Exploring the Most Inhospitable Peer of the Remn
Greetings, weary travelers! Your vagabond correspondent is back reporting on what just might be a cure for your wanderlust. I'm talking Faerelm Isle, the most secretive and inhospitable Peer of the Remn. You've all heard of its magic and corresponding danger. I am happy to report I saw no sign of its storied cannibalism, though some meals made me wonder if such a cuisine might not have been preferable. I jest. I jest.
The first issue with the Isle is getting there. Few ships make the short journey from the mainland. You can convince the captain of the rickety ferry south of Chal'ker to make the trip. You'd think a captain of a ferry would be happy for a paying customer, alas no. The captain, a man with a face etched by the sea's harsh caress, barely grunted a greeting on approach, busy casting into the turquoise sea. Gold proved adequate motivation for the old dodger and we set out. The ship was large, but ancient. I don't believe it had been seaworthy in years. With every wave, its hull creaked a lament.
As we neared Faerelm Isle, a sense of dread gnawed my gut. The island resembles a graveyard of forgotten ambitions. Crumbling towers claw at the sky, marred by cracks and decay. A rusted metal serpent, large enough to hold a legion, snaked on a path high above head through overgrown foliage. Nothing magical in this place, or so I thought.
The inn was a ramshackle structure that vaguely resembled the skeletal maw of a monstrous beast. Peeling paint and a cobweb-laden sign that declared 'Captain's Rest' in flaking black letters did little to inspire confidence.
Water covered the lobby flooring to a depth of three feet. Guest rooms were raised and remained dry, if not cozy. Mildred, the proprietor, was a woman carved from granite, her eyes as cold and unforgiving as the sea. After a curt exchange left my coin purse considerably lighter, I was ushered to my "quarters."
Now, I've braved blizzards and battled therians, but this room was an insult to even the most basic standards of hospitality. Imagine a damp dungeon cell, reeking of mildew. A single, flickering torch cast long, ominous shadows on the moisture-stained walls. The "bed" was a lumpy cot with a straw mattress that promised nothing but backaches and nightmares. The only "amenity" was a giant chipped mug adorned with a skull, its contents a mystery best left unexplored. To be fair, fair reader, I but assumed it was a mug. Perhaps, on consideration, it was a chamber pot.
Sleep was a distant dream. The howling wind echoing through the derelict structure, the rhythmic groans of the decaying building, and the occasional scurrying sound were hopefully only rats kept me awake. Mildred warned me to stay inside at night to protect me from the man-sized animals that roamed the cobblestone streets.
But I owed you more than that, so I slipped through the flooded waters and left the inn. I do hope you appreciate my efforts and send coin to your intrepid explorer so he can continue to bring you such riveting travel experiences.
I had heard whispers of a hidden marvel on Faerelm Isle, a place called Ancients' Tomorrow. Tales spoke of towering structures that defied gravity, strange contraptions that moved without beasts of burden, and wonders that would leave even the most jaded soul breathless.
For you, my readers, I sought out this mythical place. After hours of navigating overgrown pathways and dodging crumbling masonry, I stumbled upon a sight that made my breath hitch. Before me stood a towering wall, its surface etched with strange glowing symbols. Ivy, thick as a man's arm, snaked its way up the barrier, creating precarious handholds. With a deep breath and a whispered prayer to Taispur, I ascented.
The climb proved treacherous, the ivy offering little purchase. With a last heave, I pulled myself over the top and landed with a thud on the other side.
What greeted me defied description. Gleaming structures of glass and metal pierced the night sky, their surfaces reflecting the soft glow of bioluminescent flora. Strange, self-propelled carriages zipped along smooth, metallic pathways. Creatures unlike any I had ever seen—winged serpents with shimmering scales soared through the air under towering trees with glowing leaves. The air itself crackled with energy, a stark contrast to the stagnant atmosphere of the rest of the Isle.
Awe-struck, I wandered through this deserted, yet fantastical land. I marveled at holographic displays depicting forgotten civilizations and fantastical creatures. I hesitantly climbed aboard a self-propelled carriage, feeling a rush of exhilaration as it whisked me past shimmering waterfalls and gardens filled with flowers.
One particularly impressive structure housed a moving map of the stars. As I traced constellations with my finger, a booming voice narrated their myths and legends, sending shivers down my spine. For a brief, glorious moment, I forgot the horrors of Faerelm Isle and the gruff hospitality of Mildred's inn. Here, in Ancients' Tomorrow, I was a wide-eyed child again, filled with wonder.
But alas, all good things must come to an end. The first blush of dawn painted the sky, and the magical glow of Ancients' Tomorrow began to dim. Knowing I wouldn't have the luxury of another night climb, I reluctantly retraced my steps, the descent proving just as perilous as the ascent.
I cannot explain my apparent solitude in the Ancients' Tomorrow. You likely know better than me of the rumored war on the mainland. Faerelm, itself, may be in rebellion. I can only assume the late hour and presence of war allowed me the rare opportunity to freely explore the heart of Faerelm Isle. I cannot guarantee you the same should you make this hazardous trip.
In any event, I snuck back into my lodgings minutes before Mildred announced breakfast. Another low point. Breakfast comprised a single, rock-hard bread roll and a cup of lukewarm, murky liquid that Mildred insisted was 'captain's grog.' Let's just say I opted for an empty stomach over a second sip of that dubious concoction.
Do not expect to meet fellow travelers on the Isle. The only other 'guests' I saw were a couple of shifty-looking characters who kept eyeing me with a predatory hunger that had nothing to do with breakfast. Needless to say, I kept my interactions brief.
My return from Faerelm Isle was uneventful. The rickety ferry returned as agreed (and to my surprise). The brief journey back to the mainland was filled with a bittersweet silence.
I cannot in good conscious recommend Faerelm Isle to you, my dear readers. The island itself is nothing but a broken monument to forgotten dreams. The Ancients' Tomorrow, on the other hand, is a reminder that even in the darkest corners of the world, a spark of wonder may still exist, though it seems something the citizens of the Isle intend to keep hidden. Or perhaps it was all a dream, a dream induced by the draught I inadvertently took from the skull chamber pot.
"A dream itself is but a shadow." And Faerelm Isle is but a shadow of some ancient former glory. Until next time, I remain your humble servant.
T. Simpansia
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