The Private Musings of Gudmund Stonebook.
(note the page would be doodled with Calligraphy)
22nd White Stag
Why can the mind not work as a well lubricated wagon wheel? I feel terrible, and yet, exhilarated about this wonderful town I have been sent to study, burning! Yes burning! Well more to the point the fact that an Aevakar by the name of Magpie flew me through the air over the burning town.
Let me explain myself. Sitting with my friend Firebeard eating more of his wonderful food, a stranger walks in pushing a barrel and proclaims it to be Firebeard Ale? There is no way this would be delivered as it is a wonderful home brew. All present jump to this problem catching the man and examining the barrel. Only to find it was a trap set to explode on a timer. This gallant Winged one takes it upon himself to fly it into the air as it is set to damage this wonderful place of food and drink. After an amazing feat of flying, the trap is turned into little more than fireworks. At the same time, a few other diners are trying to gather information from the delivery boy who does not seem to have the spirit needed to withstand the groups terror inducing presence. The “Captain” Of the Rangers , well Master Sargent with captain leanings, is yelling orders and sending messages to Ranger head quarters to rally and ready for an attack.
Not being one for interrogation nor exactly sure what my role with the rangers is. I was made a ranger but a night ago, at least that is what I took the drunken yelling and pelting me with a cloak like the one they wear as. So I set out to see if there was evidence of other trapped barrels or folks acting out of character. That was when I noted smoke above the roof tops turning from the gray of a new fire to the black of a fire catching hold. So I shout to the Winged ones to check it and to my utter amazement and shock, I was bodily plucked from the ground, and at a pace I have not even seen a cart make, I was whisked to the sight of this new fire. This act had I been asked I would have refused as very unsafe. Yet having no say has brought to me the most indescribable experience.
The rest of the day is a blur spaced with snips of vivid spots. Most of these spots are seen from the air above the town. Yet a few are painted white. Due in part to seeing that the new preservative, white wash, that was used on most of the town was a plant of extremely flammable magic. At first it seemed that the center of town, the council building and leaders manor, was the target. After many widely spread fires to draw the sorely pressed defenders of the town to the far reaches of the town the center starts afire with the mightiest blaze yet.
Alas this to was a ruse. It was in the end the inn, the vary one that we had been eating at a few busy hours before, that was the main gathering of the enemy. This fact was stumbled upon and all rushed, another flying jot, to save this beloved building. It was asked that we cover all the entrances. So our flying friends went to the top of the building, the main fighting party to the front doors and I to the rear. It does seem that all these tall folks are all ways flitting here and there. This is an advantage in the art of war it seems. By the time my shorter legs got me threw the rear doors into the cooking areas the fight was mostly over it seemed. I toppled a large barrel of wash water to the floor to spread water in a large arch, and worked to put the fire out as the troop of intruders was dealt with.
Yet threw this highly eventful day all that truly stands out is flying. The town in flames, my body exhausted and yet flying is what I dreamed of all night laying in a near doze. No less than three revisions of a flying harness have I drawn. (Follows a colored stylized drawing of armor harness with loops and buckles.) I am not sure the Winged ones would wish such a devise but it would allow me to be carried spreading my weight all around their thin bodies. I am trying to work on an idea that came to me during the battle for a cistern and raised water barrel with carved troughs. This spread through the city would allow for swifter firefighting but, also close sources of water for everyday use. The idea is like diverting a creek to water a garden. Yet even this work draws me back like a magnet to the idea of flying over the town to see the worst of the damage and the best roves for my new idea of watering a town. I wonder if the size of the woman Aevakar means she could carry me better. I must lay down my pen to go ask, and start the repairs of this town I have come to study. I just wish the destruction of the architecture would take from my mind this spiraling trap of flight.