Umber

Ammitai’s search for the Helm of the Purple Plume continues.

After Hadrack and Erenil’s abrupt departure, Brin found herself with little appetite for remaining in her room. Leaving Willie snoozing peacefully on her pillow, she paced the halls of the church and finally slipped into the sanctuary. Behind the altar stood a life-sized statue of Cuthbert, and while the image of the deity did shift her thoughts away from Hadrack it did very much nothing to improve her mood. She did not realize that she was no longer alone until a voice, quite nearby, said, “Something is troubling you?”
Read the rest of this entry »

Otiluke comes out of seclusion to aid in the destruction of a fragment of Tharizdun come to Oerth.

Back in Hommlet once again, Brin was drifting in paths of meditation when she felt a presence slipping quietly into her mind, followed by another less subtle but more familiar one. A voice spoke melodic elventongue in her head, but its words were anything but poetic. “Little goblin,” it said, “will you make a space for us, or must we seek other lodging? It could prove awkward, but it would be a shame to come all this way and not see the local sights. I myself have never been to Hommlet.” She laughed and, eyes still closed, tried to recreate in her mind her small but serviceable room in the Cuthbertian church. Helping tendrils of psionic power enhanced and sharpened the details: a writing desk and chair, a grey woolen blanket, Brin perched on the bed with her back to the wall, Willie curled up on the pillow. Then an image of Hadrack appeared sitting next to her, looking very worried, and finally Erenil, backwards astride the chair and grinning. “Hmmm,” the elven ranger said, looking around disapprovingly, “this place is very plain.”
Read the rest of this entry »