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).