Jel-El is adjusting poorly to having a face, Qari is adjusting poorly to Jel-El, and Delkim has been requested to remain at port to fix the boats headed back to Portland.  Delkim considerately gave me a nice carved wooden drumstick before he departed.  I am touched but not sure what this is for.  Eg was so upset that it disappeared for several days.  Sir Laurence has not yet realized the true honor of his new, muscular, horned form.  Some say he was seen down at the whorehouse.

In the midst of these troubles, the real Firebeard (we always check, to make sure) has bestowed upon me a great honor.  I am to lead our party on its newest mission.  With strength I have risen to fill the leadership with honor, pride, and wisdom.  Some say I was not born with the natural wisdom of others.  I know this to be false, and I shall prove it!  Cowards.

Unfortunately, I was made to promise not to deliver all of my commands in poetry. So there is no poem this week.

Only a few private reflections.

Delkim goes back out to sea
And instead of Jel-El, they now follow me.
Legless Zyzzx often cried
These days he aims his bow with pride.
Eg so rarely made much sense
Now it oft uses silent defense.
Master Glover is truely a dick
Yet lately he got his ass off its stick.
Qari used to give command
But now I lead this little band.
Soon we march to Finger’s Point…
To cripple Void’s plan
And protect Portland
We must work together and can’t disappoint.


Something changed today with Jel-El. First off, he got a face. Second, it turns out he’s a halfling. I had assumed beachgnomes had ugly sliced-off faces, but all along he was just a marred halfling raised by beachgnomes. Third…he’s really nice.  What little trust we had for him is nowhere to find.

What befell our Jel-el?
For he’s acting quite swell
The nutshell said farewell
To dispel a cartel.

Now he rings our doorbell
And he smells the same smell
But he’s trying to sell
That his mind is now well.

Jel-El loved to rebel
And to tell at a yell
How he dwelled under dell
With beach gnomes and clamshells.

Now the dirt’s been dispelled
His lapel looks quite belle
But as Eg did fortell
We just aren’t that compelled.

He our worries to quell
Swears on hell it’s no spell
Yet propels his deathknell
And impels we expel.

My poetic response was more appropriate than Eg’s.  That flying thing still hasn’t stopped.  I can see how it’s useful, when I watch the orc chase him with an axe.

I wrote a poem for Qari to send to Ice Queen, one of the head dwarves fighting at Tyr’s Bastards. This is not to be repeated.  He obviously wishes to woo her, but he’s a fumbling dork and I’m pretty sure a virgin, although I heard a rumor that he did one of the male Red Wizards. Sabotage mission indeed. There’s a reason she’s called Ice Queen, but he’s determined. She sees no-one, but perhaps this poem will grant him access. You know, access.

My emotions have been frozen
I just can’t feel a thing
In watching you I’ve chosen
To deaden out the spring.

The spring my chest would feel
Is trapped under the ice
My nerves have turned to steel
While my heart has been excised.

I’d tell you this in words
But I can’t be made to care
I heard they died in herds
At the falling of your glare.

I bore here in the Bastards’ clout
They’re nothing but a sheath
And if they try to thaw me out
There’s nothing underneath.

Firebeard, leader of Tyr’s Bastards, graciously restored my arm to its former honor thanks to my sacrifice of the helmet. I bestowed my stump-knife on another young arm-less fellow. After some haggling Zyzzx regained both legs, and Master Glover his balls.

Hearing the Thayan Red Wizards were headed for Finger’s Point (or perhaps nearby to join Void’s Army?), we set out from Irrigon to harry them. By killing a few wizards, we could break their circle magic, or some nonsense like that. In my homeland to the North we understood the meaning of attacking those that outnumber, taking what we will, and then bravely making off with it at great speeds. We found Qari and Jel-El traveling with them, but didn’t kill them as they fought alongside us. Still unclear on all that. Master Glover became so inflamed when Jel-El asked for a return of the wand that makes us strong, that he snapped it in two. This ballooned his hands to bulging, muscled monstrosities. Serves him right.

This poem was a big hit in the bar at Irrigon upon our return.

Master Glover broke his wand
It’s not his dick now don’t despond
Although his balls are back in place
His manliness is still disgraced.

Master Glover’s pride was struck
When Jel-El told him what was what
He seized the beach gnome’s wooden stick
And finished it with a mighty flick.

But some just god became enflamed
That Glover was no longer shamed
She made his hands so they couldn’t touch
Those brand new balls he yearned to clutch.

We reached Irrigon that evening. Master Glover found this poem in his room. It was unsigned, so who could possibly have written it? A mystery, I am sure!

Glover’s the biggest asscunt
Who ever lived to affront
Though he’s rude all day through
When someone else strikes, too
He pulls the most immature stunts.

Void’s forces have struck us in vain
We get back up again and again
But within our own party
Is the damaging smarty
Who’ll destroy us by driving insane.

We had plenty of time to bond on our journey back to Irrigon with the helm. Master Glover gave us a sad account of his family, who forced him into a leper colony. When we were surprised that such a baleful personality had a family, we questioned him on his daughter, and this is pretty much the account that he gave.

Glover has a daughter named Claire
A young woman of questionable hair
It wasn’t that nice
And it bedded some lice
But removal is futile
As she’d look much worse with it bare

Interestingly, he didn’t take well to the poetical version and cast blindness on me.

This shall not stand.

We decided to split our party and disrupt two of Void’s plans simultaneously. Qari and Jel-El headed for Thay in hopes of causing the Red Wizards there to break their newly written contract to aid Void’s armies, and Zyzzx, Eg, Master Glover, Delkim, and myself set off to bring the helm to Tyr’s bastards at Irrigon where it could be kept safe. Along the way nothing much happened, really, it was intensely uneventful. We met this nude druid who reincarnated our lost Paladin, though. Sir Lawrence of Cascadia came back a little…furry. Furry like a Minotaur.

We went not by the road
But carried our load
Out onto the plains
Taking great pains
To avoid Void’s domain
And from conflict abstain.
A fast pace we maintained
Although physically drained.

We passed a stone hut
Of black rock neatly cut
But the curious abode
No residents showed.
We rested that night
And at the first light
We were back on the trail
With our valuable mail.

Outside Irrigon’s wall
We paused in our haul
And met a nude man
With a hawk and a tan.
He lived in the plants
But not in his pants
And raised the deceased
As an enormous beast.