Journal of "Rashal, of Oghma"

[Vogar Eol]

Basic Biography:
Rashal was born a Human with Fey Heritage in "The Vast". As an infant he was given to "The Domes of Reason" by his unwed mother, and was raised in service to Oghma within the Temple District of Procampur.

Being of chaotic nature, Rashal did not much appreciate the cloistered lifestyle within the Procampur Temple District. Given an opportunity to travel in service of Oghma, he took it. His many travels brought him through Sembia, The Dalelands, Cormyr, and eventually to Baulder's Gate.

Personality Quirks:
Rashal is slightly chaotic in nature, due to his Fey Heritage background. He follows the Oghma domains of Luck and Chaos, occasion taking chances others deem random or unwise.

He prefers adventure and travel rather than cloistered libraries. For this reason, Rashal hasn't directly aligned himself with Candlekeep... but he has had very friendly relationships with them over the years.

Rashal prefers to stay extremely neatly groomed, almost obsessed with his appearance. Due to his Fey Heritage, he can't grow facial hair, and seems very fair skinned. Fellow adventurers have confused him for Aasimir or a Halfelf, on several occasions... much to his annoyance. He enjoys preening his hair, and applies charcoal eye-liner around his eyes in a very foreign fashion. He has mirrored a portion of the inside of his shield to enable quick touch-ups.

Speaks rather formally in common, unless a flippant mood takes him. He has an accent noticeable as coming from someone who was raised speaking Easting.

BGTSCC Adventures (that I remember):
- Traveled his first year around BG extensively with a male "paladin" of Sune who encouraged his excessive grooming habits, and views on women.

- Has on several occasions had extensive arguments with elves, especially Sun Elves, calling them out for their xenophobic ways toward humans. Is known to make jokes at the expense of elves.

- Fought against a minor invasion of drow into the lower levels of the Cloakwood mines alongside a large group of adventurers.

- Slew a smallish/young (?) green dragon terrorizing the area north of Beregost and feeding on the local goblins and passerby.

- Was extensively stalked by a couple characters devoted to evil gods. Eventually had to request assistance from followers of Oghma out of Candlekeep.

- Traveled extensively to many corners of BGTSCC alongside a Fey Heritaged Gnome Warlock, who always seemed a bit suspicious.

- Had more than one run in with Fey out of Cloakwood. In one notable incident a powerful Fey trapped him inside a glass bottle, completely devoid of air. He narrowly escaped only because of his ability to cast Greater Dispel on himself while Silenced. He returned to normal size, shattering the bottle, just before he suffocated.

- Seemed to befriend a Red Wizard and their bodyguard. Traveled with them on several occasions into the Netherese Ruins, and even into the Hells.

- Fought in several battles against Anm, on the side of Baulder's Gate.

- Recently received a crown from a Spice Merchant / Mage named Sithric out of Marsember, Cormyr. The crown was recovered from the top of Durlag's Tower, when the three remaining adventurers drew lots... which Rashal won.

- Was stalked and ambushed by shadow demons several times due to wearing "The Winner's Crown".

- Utilized the crown to recover a more powerful version from Durlag's Tower treasury for Sithric with the help of adventurers. An angry Shadow Demon was "slain" by Aeb'el, when it blocked the group's return. All were rewarded with a signet ring from Sithric, and a promise of a favor owed.

Journal entries follow:

[Vogar Eol]

Rashal slowly drew holy symbols into the dirt using the point of his mithral longsword. One precise stroke at a time, the shapes became recongizeable to followers and devotees of Oghma. He then knelt carefully before the scrawled runes and prayed a traditional prayer of loyalty and praise to Oghma.

Finished, Rashal removed a small leather bound journal and a specially enchanted pen with a silver handle. The tip seemed to glow slightly, but with only enough light to write by. Curiously, the pen seemed to produce its own ink, even though it was shaped as a normal quill tipped pen.

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Today I have once again found myself in the company of the crazy elven caster.

A two day hence, she was seen doing some dubious ritual in the foothills near Nashkel. The bard in leathers and hides seemed to know here, and his elven companion with two rapiers did as well. They were asking her about some grimore she seemed obsessed with, and also spoke of ruins they had recently explored. If I recall correctly, our companions called her Furiosa or the like. I'm not rightly certain, but I do know her face.

Not that I have ever especially liked elves. Arrogant pricks, most everyone I have met. Quick to judge every race their inferior, and quicker to launch arrows "interlopers invading" their lands. This female even went so far as to claim that in a city she called "Sshamath", or the like, males served the females as slaves. That all us ignorant males should leave her be. I retorted that in Procampur, a woman speaks only when spoke to. She did not much enjoy that remark, as it were.

For a time she continued with our small party, out slaying Hill Giants. Very sloppy of a caster, as those of the Arcane persuasion go. She kept hitting the entire party with giant green clouds of acid, either purposely or accidentally. This did not make her over popular, and when the others remarked upon it... she called them names and more the like.

After a while, we circled back to where she had placed candles and symbols upon the ground. She spoke as if she intended to summon some dark creature that had doomed many other things when last she brought it forth. I was skeptical, but did not at all like what I was seeing. Still, could have been the ravings of the crazy, rather than anything of true harm... yes? It is known that elves are frequently quite mad between their pointy ears.

As chance would have it, a second adventuring group happened upon us. The timing was certainly not great, and I fear they were thinking us cultists or the like... Merely from her activities. On questioning, she started raving. With little other choice, I order her to be quiet, and I enchanted the area of her ritual and herself with Silence before she could reply.

