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When I was a teenager, I spent a year designing and building a fountain in the market square of Dunder's Hollow. It was the first upgrade we'd made from the old well dug when the town was first settled, and it still helps bring the community rogether today. I've spent my whole life loving to create, but now I've been made a destroyer, little better than the creature's we've spent years slaying.
I'm getting ahead of myself. I must reorganize my thoughts.
My name is Chikala Norian and I was the daughter of Cora and Burlin Narion, a promising mason, and a part-time volunteer with the town guard. But now... I woke up on a basalt slab, which was my first clue something was wrong: The cavern itself was granite. More slabs surrounded a dying firepit, with three other forms lying on them. I didn't recognize any of them, and the burly ogre-kin had me reaching for my bow, but once the half-elf opened his delicate mouth and let fly a torrent pfrofanity, I immediatly recognized Ulfric despite the new body. Shortly, we'd sorted out that the well-dressed, ashen-skinned fellow was in fact Dorje, our exotic wanderer, and the terrifying ogre-kin was Vexatia, sans her refined Chelaxian features and delicate curves.
That's when I discovered the rudest surprise of the night: Not only was I stock naked, but my own vuluptuous curves were replaced with some sort of angular, ophidian abomination! Dorje was gentlemanly enough to lend me the unfamiliar dublet he was wearing, but I estimate my frame to be a full 11 inches taller than before. Still, it was comforting.
We all seem to be bearing signs of wounds as well. My own chest features a recent scar just above the heart, while Vexatia complains of muscle spasms and cramps, Ulfrich had suffered an obviously severe blow to the head, and Dorje observes a pounding headache and difficulty focusing. Otherwise we seem healthy, with no obvious signs of illness or swelling. I seem to be infested with parasites, and Vexatia's new form bears signs of old abuse.
Among the remains of the firepit, we did find a flier apparently folded to transport a blue powder. It mentioned a gambling tournament in Riddleport, but the date was obviously misprinted, as 4709 is a decade away.
We spent some time exploring the cave complex, obviously a natural sea cave expanded by human hands, but decided to turn back when we encountered unwelcoming spectres. It seems none of us are as combat capable as we should be: Ulfric should have been able to seize control of the Shadow's mind with ease, and Vexatia's arcane output seemed less than 20% as effective as it should be. My own hands shook like they haven't since I was a teenager.
Outside, in the cold and rain, I made the unpleasant discovery that my new body seems to be exothermic; I became letharic until we managed to get a small fire started with the driftwood. Over time, we made our way up and out of the fjord and Ulfric finally recognized the terrain, close enough to Riddleport to make it with several hours' hike. The journey was made far easier when we stumbled across undead smugglers (a 'skeleton crew', by Vexatia's reckoning) and made a swift exit with their keelboat. They screamed profanities from shore, but on a healthier day we would've done worse than steal a leaky rowboat.
We arrived in Riddleport around third bell, and found a squat in the Rotgut district to sleep for the evening. It's structural integrity was questionable at best. We'd found a handful of coins while diggint hrough the caves, perhaps even enough for a decent inn room, but both Vexatia and I thought a pair of monsterous creatures stomping into a tavern in the dead of night would invite every other adventurer for an unwanted conflict. I had difficulty sleeping, and did what I could to fashion the a spare cloak and Dorje's dublet into a passable dress. Small comforts and all.
We rose around noon, still sore and suffering from our shadow encounter, and made our way to the temple of Methys. If anyone could reverse whatever magical effect had transformed us, it would be the acolytes of pure magic.
The first site I took note of in the light of day was the lighthouse. Father had helped with the early design work a few years ago, but already it was nearly complete. I knew from supervising the quarry, Dunder's Hollow's contracts were engaged for a fifteen year period. A quick check with a local vendor opened our eyes and made our situation that much more complicated: To our surpirse, it wasn't 4699. Instead, it was a decade later: 4709. We'd somehow lost ten full years!
Ferry fees hurt more than a little, and arriving at the temple, we were politely informed by acolyte Minos that they would be happy to help, but would require a consulting fee up front. A fee well beyond our current capabilities (our savings, along with my investment ledger, was nowhere to be seen).
While leaving, a junior acolyte by the name of Eggel engaged us to track down a missing friend, Lucious. He seemed concerned about Lucious' previous odd behavior. The boys' plight sounded eerily similar to ours, and I found myself concerned Lucious, even if my more mercenary companions were only in it for the fee. Investigating his home turned up a few names, including one Captain Scarbelly, a noteworthy orcish privateer.
Stopping by Scarbelly's ship hasn't yet revealed any information about Lucious, but it did reveal a fascinating tidbit regarding our own situation! The crew apparently recognized Vexatia's new body, and referred to her as "Urholda." From what I gather, she was something of a heartbreaker onboard the ship a year or so back, before being sold by the captain in Magnimar. Among other things, this indicates that our new forms were not created wholeclothe, but rather were pre-existing individuals. This speaks poorly for the miserable sentients whom we've replaced, and even worse for our original bodies, wherever they may be.
In the meantime, exploring this new body is extraordinary. I seem to be some sort of reptoid, likely a lizardfolk. The noteworthy lack of webbing indicates I am not one of the local tribes from the Mushfens to the south. The coloration, consisting mostly of blacks and earthtones, seems more suitable to a dry environment. Accidentally biting my lip or the boatride over resulted in a severe numbness; possibly suggesting a natural toxin in my saliva. And finally, in the last fourteen hours I have consumed a boiled crab, a head of winter cabbage, two apples, and a wind beetle, and thus far everything tastes of chicken.
I must stop this journal for now. Still getting used to holding this charcoal with clawed fingers. Abadar willing, soon I may be able to afford a pen.
Thanks for posting! This sounds like great fun. :) I'm quite looking forward to the next installment.