Ship's Log, Fosterling, Mosquito-class shuttle

Date: On or about five months after yearspawn, 5165 Olven Calender; 19 Kab, Year of the Toad in local reckoning.

Position: Aboard Tranquil Knight, On route to Kal-Tor, forbiddenspace (outer sphere)

Ship's condition: All fast and well supplied

I am extremely glad that I hired a mate to help me explain the fundamentals of wildspace to my groundling companions. I would have never credited that the wraps the followers of the fist employ to protect their hands would be enchanted to spontaneously burst into flame! Fortunately, that surprise was not an issue, since the mate had previously taken time to expand on my expositions. In future, I must attempt to make these meetings less lecture and more interactive I suppose, else much may be lost.

None the less, we successfully negotiated the short phlogiston passage to the outer sphere of forbiddenspace. Not one of the groundlings gaped overmuch at the sheer mass of the sphere wall. Apparently, they are unmoved by such wonders! On attaining the outer sphere, however, I was able to find a dark mirror to the marble customs citidel near the opposite portal. This structure is more obviously intended for war, boasting heavy reinforcements and numerous siege weapons. One of them was a bombard larger than our entire vessel! The dockmaster there informed us that the asteroids do, in point of fact, orbit a star, just apparently a dim one. I suppose it is largely invisible in the same way a single candle can be from across a forest.

The Dockmaster was a dwarf, and came aboard in full battle gear for reasons which will become clear shortly. After ascertaining that we intended no threat (and informing me that no maps of the asteroids were to be had anywhere), he went on to explain that the station was expecting an attack within hours. Offering our assistance (with the concept of capturing a navigator foremost in my mind), our small vessel was stabled in an internal hangar, and we went forth to the aid of the dwarves. Their defensive strategy placed us to defend the very docks we first tarried at, though whether this was due to mistrust or need I can not say. What I can attest, though, is that I was very impressed with the prowess of the groundlings. I am aware of Bron's puissance, and was fairly unsurprised by the catfolk's natural grace, but the swift alacrity with which they dispatched what appeared to be nearly a hundred skeletons defies description.

The undead were packed tightly into barrels, and apparently animated on the spot with some sort of magical rod. The rod interfaced with some sort of crystals worked into the interior of the huge barrels, each of which emanated waves of energy when crushed. We salvaged several, so when I have the opportunity, I intend to investigate one further. Also captured were two assault barges, each composed largely of stone, and driven by unpowered mechanical devices similar to what the Krynnish Mnomi call “screw-propellers.” Each was crewed by a number of archers and warriors, apparently to support the undead.

The various hand fighters were all over the docks, engaging the archers, warriors, and magi simultaneously, while the more traditional warriors seemed intent on chopping the skeletons for kindling. I was more than a little impressed with a pair of fireballs from the warmage, but slightly less so when I realized that several allies were caught in the blast. Still, it's hard to argue with that level of success I suppose. Perhaps it is my fault. After all, it's likely that none of them have had any experience in coordinated shipboard tactics. Quarters are much closer in wildspace, so timing and cooperation are much more important than may be planetside.

I was gratified to see one of the groundlings make good useage of the gravity plane, though I have my doubts as to how many of them noticed the secondary assault traveling beneath the docks. Still, I am somewhat pleased with the rate of learning displayed by most of them though; for groundlings they are adapting nicely.

On a more personal note, I was shot in the chest with a blunderbus, and nicked by a second shot. This is, obviously, somewhat offputting. I summoned a fog bank to cover me from the attack, but it makes me wonder how and why I was specifically targeted. Given that the scro ship had boxed skeletons onboard, I wonder if they are in league with these asteroid pirates.

Ship's Log, Fosterling, Mosquito-class shuttle

Date: On or about five months after yearspawn, 5165 Olven Calender; 2 Kab, Year of the Toad in local reckoning.

Position: Towed behind Tranquil Knight, On route to Kal-Tor, forbiddenspace (outer sphere)

Ship's condition: All fast and well supplied

I already regret leaving the barge behind at the shipyard, but am unwilling to return for it, and my former employer can well use it in my absence. The space could have been well used, I think, regardless of how it would impact our maneuverability. I have taken a short flight in an attempt to assay the virtues of Fosterling's new helm and controls. To date, I have few complaints. After a few maneuvers designed more as an attempt to familiarize the groundlings with where they will be in the way of the crew than any fault with the crew themselves, I have tethered a line, and am currently under tow.