Without her to argue, or even able to hear our remarks... we discussed her with the group. I made it clear I had no idea who she was, or what she was up to. If they wanted to cart her off the the Temple of Helm in Nashkel... they were told they were welcome too. I even suggested that maybe it would be best if she were... how shall I say... "Put Down".

In the end, the whole was a waste of time. My Silence ran out, and she hurled more insults at me about teaching me a lesson. Then she started casting some wards, which I thought nothing of... what with some many other standing about. Magical energies then flew from her at my own wards, intending to Blind me. Fortunately, they did not penetrate. Then, with a proclamation of "When next we meet, Rashal, one of us will die!", she teleported away.

Everyone milled about a while, but the others did not seem to take her seriously, nor her threat to my very person and well-being. I thought that a good time to make my way to Nashkel, as it were.

Today though, she was again traveling with the same Bard and two-rapier Elf. Her clothing was Red instead of Black.... and she pretended not to know my name, though acquainted with it before. Granted, all elves do look alike, but they did name her as Furiosa again and hesitantly introduced us, again.

I did not stick around long. Instead I climbed the mountain itself alone. I tested my blade against Yetis and some giant ice serpents for a while, then ran into them again on my descent.

A large barbarian sort who carries a halberd had joined them now. He spotted me first, and greeted me... wondering why I was traveling alone. I told him him simply, as he had seen the ritual, "That crazy caster is about again". About that time, she showed herself, turning a corner from behind a large rock. "Oh look, there she is now", I stated sarcastically... and continued on my way. She quickly tried to ply me with the offer of some wards, of which I was suspicious. "No thank you, I have my own.", and I continued on to Nashkel, alone.

I did vent a little frustration into a Hill Giant that got into my way on the path to Nashkel. What did I learn? Don't trust elves, and doubly don't trust the female elves. Triply don't trust female elf arcane casters. Story of my life. At least I'm learning.

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The ink seemed to magically dry as quickly as it was written. Rashal closed his journal and carefully stowed it and the pen among his meager belongs. It was then time for one last ritualistic prayer, and he bedded down for the night.

[Vogar Eol]

As darkness began to fall at another lonely campsite, Rashal wrote in his journal.

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Once again I traveled north into the Trollclaws with Zane. The halfling has always been good with a sling, but it seems recently he has been improving greatly.

Slaying trolls in some dark wet cavern complex, we met a swordsmen. His blade oozed and dripped with a greenish magic, and a fur draped about his shoulders. I do not recall if he stated his name, but if so... I do notremember it, as it were. Very skilled with his blade the good man was. Zane remarked that he would not wish to ever get on the mans bad side. I must say that I am certainly inclined to agree with him.

After the man collected what he deemed was enough trollhides, he parted ways with us. Before leaving, he stated he sold valuable rare goods out of Soubar. Not having much coin, I took no real interest on what must certainly be items well beyond my current means. Zane seemed a little currious, as it were.

We were ambushed by a particularly large group of Trolls near the Trollclaw's river ford. I have no idea what the river is named, or even if it has a name. To be certain, we had to retreat to a defensible location in the rumble. Zane behind me slinging stones, and occasionally stepping forward to stab some troll that tried to flank me. Myself, I did the best I could to hold a defensive line with my shield and sword. Eventually we slew most of them, and drove off the remaining few.

After making a hasty retreat into the mountains, we came upon an Ogre cave. Venturing within, we fought a great many Ogres and made off with some valubles to sell in Soubar. In Soubar we again met with the warrior merchant. Zane asked some things of him, but I, myself, took little interest in their dealings

[Vogar Eol]

Today I spent much of my time in a tavern learning elf jokes, for the greater good, as it were. The more memorable ones I set down here for other Oghmites and posterity:

Why do elves have pointy ears? Without them, there'd be no point to elves at all.

How do you get a one armed elf down from a tree? Wave at him.

Why did the elf cross the road? Even the elf himself doesn't know.

What's the difference between an elven maiden and an orc beldam? About fifty years.

What's funnier than a dead elf? A dead elf in a clown suit.

How do you get 50 elves into the same tub together? One crazed dervish. How do you get them back out? On chips.

An Elven Cleric somehow gets separated from his party deep inside a cave. Turning around a dark corner, he bumps into a fairly good sized black dragon. Frightened out of his wits, he drops to his knees and starts praying to his god. Oddly, the dragon does the same. The cleric leaps up, dancing, shouting "I'm saved!" The dragon tilts his head and says, "No, you don't understand...I'm saying 'Grace'."

What do you call an elven male? Pathetic.

How many elves do you need to replace a candle? A good thousand. One to sing the tale of the old, burned-out, candle. One to pretend that it didn't melt and evaporated away, but instead, faded to Arwaxor, the idyllic verdant afterlife of candles. One to remind everyone of the fabled Elven Candles of Old, who were sentient, artistical creatures whose eternal glow was not merely light, but also love, magic, wisdom, and soothing quietness. All the rest to randomly dance and prance meanwhile. Of course, the candle is never actually changed.

A dwarf and two elves walk into a bar. The waitress seats them and asks to take their order. The dwarf growls: "I'll take a big thick fat bleeding rare steak! And an ale!!". The waitress says, "Fine, and what about the vegetables?". The dwarf snarls, "They'll take the steak and ale too, and they'll LIKE IT!!!"

An elf walks into a bar with a parrot on its shoulder. Bartender says, "Hey, where'd you get that thing?". The parrot answers, "Out in the rain forests. There's hundreds of them there."