II

Our adventure has taken an unhappy turn. Cor, in a clear attempt to effect a display of masculine bravado for one or both of his pretty females, has defied my quiet leadership style and gotten our party divided (in perfect half) by more or less causing an avalanche - although, in reflection, there was hardly any snow on the mountain that I could see prior to his rash chanting from Alchrezar's Ancient Spell-Tome. Some of us are in a mountain cave, the others are hopefully on the surface.

Having split thus, my party is comprised of four: myself; Glimerys; Duleswinter; and Casandra.

Glimerys I have already depicted; for the others, suffice it to say that Casandra is the aforementioned gypsy of legend, who has a terrible singing voice and cannot whistle for the life of her but is rather alarmingly attractive, and Duleswinter is a young, spoiled wuss.

It is often difficult for me to decide if he is our runaway prince or our creature unknown to worlds of men. (He is literally quite unaccustomed to manhood, i.e. sword-wielding, bath-skipping - and baths without perfumed bubbles/floating flower petals for that matter, gin-chugging, damsel-sweeping, etc.)

Glimerys has summoned a fire from a packet of snow-ash Duleswinter had been hoarding - with this I am barely able to transcribe. General anxiety has faded. I shall now attempt to record some conversation.

--

Duleswinter: I think I have a rash. Mer, take a look at this patch. Does it appear to be a rash to you? It must have been something that I ate. Cas, what have we eaten again?

Casandra: We didn't.

Duleswinter: Maybe that is it. All of this meal-skipping. We never skipped meals back home in Thornlaed! We had ten meals a day and crumpets. (unintelligible whimpering sounds)

Glimerys: Mmmm, that's a rash alright. Looks like a severe no-crumpets rash to me.

Duleswinter: (more unintelligible whining sounds)

Casandra: Luc, what are yooou (I am hushing her up with eye signals) supposing the others are doing fine!

Duleswinter: I am sure they are doing better than me!

Glimerys: I would agree. This rash looks positively deadly.

Duleswinter: ...That sounds rather bad.

Glimerys: Tragic. Cas, see if you have any ragwort in your cache; and perhaps a sprig of swallowthistle. Now where's that log? -- Dules, dear, you're going to have to bite on this very hard for me, and perhaps close your eyes, too. Cas, have a look. Does that look to you like duragorn inflammation or poison flaghorn?

Duleswinter: My mum had poison flaghorn! They locked her in the infirmary for weeks and she lost twenty pounds! I do not wish to die! (more wailing)

Casandra: Sign me up for that infirmary.

The girls have moved nearer to the fire/me. Dules is biting on an ashen log and huddled in a corner. I think it is necessary to note that Glimerys is about six years Duleswinter's junior. Glimerys suprises me once again with her near-encyclopaedic knowledge.

Glimerys: It doesn't look like an intravaccial infection. Even though the symptomatic engorgement of the sybulis maximum especially suggests exposure to aggravated charmleaf, it clearly isn't either duragorn or flaghorn. I would diagnose dulis-on-eyre at worst, though I'm partial toward labelling this one a moderate peripheral contusion. What's your take?

Casandra: Yes.

Glimerys: So it's not fatal.

Casandra: Unfortunately.

The light is fading fast. What little we have left must, apparently, be used for Casandra's midnight spell-braiding, which we hope may grant illumination as to the location and state of our companions. But the youths are in good hands; I firmly trust Rax and Callot. Next entry in this leatherbound wandererlog shall describe in greater detail the history of our adventure...

For which all I have to say is, curse you, Alchrezar.