Esselars Tale

Enclosed is a brief the autobiography I have penned so that you may come to know me better, although the odd events of my life may have given me a perspective some of you may find troubling.

I prefer not to dwell on my early years. I was born in the lands east of the Moonsea in a castle in the forest. It was a difficult birth, complicated by confusion when an elderly servant who was hard of hearing was sent for the midwife and returned with the fishwife. In many ways this could be the most pivotal event of my life. In an event that is still painful to contemplate, my entire family perished in a freak accident during the annual salad toss at the village faire when I was still young. To this day I cannot bear to confront lettuce.

I was sent to live with relatives where I was given the education and training of an elven knight (except the part about the gerbil). I did not distinguish myself during this time, although I was known for my fondness for full contact origami. I never felt at home during this time and so, after a time of consideration and a clandestine dalliance with a cousin, I took to the road to seek my destiny and what fortune I might chance upon.

For a time I rode as a mercenary for the Adversarial Relations Department of the Clothiers Guild. I began to study magic, primarily as a way to meet elven lasses but also because I sought any advantage against a crazed human seeking to separate me from some part of my anatomy of which I'd grown fond. During this time tourists from Thay began to proliferate. I deemed it wise to drift west before the rest of the Army of Thay spontaneously decided to annex my living room (and the rest of the country I was living in).

My crossing of the Moonsea is detailed in the Tale of the Swollen Gland, so I will not go into it here except to say that I have since had the tattoo removed.

I came to the Sword Coast and Candlekeep (which was rocked by the scandal of the Oil of Great Devotion and the Chafed Choirboy) and for a time studied the lore of the west. I learned that there were men and elves of great honour and principle there, but that they usually stayed indoors lest they be set upon and beaten by the louts and brigands that infested the land. I resolved to take ship north to NeverWinter.

I found myself in the city of Pallid by mischance. I had boarded a ship without sufficient investigation into either the sea-worthiness of the craft or the qualifications of the captain. Suffice it to say I found myself clinging to a spar in storm-tossed waves vowing to book future travel plans through a reputable travel agent. I made it to shore and avoided the locals who descended on the wreckage and survivors like a wolverines on a crippled cat. I had never seen such a keen interest in recreational autopsy before. The ship had been carrying casks of brandy, so it was only a matter of time until the wreckers were caught up in singing and the spontaneous expulsion of bodily fluids. I was able to recover some weapons and supplies before making my way inland. Unfortunately, I found myself in Pallid.

The city of Pallid was a place so magical that a weeks stay seemed like a year. King Rupio (the Flounder) Mosconi, a pleasant but dim-witted man given to collecting spoons and abusing small animals, allegedly ruled the city. The actual power lay in the hands of his Chancellor, called Toby (although his name was really Jim). The people of Pallid were dull and generally useless, although they could be roused to a simulation of enthusiasm by a good prolonged public execution. The only gods worshipped in Pallid were the evil deity known affectionately as He-Who-Is-Probably-Hiding-Around-The-Corner and Bob, the God of Vague Reassurances.

It took some time to gather the resources to continue my journey as the city existed at a level of poverty and squalor heretofore unseen outside of a university dorm room. In the end I overspent my time in Pallid and came to wish I hadn't.

A group of adventurers dedicated to Good came to Pallid to defeat the evil minions of He-Who-Is-Probably-Hiding-Around-The-Corner. They arrived in gilded splendor that didn't arouse the hoped for emotions in the crowds (in other words the good people of Pallid aspired to taking all their valuables including any gold in their teeth). Commanded by a Paladin of Helm (given the unfortunate name of Evelyn Broomfondel) and featuring several priests given to studying the auguries found in the bottom of an ale mug, it also include a mage who claimed his name was Magicthighs (but that wasn't true).

I knew of none of this as I was dicing with a trio of inbred lumberjacks who didn't have 16 fingers between them. The bargirl, who embodied the olfactory qualities of the harbour water, kept trying to tempt my attentions by exposing skin that featured sores and lesions that can only be found in the really modern urban centres. I was trying to keep my lunch down (a fish stew that sorely tested the limits of my tolerances for human cooking) and losing the battle, so I excused myself and went to the bar (I had already taken all the money on the table as well as some I found loose among the rushes on the floor).

I ordered a mug of wine (so called due to our certainty that the contents of the container had been somewhere near a grape at some point in its genesis) to settle my stomach, in retrospect perhaps not my best idea. While I stood at the bar I was accosted by a man, overlooked by most due to his perfectly normal moaning rune carven axe with which he spent several minutes in deep conversation.

