Out of Character:
...I've been dying to do this since 2007. Expect a holocaust or nine by the time I'm done. I may or may not put the kibosh on Savas Tigh's little Corone adventures for this.

Sufficed to say: Solo. Hopefully I can get it done over the course of weekends. WE. WILL. SEE.

Quote Originally Posted by Blueraven's Grimoire
Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and burn a trail.
- Attributed to the the Wizard Greywind, best known for glassing a flat path through mountains between Salvar and Alerar.

I try not to think in quotes like that, but every now and then...

Well, I suppose it's as good a point as any to explain my current circumstances.

Until a few days ago, I was rambling around from ship to ship, doing my best to avoid an existential crisis about the fate of the world, trying not to jump the first boat to Beinost, frantically resisting the urge to look up guides to interracial courtship etiquette*, and contemplating whether or not I should be buying my daughter** some gifts from abroad. I was basically on vacation. I've never actually been on vacation, but that was it. I'm pretty sure that was it.

A few days ago, as I was asleep, my ship was attacked by pirates. At first I assumed they were Coronian. Perfectly reasonable assumption; the boat's in between Corone and Raiaera, and last I checked there weren't too many elven vessels flying the old skulls-and-bones. Well, turns out I was wrong.

Orcs came aboard the ship in the middle of the night and slit most of the crew's throats.

Hilarity did thusly ensue.

I am, at the moment, sitting inside of an orc cage on a skyship en route for the fabled realm of Kebiras, which I totally have not visited before -- truly. On the bright side, accomodations aren't too shabby compared to my last orc cage. I actually have some companions to chew the fat with, I'm getting about two meals a day, and there's a nice hole in the floor for waste. I'm assuming it goes down a pipe and falls into the ocean, where it then impacts some silly mermaid twat surfacing for her first view of the surface world. I am also fully armed, clothed, and equipped -- this is also good, also new, also convenient. I managed an artful surrender along with the remaining crew, who seem to be under the delusion that I could've taken all the orcs out in one go without destroying the boat we were on or critically damaging the skyship.

They'll forgive me at some point. Or they won't. Kind of moot now.

I get the sense that I'm about to embark on something big -- thus the quote. Bigger than Kebiras, bigger than anything. Call it a dreadful hunch. Or perhaps a prophecy, since I'm arguably entitled to make those now. And I'll just leave it vague so I can come back to it later.

Now, about the orcs? Well, as I've previously written, the orc species is...insanely diverse. There are big orcs, little orcs, civil orcs, barbaric orcs, giant orcs, mobster orcs, hunch-backed psycho orks, whorcs that are what you think they are, tribal orcs, and urbane orcs. And also erks/elks/erfs/whatevers. They come in more shapes and sizes than humanity or elves or dwarves combined. The myriad subgroups are broadly called tropes; a catch-all word that describes tribal, ethnic, physical, national, and even religious differences. Useful things, tropes. Might have to adapt the word for broader use when I get back to Althanas proper.

The orcs that've abducted me are a different variety from the ones I dealt with last time. They're roughly man-sized, with similar levels of physical aptitude, cunning, and intelligence. I dare say they're basically humans with a palette swap. The males are uniformly bald, except for a handful that have big, serviceable patches of hair on either their scalps or where a beard should be; it doesn't grow long, but it does grow thick. Their faces...aren't human, but I've seen way worse. They have inhumanly strong noses juxtaposed on otherwise flat faces. They grow small tusks compared to their nastier cousins, but most like to decorate the things. They all wear uniform colors even if not uniform styles, presumably to match the ship (which I'll get to momentarily). They all carry either large, heavy knives or cutlasses. The women look much more human, with strong noses and short little tusks, but otherwise human features. Most of them are built like brick shithouses. The ones who aren't are...worth a second look. And a third. And a fourth. And a few hopeless lewd propositions here and there. They basically grow the same hair as a human woman would. Both genders are varying shades of green or brown with pointed ears.

And having seen some of them nude, I'm amused to say that Humanity Is Superior, thankyouverymuch. At least the men are. Pardon my smug sense of self-satisfaction.

Pardon it.

Odds are I've gone insane at this point, considering how I'm talking to this bloody journal...

Aside from that, their ship is...worryingly advanced. I've previously made note of orcish industrial potential, but this thing seems better than the ones I saw last time around. I didn't get a comprehensive look, mind you, but it both looks sleeker and feels faster. I can detect some powerful magicks -- very systematic enchantments and such -- helping to hold this brick together and keep it aloft. It looked like some kind of freakish naval cutter on spatsy. The engines were external, with shielded turbines and flaming exhausts. The cannons mostly aimed forward but I saw platforms for gunners all along the sides and several more guns that could point straight down if need-be. More worrisome is the fact that the orcs have better guns than bloody Alerar.

Don't get me wrong. I do not trust Alerians with firearms, but I trust orcs even less. I didn't actually get to see them in action, but I know a lethal weapon when I see it.

Hopefully my little jaunt through the Other Half of the World does not boil down to "Cripple Kebiran industry and destroy a continent." Because that's pretty much the immediate way to top what happened in Scara Brae. Striking mess that was...

* I'm seriously considering a relationship with Neesal Danfras, an elven Wizard currently running the show in Beinost.
** Incidentally, I adopted her daughter, Iera. I am oddly fond of that little waste factory/sobbing trainwreck of a wretch. She has teddy Wizard privileges.
"This is all your fault," spat Pontius Grakken, former quartermaster of the Starry-Eyed Maiden and one of just eight survivors out of a crew of thirty-seven. He was a bitter little man with little to do but fix on Caden and blame him for everything. "You coulda done something."

"And gotten us all killed," Caden noted. "I'd rather wait a little while. Try not to worry so much."

"Strike you dead," Pontius snapped. "Bloody Wizard."

Caden rolled his eyes and closed his book. He stuffed it back up into his Hat and leaned back on his cell. At this point, the bars felt like windows and the world's troubles were miles and miles below. Nothing to do now but wait for the inevitable chaos, madness, bowel-quaking terror, so on and so forth. As a veteran of such affairs, the Wizard Blueraven adopted a nonchalant attitude about the whole thing. The terror would come, yes. And he would likely murder a lot of people, almost guaranteed. Somewhere along the line, he'd suffer from that existential crisis he'd been putting off. One way or another, the world would be saved.

All that remained now was to sit and wait.

"Wonder what the slave market's like this time of year..."