commune. They were en route to Timberpass to help with the recovery, security, and scouting. We shared our insights, informed them of the abandoned camp with the dragon's cave, and other features we found. In turn, they informed us that Leosin safely made it to Carangoroth. They bid us safe journey, and we parted ways.
 
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Again, my mind was focused on the wounds inside of me. After days of trying to patch any perceived injury, I am growing more and more convinced that my ailment may not be a physical one, but a spiritual one. It might be why my soul's eye can leak forth into the space around me. The axe cut into the prime meridian between maesay and payha. While divine magic hastily put me back together, and my spiritual breath flows still, I fear my crucible suffered from the trauma. Maesay is supposed to be the bridge between the spiritual and material, after all. If its connection to the balancing mote of payha (which filters mercy, severity, and the infinite light into the world) was damaged, then maybe the infinite light aylau is leaking out of my crucible without control. Maybe this is a secret technique because my toes touched the silver grains of the road to death.
 
I recalled a lesson from my masters about various spiritual techniques we could develop. Aside from leaping great heights (which I do enjoy), alacrity, medicinal qi, maleficent qi, and more, there was a rare technique that was briefly talked about. They said that some monks, after seeing the darkness cast by Thuses, had their souls rebel against the blindness and try to grow against it. When the umbra past, they were able to perceive the world immediately around them, even if blinded or illusions weaved. It was a technique few should ever search to gain due to the danger of Thuses's umbra, and I fear I accidentally achieved such a state. This is quite rare and, ordinarily, I would rejoice about developing such a technique without spiritual guidance of a master. Instead, I find myself feeling an emotional void when I think upon it. While the ability to tell that Calliope is fiddling with her pan flute when my eyes are closed is quite useful, I do not know if the cost was worth it. If Thuses, lord of the darkness, gifted this to me, what was taken in turn?
 
We led our horses and ponies on foot through a ruined village. I was pondering this implication when my cohorts leapt into battle. I knew not what was going on until I saw a few goblins running towards us. Avindir thrust his book out, dust of some sort fell out of the pages, and I felt magics lift me up. Before I knew it, I grew to over ten feet tall! I quickly tried to take care of the few goblins in range to stop them from skewering the vanguards, then knocked out one archer and frightened the other. The goblins soon surrendered after Makaan also enlarged himself with his runic might. It turned out they worked for some sort of boss, but we let them go with advice to turn their lives around.
 
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Another day following another night of forgotten but unsettling dreams, and I believe my crucible has largely been repaired. I can feel my meridians flowing strongly, reinforced by daily meditation and the residue of Calliope's blessing of the moon. However, something still feels wrong inside of me. Maybe I'm just aware of how my stomach churns in more detail, like being told that each swallow sounds in your ear and you then cannot unhear it. This supersensory ability of mine might just be overeager; it deserves to be trained to fine control like the rest of me.
 
We stumbled on a flooded mine, which had some sort of enchanted consecrated water. I thought it might have been a holy spring that was greedily harvested, but others informed me that the consecration was likely placed after the mine. I took a waterskin full of the water, and then we learned the mine was likely of dwarven influence with water deity iconography and some elven spiritual usurper iconography.
 
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We arrived at Carangoroth, finally! It was ten days of travel, distraction, and pain. My gut is feeling worse now, like there really might have been something left behind from the axe and my body is containing it as best it can. I cannot perceive it; how small it must be.
 
We passed through the gate, but they seemed to be a bit more at attention than I expected. We traveled through the market square, saw many a metal and smithcraft shop, and were marveling at the sights. The air was acrid and full of the scent of a city and I feel as though I could easily be overwhelmed with my new supersensory ability. Luckily, a guard pointed us towards the Wooden Goat, an inn the Order of Metal claimed as their local branch of service. Makaan seemed surprised they didn't have a keep or more established seat of power, but this made sense to me. There are only so many buildings within a walled city and elven cities are old.
 
The Wooden Goat wasn't hard to find and I had fun traveling through alleyways again. I missed urban settings, but this was clearly not a kenku commune. I saw so many folks of so many ancestries here, with sounds and scents and sights unfamiliar. I know not the rules of the gutterstreets.
 
When at the Wooden Goat, we were introduced to an attendant who brought forth Leosin. He was absolutely looking better than we last saw him at Timberpass, which is a blessing truly. I tried signaling to him that I could use some guidance to handle my ailment, which I believe he received. He sent me with a squire to lodge the horses in a stable, then I returned in time to have us introduced to Quiet Snow.
 
Quiet Snow was a large, charming, and handsome Tabaxi with lynx-like characteristics (especially those ears). He seemed quite excited to meet us and wanted to gauge our capabilities in a fair duel. A reasonable request; I've long seen reputations bloat when passed from mouth to mouth beyond the capabilities of the original target. Makaan seemed a mite offended. Maybe goliath society treats face differently?
 
Before the exploration of capabilities, we were told to relax and recollect supplies. With the funds given to us from Leosin and our Timberpass earnings, we gathered new supplies. I finally obtained my own herbalism kit and, I must say, elven herbalism kits are quite nice. I also bought three healer kits and a small lyre. Maybe music could help free my soul from this blight.
 
Leosin guided me separately to a small lodge entry, which was hidden away in a building. There, I sent 140 gold back home -- 35 each to the commune, my family, the monastery, and the lodge itself. This is about 40% of my earnings, which feels right to me. I am now an adventurer, after all. It is my duty to support the people who enabled me to get so far!
 
I also wrote letters for home. To my cantor, I wrote asking about auspicious moons in the perspective of birthdays for Calliope. To the cartographer's guild, I wrote asking about the strange kenku map that Avindir had. To my monastery, I transcribed my journal of thoughts and experiences. This would allow my memories to be preserved if I am unable to make it back and add my voice to our song. In addition, they would want to know my journey and celebrate in the forging of my crucible.
 
I've not slept a sound night in well over a week. I hope tonight is far more peaceful knowing that I have a senior monk nearby to help me.