Lev's Reflection of Sessions 23 and 24

(Reflections of Sessions 23 & 24)
 
As Lysi'ander settles against the damp stone wall, blood still drying on his blade, his thoughts turn inward...
 
The aftermath of battle leaves a peculiar taste - copper and stone dust, touched with the lingering spark of magic. Victory over the Hill Giants and Ettin came at a cost, evident in every aching muscle and fresh bruise. This crude battleaxe rests heavy against my leg, so unlike the elegant weapons of my homeland. Yet there's truth in its simplicity, a directness that mirrors Nehwon itself. Perhaps that's why I'm growing to appreciate it - like this realm, it makes no pretense of being anything other than what it is.
 
The children... his jaw tightens, fingers curling into fists. Twelve young souls, each bearing wounds deeper than flesh. Their vacant stares and wasted frames speak of horrors no child should endure.
 
Cathllynn and Lilly showed wisdom in approaching them first. My winter-touched appearance, already unsettling to most mortals, would have only deepened their terror. Strange how exile has made me more aware of how others perceive me, how the very features that marked me as noble in my homeland now serve as barriers to trust.
 
His hand moves to an emotion-capturing crystal, its surface drinking in the complexity of the moment. Watching Dorian fashion that travail from scattered debris... there's a lesson there. We fey often overlook simple solutions, too caught in our elaborate ways. Yet here was an answer born of necessity and quick thinking. Between his practical innovation and Tigeth's silent strength in carrying the third child, we found ways forward I might never have considered in my previous life.
 
The cooperation between us all carries deeper meaning. Each bringing unique gifts to bear - magical and mundane, learned and instinctive. No single approach would have served as well as our unified efforts. Even now, I can feel the crystal warming beneath my fingers, capturing this realization along with the swirling mix of pride, rage, and hope that accompanies it.
 
Shifting position brings a grimace, fresh wounds protesting. The price of intervention weighs heavy, yet watching awareness return to those young eyes... his expression softens. Some costs are worth bearing, some battles worth fighting, regardless of realm or origin. The prophecies that brought me here speak of greater challenges ahead, but perhaps they're also teaching me about the kind of defender I need to become.
 
Looking at my companions now, tending to the children and securing our path forward, I understand something vital about this exile. It's not just about waiting for future threats or seeking redemption. It's about learning to bridge worlds in ways I never expected, finding strength in connections I never thought to make.
 
Rising slowly, his hand falls to the battleaxe's hilt. The day's work isn't finished. These children need to reach safety, and every shadow could hide new threats. Yet for the first time since crossing the veil into Nehwon, I feel centered in my purpose. Let Freyja and Titania witness - their exiled servant has found worthy battles to fight.
 
Lysi'ander's thoughts drift to the tense encounter at the fountain...
 
The sight of Matteu standing there, waterskins in hand, stirred a coldness within me that rivaled my winter aspect. There he stood, casual and unperturbed, as though his midnight disappearance meant nothing. In the Feywild, such betrayal of companions would demand immediate consequence - yet here was this mortal, filling his waterskins as if abandonment held no more weight than a missed meal.
 
Cathllynn's reaction taught me something vital about mortal responses to betrayal. Her quiet smirk, laden with disappointment and resignation, carried more impact than any grand confrontation. Our collective choice to move past him - denying him even the dignity of an explanation - spoke to a different kind of justice. No elaborate ritual of shame, just the heavy silence of unified disapproval.
 
The audacity of his behavior that followed... falling into step beside Dorian, attempting casual conversation as if the night's desertion never occurred. Even after months in this realm, such mortal capacity for compartmentalization continues to baffle me. Yet perhaps there's something to learn here about how they navigate the aftermath of their choices, how they carry on despite broken trust.
 
Finding the mushroom chamber provided unexpected respite from these dark contemplations. Lilly's enthusiasm proved infectious - her methodical excitement as she discovered each new species reminded me of simpler times, when discovery itself was enough to warrant joy. Nine new varieties... even in our haste, her dedication to knowledge remained steadfast. While our exit was urgent, her quick thinking in gathering samples displayed an admirable presence of mind.
 
The Hydra's attack brought all philosophical musings to an abrupt halt. Three rounds - that's all it took to dispatch a legendary beast. Our group's growing cohesion showed itself in that fight, each member moving in perfect complement to the others. Yet what followed proved even more remarkable. Lilly and Dorian's swift work with the remains, especially the heart... watching the children respond to its power, seeing strength and awareness return to their eyes - such moments make exile feel less like punishment and more like purpose.
 
The Black Pudding's assault served as a sharp reminder against complacency. Watching Dorian's armor dissolve, seeing him nearly topple forward into that caustic mass... we came too close to disaster. The threats in Nehwon feel more immediate than those of my homeland - less time for elaborate defenses, more need for quick reflexes and decisive action. Even now, I can recall the acrid smell of dissolving leather, the collective intake of breath as Dorian regained his balance.
 
Each challenge we face together weaves something stronger between us - not just trust or capability, but a deeper understanding of how different approaches can complement each other. Perhaps that's the true lesson here: strength lies not in perfect similarity but in how diverse abilities and perspectives come together in moments of need.
 
Lysi'ander contemplates the month spent in Lankhmar, his fingers absently tracing the hydra fang bracelet now adorning his wrist...
 
