As far as mind-numbingly homogeneous and belligerently arcanophobic communities go, this Primal town isn't all that bad.

It took me a few painful hours of being kicked, spit upon, and repeatedly doused with holy water before the town guard decided to lock me in a cell overnight. After my traumatic experiences earlier in the evening, that harassment seemed like a refreshing vacation. The dark, damp cell was almost comforting in its solitude and silence.

That's the thing about living in the Cage your entire life – you can go your full span and never hear true, peaceful quiet even once. I found my imprisonment reminded me of the stillness in the rainclouds. If not for the bruised ribs and split skin about my lips and horns I might have slept like a fed newborn.

I did sleep, however. Fitfully, and full of dreamed thunderstorms at every scale and in every variety. The power they held was as thrilling as it was familiar, despite Sigil having eternally and exactly zero weather patterns.

The sun, it seems, rises. The morning was heralded by blazing light streaming through my mere slit of a window, waking me from the unconscious imaginings of turning into a mist and whisking myself out of the cell to fly off into the sky.

I groaned as I stirred; my body was in full protest of the damage done to it. I was mobile, but my joints and muscles were none too pleased about doing their jobs. Blearily, I became aware of a face peering at my supine form through the barred window in the cell door.

“Demon,” came the word in the common tongue. It wasn't an accusation; more like an addressing salutation. “I was not sure if you would survive until morning.”

I chuckled ruefully, and unfurled my makeshift blanket of wings from about my body as I shakily stood. “I've survived? My bones seem to insist otherwise.” I started to reflexively stretch, but instantly winced and reconsidered.

Squinting my eyes to better resolve the features of my captor. He appeared human; definitely rounded ears, rounded eyes, and a featureless forehead. I prompted gently, “… And I'm no demon any more than you are an ape, I would expect.” I held up a trembling hand in retraction, amending “Not that I mean offense to either you nor apes.” I carefully redirected my outstretched hand towards the nearby wall to steady myself.

The human, a male judging from his deep voice and facial hair, snorted and shifted his weight. “I am Corbin Baeloc, constable of this town. What business have you here?”

I smiled and cast my gaze downward in good-natured fatigue. “I've no business here at all, dutiful constable. I seem to have fallen out of a card game into a bar brawl, then out of a bar brawl into a thunderstorm, and then out of a thunderstorm and into a vegetable cart.” I raised my head and peered around. “Then lastly from a vegetable cart into a jail cell.”

Corbin made a muted harrumphing sound, then remained silent beyond the sounds of him shifting his weight further.

“…. So, to that effect,” I mused aloud, “I'm given to wonder where you intend that I fall next.”

The man's throat made various conflicting sounds for a few moments: murmuring, clearing, humming, and finally words.

“Breakfast is next,” he announced, and unlocked the cell door. “You're about to be fed biscuits and eggs. If you give me no trouble, there might be a one-time job waiting for you after. Otherwise I'll be upset about wasting my wife's cooking on a dead man.”

I eased myself into a fully upright posture as best I could. “It sounds as if I'm about to be employed, then,” I promised, and limped out of the cell.

It seemed as though the forest that I had so meteorically crashed through was somehow enchanted, and only those of elven and gnomish lineage can potentially stave off the mind-twisting effects after lengthy exposure. The local officials had need of an errand within those trees, and they had assumed that due to my apparent otherworldly nature I would likewise be immune to the enchantments.

I honestly had no idea what they were talking about, but I also was in no position to disagree with their estimations.

All I knew was that if I didn't agree to their terms, I'd be cast back in the cell to rot and/or to possibly be flayed alive by the local clergy. If I did agree, they made it clear that I might die out in the wilderness anyway; if the trees didn't get me, the cannibalistic elves might.

I consented to the assignment not because I thought it was a strategically sound idea, but moreso because I was interested in gaining the trust of these simple folk so I could potentially strike up future conversations with them that didn't involve epithets and rotten fruit.

Also, I was able to persuade them to return my belongings. My courier's bag remained intact, as did the arcane gems within. I felt as though they were a part of me now, so I was relieved for them to be within my possession again.

Two members of their local nature-god temple were assigned to our small band, reportedly for their expertise in such things. I suspect they were also present to keep me in line. One was a tall, solidly-built half-elf female wearing the adorned armor of holy station. In contrast, the other was a diminutive halfling male wearing simple robes and a significantly less shifty demeanor than the last halfling I had met.

We three were joined on the outskirts of town by a second half-elf female; this one was considerably less armored and had more of an unrefined but serene look to her.

I fully admit that I enjoyed conversing with each of them, as they each seemed quite accepting of my situation and were usually very forthcoming with answers to my questions about this world.

Most enjoyable of all were the barely-audible whispers of the sweet breezes caressing me as we journeyed. It is no hyperbole nor metaphor when I tell you that the very air around me spoke to my mind and body, instructing me on the basics of harnessing the power of the storm that I had come to realize now lay within me.

Perhaps more on that life-changing topic later.

I will spare you, dear reader, the details of what you might consider a less-than-epic mission. Suffice to say that we not only accomplished our goal, but I suffered even more injuries without succumbing to the call of mortality. I don't know exactly what happens to a soul when its body dies on the Material plane, but Shaundakul and I had our inevitable meeting delayed for a time.

