Ottokath's Journal #11

General Summary

Never let it be said nobles don't know how to eat. I may be a stranger in these lands and fail to understand most of their customs. A soup that sets as the sun? Creative indeed.
The Ahmar Citadel. That is where we were to head to cleanse the curse. Hamood's brother was to be found here too. I was in a bit of a hurry to discard of it. The collar, as it is know among elves, is a blight that afflicts most of my people. I was one of the few among us that did not have one. Now I do...
The road to the citadel is not a safe one. Giant insectoid creatures roam the desert and raid the paths. We ran in to one such group. They proved troublesome, albeit not deadly opponents and were disposed of quickly. It therefore took it but a short time to reach the citadel.
We secured lodging and made our way to meet Hamood's brother. He directed us to a priestess. Here we were told of Acharama Needles. If we brought her those, she would initiate a ritual to cleanse the curse. Trust towards humans is something I am beginning to find hard, but a choice is not a luxury I had.
Regrettably, I had to find certainty. I could not leave my back, or rather, the backs of those I now cared for, to one I could not trust. Motive is what I needed to understand. Nature is a very subtle thing sometimes. It hums and lulls us into a false sense. Elves are resistance to such effects, but not immune. And that lull is what I needed to pierce the walls surrounding Art. That and a drink. I am not proud of this.

Report Date

07 Jun 2021