517 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
Current Version:
“Follow, follow, follow,” says the Pooka, from his perch atop Val’s head. This, to the Simian, seems entirely backward. Horses aren’t meant to get free rides. It also feels wrong to be following a river on foot, backward to its source, as tributaries peel off and the wide flow of the Logorrhean becomes a trickle of headwater.
“Sir,” says Val, who was raised to be polite to everyone regardless of circumstance, “are you even sure this is the correct branch of the river? Perhaps the magical spring you seek likes in a different direction.”
The Pooka jumps from the Simian’s head onto his shoulder. “During my captivity, I’ve learned a thing or two from the Elves.”
“They’ve rubbed off on you, sir?”
The Pooka shudders. “Given the bits of Elf that’ve been against my saddle, I’d sure hope not. No, what I meant is that, no matter what else you might say about those pointy-eared hedonists, they have tracking skills. Once they lock onto an objective, they can follow it to the ends of the Earth.”
“Which one?” asks Val. “The Apes subscribe to the theory that Earth has many possible ends.”
“The North End,” says the Pooka. “Magnetic North. Elves have compass needles in their blood, you know. My Cousin Frankleneck told me that his rider once got drunk, fell off, and bashed his fool head open—and the compass needles started gushing out all over.”
“That seems hard to believe,” says Val.
“That there’s an Elf who only got drunk once?” the Pooka asks. “That’s what I said too.”
“The river’s branched again,” Val notes. “Assuming even this is still the Logorrhean, which branch will lead back to your magical spring?”
The Pooka raises a tiny hoof to shade his tiny eyes as he peers out at the flowing water. “There!”
Val looks. Something is glimmering and glinting in the water like a bit of reflected sunlight. Like a bit of reflected sunlight on a cloudy day. The Simian rushes toward the riverbank on swift feet and knuckles.
“It’s a bit of a glowing thing,” Val observes. “A strange shape, like a letter of the alphabet, but not any alphabet I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s a glyph,” the Pooka agrees. “It came from that stream over there. Not long now, my humble steed. Giddy-up!” He pulls on the Simian’s shoulder fur like a set of reins.
Val winces. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the free ride, sir.”
Web3 Draft:
- Listed on OpenSea
- Listed on Rarible
Revision Notes:
To be added.