"They're here." He said as he gripped my arm in a huge moist hand.

As I'd been distracted by my efforts to not heave my stomachs contents across the room, I'd been surprised by his approach.

"Zerp?", was my reply if I'm not mistaken.

"Even now the priests of Him gather their powers to strike the unbelievers. The soldiers of the king shall tear them limb from limb."

I found both ideas unlikely. The only powers vested in the priests were the ones they used to extract bribes so that legal judgments were in favour of the payer. The king's soldiers were usually drunk on a concoction made, if one credits the tale, of fermented dogs testicles (a local delicacy).

The fellow cast a glance at his axe and then looked long at me. Then he released his grip on my arm (leaving behind a nasty stain and creases in both the fabric and skin underneath).

"Be ready to strike those who would bring light into our darkness.", he whispered in a voice loud enough to be heard across the room by the foreign sailors abusing the stableboy. He gave me wink and squeezed my knee in an overly familiar manner and then walked to the door. He shared a jest with his axe at the expense of the bargirl (one which discretion forbids my disclosing, except to state my belief that she did not have that capacity) and then disappeared into the crowd outside.

I moved with determination for the other door and, once outside in the alley, discreetly and quietly threw up (as only an elf can). It was about this time I noticed the sounds of a mob and the smell of smoke. Civil unrest is not unusual in Pallid, with the civil watch and lawless mob engaging in a traditional contest of atrocities. The tone of this mob was different somehow, but given my delicate stomach I ignored it and began to walk to my inn.

You who read this cannot imagine my surprise when I found my inn burning merrily and a dozen dead soldiers scattered in the lane. At once I noticed that the burning inn had consumed my belonging and that the dead men had not had their purses taken from their belts (another indication that this riot was not running its normal course). After a quick pause to plunder the dead, I started walking to the harbour to find a boat (this despite any misgivings due to the events of my arrival). I came to a plaza and saw the cause of this day's mischance and mayhem.

The Paladin of Helm, perhaps vexed at being teased about his name, executed a few peasants when his exhortations outside the Temple of He-Who-Is-Probably-Hiding-Around-The-Corner did not produce any reaction. This was no doubt due to temple staff having slipped out the back about the time the Paladin was explaining how he intended to disembowel the High Priest with a ladle. The priests of He-etc. were known for being wise in such matters.

Meanwhile the mage who was not Magicthighs mistook one of the town milkmaids for an orc (a common misapprehension) and conjured a fireball to kill the poor girl. Later, in the official inquiry, it was commented that it would have been better if someone had noticed that the target of this fireball was standing in front of a distillery. The resulting explosion accomplished a level of urban renewal unseen before that day. The explosion also caused the noble Paladin to believe himself under attack from a powerful sorcerer, leading him to call a retreat from the plaza. His men and the priests quickly rode through the packed mob and only killed a few score peasants in their scramble to safety. The mage who was not Magicthighs, meanwhile, had fallen to a group of schoolgirls who beat him to death with the paving stones they'd been planning to throw through a few windows during the riot.

I realized that it would be in my best interest to be almost anywhere else at that moment. I seized an untended horse (well, untended after I knocked the rider off) and galloped away. The civil watch was being chased by a mob of beggars and the last I saw the Paladin of Helm he and his men were fleeing almost lethal verbal abuse from a gang of outraged prostitutes. The city was burning out of control and the fire brigade was only looting what they could carry.

I found the city gates unguarded, the soldiers assigned there having decided to loot the local neighbourhood before the fires arrived (as opposed to their usual method). Without ceremony I fled out and north. It was a long journey north but after several months I arrived at NeverWinter, afoot and with a poor opinion of the taste of horseflesh.

Of NeverWinter I need not speak, as its history is known. It was there I first heard of The Grey Company and thought to join its ranks. Circumstances did not favour this idea, however. I kept to myself and adventured alone. NeverWinter came to an end, as has been documented elsewhere. By that time I had mastered magic. I wrought a spell, having engaged in arcane research after someone casually mentioned to me that the world was going to end.

I knew there was a world where Elves dwelt, respected and at peace with the world. A world where elf or man lived without fear of armed assault or unwarranted litigation. I cast my spell and poured my energies and very life-force into forming a gate to that world. Unfortunately I reached Britannia. What little I have learned about human politics and customs here makes me long for a king like Rupio (the Flounder) of Pallid.

I found that by a great coincidence I had found that same place to which others of my world had escaped and now seek to complete that which I had hoped to do long ago.

(This was written as part of my application to the Grey Company, a guild that I met in NWN and joined in UO).

Copyright 2001 by Cary Martin