Cathllynn's apartment should have offered peaceful refuge, yet the dead plants spoke of wrongness - nature doesn't simply wither without cause. Her sister's absence, marked by these lifeless stems, carried an ominous weight. Strange how quickly I've learned to read the subtle signs of this realm, though the meaning behind them often remains unclear.
 
This past month brought unexpected moments of growth. The hydra fang bracelet, a reminder of our shared victory, warms what others perceive as my winter-chilled heart. His fingers linger on the smooth surface of the fangs. Such simple gifts mean more in exile than any ornate treasures of my homeland. During quiet evenings, I found myself gathering interesting stones that caught my eye, imbuing them with minor enchantments of continual flame. Sharing these with my companions felt... right. Not the grand magics of my past, but practical lights in the darkness we face together.
 
Only Benneth arrived of our missing companions, and his dedication to his new studio speaks to how quickly paths can diverge in this realm. His promise to reach out if he changed his mind carried that peculiar mortal finality - they accept change so readily, these brief-lived beings. Yet I find myself understanding such choices better now.
 
The question of children left behind haunts our discussions. During quiet evenings, conversations inevitably turn to what remains undiscovered in those depths. And then there's the matter of the dragon hatchlings... his expression grows distant. Four young dragons - truth or rumor, such claims demand investigation. The prophecies echo in my thoughts, making even whispers of dragons significant.
 
Dorian's month-long search for magical items revealed much about Nehwon's nature. Such artifacts are rare here, unlike the enchantment-rich realm of my birth. When he shared the rumor of The Portal, built upon an ancient wizard's tower, I recognized the glimmer of possibility - that same instinct that first drew me to investigate the missing children.
 
The decision to explore the tavern's depths wasn't made lightly. Yet what choice remained? To return to the temple's dangers without better equipment would be foolish. Sometimes the path forward requires a strategic detour, a lesson learned through bitter experience.
 
These quiet weeks have changed us all in subtle ways. The small magics I share now feel more meaningful than grand spells ever did. Perhaps that's another lesson of exile - true power often lies in the smallest gestures, the simplest connections forged between companions who trust each other with their lives.
 
In the depths beneath The Portal tavern, Lysi'ander's decades of fey instinct scream warnings about their newest encounter...
 
The descent through darkness felt meaningful - nearly two hundred feet separating us from the world above. Each foot deeper brought new sensations, ancient magics layered with something that sets my nerves alight. These depths hold power, true power, remnants of the Mad Mage's presence lingering in the very stones.
 
The shield room bore testament to genuine history, generations of stories slowly crumbling to dust. The elvish warning written in blood carried the weight of truth - a desperate message left by one who encountered something terrifying beyond the pillar forest. Such warnings don't spring from imagination; they're born of genuine fear.
 
Yet when Uktarl and his supposed vampires surrounded us, every instinct honed by decades among the fey screamed of falsehood. A cold smile plays across his features. Eight figures in dark cloth, moving with studied grace - but lacking the essential nature of true undead. In my years, I've encountered genuine creatures of darkness. They carry an aura of ancient hunger, a predatory essence that can't be mimicked by mere costume and choreography. These beings moved like actors who had carefully rehearsed their roles.
 
Their negotiation for safe passage proved the most revealing element. His winter-touched features sharpen with contempt. Vampires are creatures of pride and power, not merchants haggling over coin.
 
The very concept of them charging a toll in their own territory rings false. True undead lords would either attack outright or demand something far more valuable than mere gold - blood, services, or magical artifacts perhaps.
 
His thoughts turn to the Mad Mage's presence. The power in these ruins feels genuine enough - ancient magics pulse through these halls with undeniable force. But these "vampires"... his expression darkens. Someone is using the very real dangers of this place as cover for their own performance. Perhaps they serve some purpose in guarding these ruins, but their nature is most certainly not what they claim.
 
The true threat lies deeper, beyond their theatrical display. The Mad Mage's legacy feels tangible in these stones, a warning all its own. These pretenders merely use that genuine danger to bolster their own deception.
 
Lysi'ander contemplates their discoveries beyond the encounter with the false undead...
 
The private chambers we discovered tell a different story than the theatrical display above. That mountain fresco, with its intricate dwarvish figures and radiating sunlight, stands as a masterwork requiring regular care. The stone tub - his fingers trace the edge of his sleeve - shows signs of current use. These rooms speak of living inhabitants, not the undead they pretend to be.
 
His expression grows calculating. The question becomes not whether they are vampires - that deception is clear enough - but why maintain such an elaborate ruse? These ruins hold genuine power; the Mad Mage's presence lingers in every stone. What purpose does this group serve, demanding coin to allow passage deeper into truly dangerous territory?
 
The cool air rising from below carries hints of deeper mysteries. Whatever we've encountered thus far feels like mere prelude. These false vampires guard something beyond their staged encounters and practiced menace. The comfortable furnishings suggest a permanent operation rather than simple opportunistic deception.
 
His thoughts sharpen with newfound purpose. In the courts, such elaborate deceptions always served larger schemes. These "vampires" may be false, but their presence here is deliberate. Someone wants to control access to these depths without drawing attention to their true purpose. The Mad Mage's legacy provides convenient cover - who would question vampires lurking in ancient, cursed ruins?
 
Whatever lies deeper, past this crafted first layer of defense, must be significant enough to warrant such sustained deception. And that, perhaps, is what we truly came here to discover.