As I gaze at my new ship, I feel compelled to speak about her. Her foreverwood inner hull is thin, like all such craft, leaving somewhat more room in each cabin. I have had few complaints about my adjustments, and little doubt, for I have employed many elven techniques as well as some tricks learned in obscure areas. On her main deck, the overly large captain's cabin I have surrendered, and replaced with a large lounge (The attached tail compartment is currently empty, but has an open top to host a sizable garden). My own cabin is in the room which traditionally hosts the helm (it more than suffices for my needs, and when I wish more space I have Fosterling; The helm, in turn, now resides on the lower deck, in the room normally used by the helmsman as a cabin. Moody, our primary helmsman, does not sleep, though the small room directly beneath the new helm room is assigned to him as well. The crew occupies the traditional cabin, along with the female passengers, while the artillerists and most male passengers occupy the room which normally hosts the galley. The upper deck has been fitted with a series of channels which feed into a small cistern partitioned off of the small room off of the companionway. That partition is repeated on the lower deck; a ceiling valve and ceramic basin creating a functional shower. I fear I can not claim complete credit for this innovation, as it mimics something I saw in the home I rented on Brindol, but the bravest portion is mine, namely the channels. I have placed bars of iron in them at present, but when we are close enough to spheres I know I intend to replace them with blue ice. Each time I cast a spell of fog to revivify the air, the moisture which normally causes so much trouble will flow down the channels into the cistern. It already functions marginally well with the iron when I also cast a spell to chill the metal, but it is a fearful waste of spellpower without the blue ice, and my amulet is far too small (and far too precious) to use in such a manner.

The main hold I have removed the central decking from. The support spars still remain, of course, but the effect is one large area with gravity bisecting it. The area gained by so revealing the stowage area is hardly worth the effort, but it saved me a considerable sum in building materials; foreverwood is expensive! The deck of the aft hold was raised somewhat, and a passage made to the lounge. This was largely done because I have installed a jettison there. While they are hardly the strongest weapon, naval life has made me accustomed to using the jettison to dispose of ship's waste, and the convenience to both garden, galley, and head made the positioning ideal. Beneath the jettison, on the stowage level, is found the head, as well as such of my not inconsiderable library as is not lounging under my bunk. I have already discussed with the crew the dire consequences of damaging any of the valuable tomes. Secretly, it is my hope that many of them will learn something, as they will certainly spend time there regardless. The mid-hold I have assigned as a mate's cabin, and have extended it somewhat towards the aft hull.. Gloval, the elderly officer I hired as mate, has commanded line warships in his time, and deserves the chance for some privacy. On the stowage level below him is the room I have called the solarium in my mind. It includes the area normally used for light stowage beneath the mid-hold, but extends all the way to the aft wall of the vessel (next to the head, though I have been careful to seal the walls there well). I reinforced the bracing in that area so that I can remove a section of the hull and replace it with a dome of enchanted glass. It may well be that I will substitute the kind of heavy crystal often used in other ship hulls, but I feared to damage Knight's seaworthiness too greatly. Now that Fosterling is powered again, I may soon choose to take that shortcut, and use her as a shuttle for water landings.

The other, and most obvious, alteration I have made is also the simplest. I placed a large lamp sphere atop the forward keel. The ship does not need the light to stay alive, but it will be useful for the other purposes I learned in the navy. The lack of a need for a sunlamp did get me thinking though. In many ways I am worried about what I will find when I have delved deeply into the lore concerning the foreverwood. It regrows rapidly. It needs no leaves, roots, or water. It is precicely like dead wood, but somehow alive regardless. Too much it reminds me not of endless life, but unlife. I think that the most disconcerting aspect of it is that it does not breathe. When I served aboard Flyer, I would often go out to lie on her livesail and feel the slow cadence of her breath. Aboard Sorrow's Fist, Sophie taught me to feel the rhythm of the spellship's lifecycles. I came to know how to influence the vessel to be eager and spry, or torpid to conserve supplies. I confess that I feel my time with the dryad was too short, but it was all the time she had. War brooks no delay.

Remembering the early days of the war has made me mindful of what Bron told me. He and Umber somehow took up the gauntlet with no common orcs. The “orcs” they fought were, in point of fact, a prince of the scro homeworld and his honor guard! Fortunately, the constabulary smiled on the struggle, about which I still know precious little, and they were each awarded the chance to take an item from the scro ship as reparation. Umber took a diamond the size of my thumb (which I recon to be worth enough to purchase a small ship), and the catfolk took a smooth sphere whose surface is reminiscent of the phlogiston. Bron, on the other hand, has showed his quality at last. He brought to me the charts of the scro captain! These enchanted maps are penned in the language of angels, which I do not read, but with magical aid I have little doubt that I can make good use of them.

Ship's Log, Fosterling, Mosquito-class shuttle

Date: On or about four months after yearspawn, 5165 Olven Calender; six days after vernal equinox, Year of the Toad in local reckoning.

