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Player's Guide Places People History Beliefs


Into the Frying Pan AND the Fire
This desert is no place for an elf, certainly not one of my stature and tolerances. At first, I thought I'd be fine, but as our first day in this cursed reject of the Plane of Fire wore on, I found myself succumbing to the vagaries of the heat.

It would seem that the human physique is better equipped to handle this oppressive warmth. Jacques and Bastian (Bastian aided a little by some magic I happened to hear him cast) spent the better part of the day rigging a sail and runners for the wagon. Those of us who had fallen ill under the heat's effects worked through the night to hoist the sail, and attach the runners.

All our efforts were almost in vain, for as the sun crested the horizon we were attacked by a dragonling. Luckily it was still quite young or we'd have made a tasty morning morsel for the creature. Upon dispatching it, we were on our way once again. We traveled a short while before finding the coast of an ocean, which I do not know. We traveled north along it for the better part of the day, and as the sun was sinking near the horizon, we saw in the distance a walled city.

I must say I was a bit surprised to find such a large encampment in this baking wasteland, but there it was, and we needed a place to supply ourselves, and to ask around about where we might find the next crystal shard. As we were trundling through the city, we came across a child who was running off with a loaf of bread. Of course we had to stop and deal with the situation; I didn't see why we couldn't just let him go. He was obviously in need of it, the little urchin, and at the very least we could easily have covered the cost of the bread. As it happened, though, the child managed to escape into a room that he probably shouldn't have. Some wretched hedge mage in this city full of sand rats was trying to summon an ifrit, ostensibly to grant him some wishes. His binding circle was substandard, and with the urchin's unwitting help, the beast broke free.

Obviously, he was not happy. If were not plain enough already, he expressed his displeasure (or his pleasure at being let loose in a flammable city, take your pick) by setting the entire neighborhood ablaze, along with several of my companions. How we managed to defeat, I am still unclear on. He had practically grilled over half our party before we had gotten three telling blows against him, but prevail we did. I am now scribbling, trying to fit this all in as we walk, presumably to some administrative building to explain why we were found in the midst of a neighborhood inferno, the dead ifrit, and other things.

Associated Regions: El-Alahd
From the journal of Islan Diemyn

Contributor: Chris Schuettpelz