A Note from Wolfram of The Valley

This entry comes in excessively small print.

___ I am Wolfram. Chaos Mage. Wielder of the hobgoblin's flame and master of glen and grove. Or so I was, for a time. I have now trapped myself within my own chaotic weavings. For as the chaos finds you, so too shall the chaos leave. This is my story.

In my times of travel I had become known as Wolfram of 'The' Valley. Though as the road-folk would have it, this was not as much of a "The" in the traditional usage as it was a "The" of the "A" sort. For I had no valley, but would be found in them often. As I find the peaks of mountains to be barren places. Quiet, desolate, and most egregiously orderly. Yet I digress.

I had made a small stint amongst the crashing thrum of Dream Master Falls at this time, and the itch was scratching up and down my spine like a frenzied hawk. Things were too "in place" for me here, and as much as the inkpots and woodfire did for me the room had become all too square. So it was at this time I set off, leaving the door of that dreadful place open for some fastidious badger or the like, down into the great wild and towards The Fey. One can never expect the interworkings of a fey, and it was just what I needed to begin a new jaunt through the realm.

I had made this walk many times, up and down the Dream Master River, and every stone and twig that had made it's way to some new place was a right treat. A cool wind that blew over my thoughts. That is what the chaos brings, that awareness of what is in place, and for a bright mind a constant itch that needs scratching. Even in some of the less tempermental woods I would find myself kicking up rocks and leaves, and on one occasion starting a wildfire that burned across the realm. Though that story is small and my legal consultation large so I will leave that be here and now. Though it did roll through my mind like a fine wine at the time.

At the time of finding myself at Dream Master Lake, amongst those smooth placid waters I nearly could not look. That water had always looked the same and forced my nausea from me at ever occasion. Irritating as it was, it had the best most chaotic waterfall in all the realm. Tit for tat I suppose. I covered my eyes and walked on, eight ditties of eight brass bands playing in my mind.

In the woods around Dream Master Lake I was happy again. The wind bent the trees and grass in most unexpected ways here, which calmed me be before my boring rush through the plains. Road-folk made requests of me as I crossed their path but I paid no mind to them. I had the itch and it was a bad one. I had no time for their trifle rashes and firey urines. I knew which folk would be there that day and what their requests would be and I couldn't bear to hear their blatherings. It was the fey I pursued.

It took no short walk for the beckons and calls of the road-folk to leave my ears. Their constant squeeling of my name had left me with the thought that perhaps it should be changed. It was while I walked and pondered this subject that I stumbled upon a fey, tall and slender and with a jack-o-lantern tottering around on his head. His skin was blue, and his robes long and black.

We sat in the forest and talked for a short while. It was during this conversation and through the fey's inquisitiveness that I became suddenly aware of own body. It changed so slowly it was hardly noticable. So, orderly. That chaotic itch began again, like beetles under the skin. My head and eyes grew hot and I scratched all over. At inquiry from the fey I explained myself.

I did not see it then but I see it now in my mind's eye. That wicked grin within the shadows of the jack-o-lantern. He had made plans for this, he told me the solution was simple, he would transform me. "Yes!" I said, "please!" From his robes he revealed an albino long-nose shrew, something altogether peculiar and unseen. This shrew stood nearly to my waist and was as good a candidate as any to stop the itch. In moments the fey had me transformed.

The me I had known still stood though. Hunched and twittering it ran from the sunlight and squatted by the roots of a tree. I yelled but no words came out, I had not yet taught myself how to speak again. From my past body came the strange half-words of a shrew's mind. I turned to the fey but he had gone, his callous laugh fading in the wind.

I moved my little hands to cast a spell, my voice screeching in a mousy way. The chaos had left me, and with it my magic.

Now I study the ways I may turn myself back, my old self locked as a pet. I think I may be able to train him to use magic, train him to change us, but I have my doubts.

I eye the sacred flame. Shining in the black beads of my shrew eyes.

I wonder... if it could change us back...?

I dash the thought from my mind.

Entered by: 0xdfB1…6604 and preserved on chain (see transaction)