It hit me sometime while we were in Quixote, after the Overlook council had sent word (and Vernon) to direct our little band to the gnomish village, and after we had arrived and met with the Faceless Lords, and after they had told us of the caravan that had been attacked in LaMancha, tiny Quixote’s trading partner to the north. I think it was while Vernon and Lodbrok were questioning Orzar, the only member of the caravan who escaped, and who seemed quite mad but was quite helpful, what with warning us of the Scaled Mother, who would, he assured us, “devour us all”.
I may spend too much time in odd circumstances that I count the rantings of an imprisoned man about mysterious soul-eating deities as a good sign for his mental faculties.
But it was during this encounter with Orzar that I leaned over and shared some insight or another with D’cafnaet’d, and it hit me that I’d done exactly that a few dozen times since we’d left the Manor. I glanced about at my compatriots and took tally, and realized that, amongst these few, it was the drow whose counsel I sought and most trusted.
As I said, I may spend too much time in interesting circumstances, but in those circumstances one sometimes discovers that long-assumed truths are stripped bare and replaced with a reality at once simpler and more complicated: the world is vast and dangerous, full of things that you will never believe if you do not see them with your own eyes, and if you are lucky enough to find a true friend, do not begrudge them being as surprised about it as you are.