I can report this, however: Summoning thunder and lightning from the power welling inside me is beyond fulfilling. Even if I did almost die for a second (third?) time in one day.

Serendipity and curiosity uncovered some sort of buried… something… during our quest. A large beast seemed to have clawed its way out of an inexplicable hole, and we found some sort of house crest that I can only assume the locals will care to know about. There was a sealed scroll case, too, which I professionally intuited was some type of written missive.

We returned triumphantly to the town, reporting our findings and surrendering the items of interest to the officials. Now I await word if I am a free man, or if they have further indentured services for me to attempt.

A warm bath first would be wonderful.

Corbin was more than fair when describing my efforts to his superiors, but apparently a second round of deadly indentured servitude was required before I had earned my freedom. If you'll forgive the pun, dear reader, I was shocked that I had lived this long. Another dangeorus mission might be pushing my luck. Or it might be further self-affirming. Or both, I suppose. Perhaps that is my life's motif now?

The nature-attuned trio returned to their temple, I believe, while Raina and I met with some arcane experts: a cleric of their local god of magic and some other shifty-eyed gnome fellow reminiscent of the ill-fated Grimbletuft. Both men were fascinating; I got the impression that they were pioneers of the subject matter, but both for significantly different reasons. The human was voraciously curious for academic reasons while the gnome seemed more interested in how he could leverage new knowledge for personal gain. I got the sense that the three of us could have compared notes about a million things for a million days.

I'm admittedly still fuzzy on the intent of the mission itself. The fellow explaining the task was very clear, and was nice enough to repeat it twice, but I lacked so much context that I had trouble keeping up with the conversation adequately. In any case, the officials contracted a woman to drive us in a peculiar beast-powered wooden craft through a riverway to another forest outpost. I'm still not clear on what they expected us to find or do when we arrived, but I'll report the outcome here shortly.

At this time, I'll remark upon the population of this world. The majority seems to be human – at least within this community – but a fair number are elven. It would seem, though, that the elf/human hybrids tend to rise to positions of significance more easily here. The two nature-loving sisters (perhaps?) I worked with earlier were hybrids. Raina is a hybrid. The captain of the river vessel is a hybrid. I've yet to understand why, and wonder if within a few generations the lines between the two intermingled peoples will blur so much that hybrids will be the majority.

This forest is certainly a beautiful as it is foreboding. I've no experience with large masses of trees aside from this one, but I imagine if this mind-altering enchantment weren't present then these people would have a much easier time of things. It took us only a few days' journey to the outpost, but each night we were beset upon by natives, interrupting our sleep. The first night a few ambulatory bushes attacked, and the second night the feral elves had some sort of family hunting trip wherein we were the prey. We suffered a few injuries but no losses.

Perhaps that is why the hybrids seem to do better here; they are not as small as elves but still need not as much sleep as the rest of us. Interruptions to their evenings are not as impactful.

I'm glad I have taken to sleeping in trees.

So, allow me to summarize after sorting through the layered confusion of all parties involved. There are many fascinating details, but I'll leave those to the scholarly Tanariel (the aforementioned human cleric) to record for history. This journal is mostly for my own remembrances, and quite honestly I was never one much for details anyway.

What seemed to have happened was that a flying orc scout ship visited this world briefly but was attacked by a green dragon midair, so crashed down into this human outpost. All sides involved saw it as a survival situation, and the feral elves weren't much help either, so there was much unnecessary bloodshed until the ship's captain and three of his crew remained. We met these survivors aboard their shipwreck, now nestled in the destroyed human outpost.

The captain was gravely injured, but well enough to relate these stories to us as well as commission our party to see that his surviving crew be transported to the relative safety of the town. We accepted, and poor Constable Corbin had three new charges to watch after rather than myself. The orcs – or “scro,” they call themselves – seem like genuinely honorable folk, so I imagine he won't have much problem with them. They're certainly much more disciplined than the orc alleyway-muggers I grew up enduring.

It also seems that this world, a mere few hundred centuries prior, was part of some widely-spanning elven empire. The captain's culture seems to be built upon these flying ships, and the elves of this world might once also have had such a culture. However, something happened – a Sundering, I hear – in which these elves have forgotten this history. Per the scoutship's maps, it would seem that there was a major shipyard only a week's journey from Vara. It has some sort of magical defenses, perhaps in layers, protecting it. Another week or two beyond that lies what is supposed to be a bustling elven city on the coast.

So, if I heard all of this correctly, this little kingdom might be unnecessarily backwater and unsophisticated. There might be a bustling, thriving, multiverse-aware society not too far away. I might be able to get back home and make sure that my friends and family are well, especially after that tavern card game gone bad.

My current plan is to make sure my affairs at home are settled, then I should like to see about immersing myself in this culture of flying ships and visiting other worlds. It seems much less unpredictable than relying upon portals for everything. Just point your ship at a destination and go there!

I've no idea how to safely get through weeks of hostile, mind-scrambling, forest to get there. I'm also not keen on confronting whatever auto-magical defenses there are along the way. Perhaps these local sages have some ideas.