His Majesty Adler II returned (Patreon)

on December 27th from wherever it was he went for the past few weeks.  He looked tired and unkempt; he said nothing for several days other than repeating the words "cold .. so cold" over and over again.  He wrapped himself in a blanket and clutched a mug of cocoa, staring blankly at the floor.  He finally broke his silence a few hours ago, which is why this episode is late.  He refuses to talk about whatever trauma he experienced during his absence, but has wearily agreed to resume the story of his life which he has been telling us...

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Where did we leave off?  Oh yes, of course.  Rowan the lowfolk marten femme had run off with a bag of elf-gold, Estvan had suggested building a spy network, and Sam wanted to continue my martial arts training.  I suggested that Estvan get started recruiting immediately.

"Not so fast, me boyo," he sneered.  "Sure an' it's lookin at the scry tower ye promised me first."

"Take how long that will?" Sam inquired.  "Finish his training as soon as possible I must."

"Begorrah, an how long will that take?" Estvan sighed.

"Not long enough in your search any difference to make," Sam assured him.  "Ham, all is.  That your family is safe, believe you must."

"All roight, very well," Estvan acquiesced.  "Train the lad, but be quick about it, bedad!"

And so, Adoyret Sam O'Yamm trained me in the Lengra-Cha Gnostermonger style of unarmed combat, while Estvan sipped tea and shouted advice.  When Sam was satisfied that I had learned all I could, he bade me farewell and exhorted me to practice daily.  Then he wandered away through the forest.

"How can we get to Faerie and back without incurring another inconvenient time skip?" I asked Estvan.

"Sure an loike oi said, it helps to Pook there instead o' usin the Gate.  Also - an this requoires some theoretical understandin' o' the temporal mechanics - ye can construct very precise Gramaryes to hold toime steady for ye on either soide .. fer a short whoile.  If ye'll admit me to the tower library, sure an oi'll explain the principles to ye."

"All right, I'll meet you over there, I guess."

"Meet me in the anteroom," he suggested.  "The tower's always been locked to me, so ye'll have to let me in from there."

I did as he suggested, and a few minutes later we were looking at the books in the scrying tower library.

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit?" Estvan read from one of the books.  "What manner o blather is this?"

"A lot of the documents in here say that," I remarked.  "I think it might have been used for scribal practice."

"Preposterous," Estvan snorted.  "Sure an this all belonged to the Definitive Veracity.  They wouldn't have stocked their reference library with dummy books.  It must be a code of some sort.  But what could be the key?  Arragh, it could take a long whoile to puzzle this out.  Can ye just show me how the scry sphere works?"

"Don't touch it," I warned him.  "All you have to do is gaze into it, and -"

I slipped into the scryspace and peeked through the tree-shaped crack to see the circle of stones outside the Gate.

Rowan was standing there, yelling "LORD RAMBO YOU CHEAT!  YOU SCOUNDREL!  YOU ELF!!!  GET YOUR FLUFFY BUTT OUT HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU BASTARD!  SKINFLINT!  FOURFLUSHER!  PARLIAMENTARIAN!  I'M NOT LEAVING TIL YOU FACE ME, COWARD!"

"That marten femme is back," I said, pulling back out of my scryspace.  "And she seems mad about something."

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