Position: Aboard Tranquil Knight, On route to spherewall, forbiddenspace

Ship's condition: All fast and well supplied

Much has happened that has been faithfully recorded in Tranquil Knight's journal. She is a lovely ship, based on the Wasp design so often used by lizardfolk, though modified to include some of my own innovations. Her crew is hired, her christening (expensive though it turned out) over, and her course set. Moody's helm is aboard her, which would have left Fosterling powerless had not Moody procured an ancient helm from somewhere. It is a massive wheel, dominating the deck nearly to the ceiling. The ancient thing is weak; reportedly it strains to move even a dragonfly, but for Fosterling it suffices. Unlike more modern helms, it seems to drag even the smallest scrap of power from the user, be it from spells, psionics, or what have you. While it does, it produces only power enough to keep the vessel moving at the slowest speeds, regardless of the potential of the helmsman. It does, on the other hand, move the ship, so I must conclude it more than serves it's purpose. Moody has somehow enchanted it to interface with Fosterling's living wings in such a way that a spin of the wheel actually manipulates the livesails, potentially allowing someone like me (with both the spellpower and seamanship skills needed) to easily handle her alone. There remains the dark rumor that a week of extended use will cause the helm to explode, but I highly doubt a shuttle will see enough use to test the issue.

While we are currently underway, before Tranquil Knight was christened and launched I met with an unlikely ally. He claims to be of a bloodline which mingled with the mercane in generations past; I believe it unlikely, but he knows much, and is willing to share that knowledge for a price. I met his price, though in a way that will not endear me to the admiralty, and learned much. Apparently, there is a plane of void, and the judge I seek is there, still alive! It is my assumption that this plane of void is the plane described as “quasi-elemental vacuum” in some texts, or at least is related to it in some way. I have misgivings as to how we will survive once we arrive there, so for now my plan remains unchanged: sail the sea of night, and earn the trust of the locals myself. The blue sage also answered many other questions, as well as providing me a volume supposedly containing all the music of the local people. Normally, I would have balked at the concept of an entire world's music in one volume. In this case, however, I believe. The city of Brindol may well contain all the sapient life on that world; and they are a folk devoted to law, not art. At the least, I can easily compare the two songs I already know against what is contained in the volume; I am well capable of finding the common threads between songs with study.

For myself, I have decided to continue this log. It may well seem as much journal as log, but I have discovered that I no longer care. I need expiation. I saw today the appearance of a native without glamer. Her eyes are no less green; her hair still like to flames. She has lost none of the grace of her movement, none of the fierceness in her spirit. With the enchantment stripped asunder, her beauty is not stripped away, but revealed. I am not enchanted, but I remain fascinated, and more than a little relieved. I somewhat fear the reactions that such beauty will receive from the space born community at large, especially those associated with the chainmen.

There is a further distress I must attempt to aspirate. Amongst my people I am too young to marry. There, those of my age are considered trapped between childhood and maturity, a brief span of years in which one has set aside childish lessons but not yet taken on the responsibilities of hearth and home. Despite my youth, I feel old. Elves are long lived, and my people doubly so. The company of men serves to remind me that my short years exceed those of any man. I swim in manfolk. There is something endless in the folk of Brindol, but there is also something new. Their society is so sheltered that I was forced to explain slavery. Not the logistics of it, the very concept behind it! Now, when I think on how to safeguard my charges, my mind reels with the magnitude of my task. I have with me a number of people who have not the faintest sense of danger; children that have yet to be burned. The responsibility is heady. Yet I can not treat them as the children they are. Each is a potent combatant, and full grown after the fashion of manfolk. Not one will thank me for my interference.. While many elves debate the maturity of even old humans, I have discovered that they live their short years in such a way that the wisest of them surpasses our greatest lorekeepers. I risk being seen as arrogant if I speak too much, and I risk being seen as profligate and false if I say too little. As my grandfather once put it, “I fear the crust of this snow will not support my weight.”

Still, I am grateful for the presence of my newest crew acquisition: an anthropomorphic feline from Toril who studies the way of the fist. While I know little of him, the catfolk have ever been allies of the land which I serve. The ally of my ally is, in this case, at least a hope for friendship. Bron and Umber (another recent hire) apparently met him while dusting up some orcs in the alley. I was later to find that he was admitted to the surface without any delay, and came back shining like a native. I do not begrudge this, as I increasingly believe that the shining glamer of the natives is in some way related to the mysterious “children of forever” which grant the foreverwood it's name. I much desire that they learn I am no foe to them, so I welcome as many as come. The catfolk is slightly impatient, but focused on finding the lost judge, so our purposes meet nicely. I am extremely pleased to have someone aboard who believes at least that much of my tale.

Wildspace in the forbiddensphere is placid and cool, and I am grateful. Once we pass the customs station, my intent is to head to the asteroids of Kal-Tor. Apparently named for a mountain range on one of the former planets of the outer sphere, these seven large bodies host the tacit lords of the asteroids. One of the natives has determined that there is some sort of bounty for rescuing a princess held near there, and while I suspect that it is more dalliance than kidnapping, the action should serve to whet the crew. Hopefully it will also quell the nerves of some of the more aggressive passengers. I fear that the long voyages between spheres will test the patience of some. I also look forward to purchasing some green for the ship. A few berry bushes and other assorted plantlife would help me to feel better I think, having been denied the green when I visited Brindol. The foreverwood does not suffice for me, despite the rich green color it has absorbed from the special dye we applied. (It turns out that there are rumors of monstrous phlogiston creatures which are attracted to livewood which is not so treated, and I had little desire to put it to the test).