Wastrich Tychris
Foremost Sage of Sea Princes' History
The Entirely Expected Disappearance of Feanimus Cook
by
Natigol Dumman
of Niole Dra
564 CY
So it has finally happened. The imperturbable Feanimus Cook has vanished. I know. I know. It seems I'm ahead of myself especially with this character. It has been only a year, though six months passed his scheduled return, and he has been known to be tardy in the past, about two years from his mysterious trek to Hucanuea, but I guess I just want to be the first to write the fantastic history and untimely end of this redoubtable individual.
Now I've met sages who have claimed to be knowledgeable about the Amedio jungle and for the most part I have not been impressed. One Velunese fellow I met once began to expound at length upon the Olman people and it was all I could do not to shout out, "Oh come now! You've never been farther south than Bissel. Hearsay does not make one an expert." If you are going to be a historian you had better damn well been to the places and spoken to the people who are the subject of your thesis. I am always very careful of my sources and I travel all about attending dinners and evening engagements at places of historic significance speaking to witnesses or relatives to those who were present for events I wish to research. Though it tires me thoroughly, I must perform my work with uncompromised seriousity.
Cook attended his history with similar diligence. For this alone I must tip my hat as the focus of his work was the uncivilized vastness of the dangerous Amedian jungle. Cook did not study the jungle from the comfort of his armchair. He went there tempting his goddess with each trip. I am content to study Keoland where my greatest danger is avoiding stomach cramps from the gnomish cuisine at Blaif Rinnar's table.
I met him once in Gradsul at an exhibition of his Amedian discoveries. One could see that he was uncomfortable in the role of entertainer and host. He was a grackle in a blue jay's plumage. His hair was neatly combed back, but had the unruly habit of freeing itself and drooping into his eyes or poking straight up. He wore a rumpled maroon velvet jacket that seemed strained to the point of popping in the shoulders and arms and he fidgeted, shifted, and tugged at it all through the event. During the meal he would answer questions with his mouth stuffed with food and it would fall out upon his jacket leaving spots and detritus which he failed to attend to with his napkin. He behaved with all of the manners of a Yeoman or Stericher; it's hard to believe he was born and raised in Gradsul.
In his exhibit, he displayed his suit of platemail that he wore to Hucanuea which was covered in filth and pitted with rust (this was a lesson about the harsh nature of the Amedio). He probably would have been more comfortable in his armor than his jacket. When he engaged me in conversation, he squared his shoulders toward me, hands invisible but definitely not pocketed, and his eyes picked through me like a scavenging beach bird hunting with intense, dark, unblinking awareness. When he answered my question (I do not even remember it now), he did so directly and with brevity, ending with the sharpness of a whip cracking. I was taken aback by his conservation of words, but I continued and I noticed that his ears moved ever so slightly to receive the noises throughout the room and occasionally his nostrils flared as they took in a scent. I wouldn't be surprised if he smelled the apple and cheese I had for breakfast riding on my breath. He was like no Keoish man I have ever known.
The impression of most attendees was that his life among savages had eroded his civility. Yet when this was said, it was carefully whispered. The guests feared him, though only I would admit any unnerved sensation in his proximity. Despite our obvious unease, he was cordial for the entire evening though near the end I thought he was about to tear the jacket off and hurl it into the punch bowl like it was on fire. However, at the very last, he gave an impassioned speech for Keoland to press the hateful Sea Princes to end the practice of slavery for the good of Keoland's soul, the Amedio's soul, and the Sea Princes' souls. The practice of slavery rots the perpetrators, the victims, and all those who stand by and let it happen.
Willem of house Rhola asked how Cook, as a priest of Istus, could justify an active role in history and remain faithful. Most were put out by the drastically political turn that arose with the evening's finale, so when Cook was challenged, a babble of consternation filled the dining hall. Cook angrily suggested that we make peace with our gods before we question his relationship with Fate. He finished by saying, "In times to come, you'll need it more." and he left us to show ourselves out. That was my encounter with Feanimus Cook.
I won't pretend to identify with such a ridiculous character. It is beyond everything I can relate to, but fans of Cook's research seem to understand, even appreciate, his intense nature. For the past twenty years he has been trekking through the jungle, being harried by horrible jungle creatures and dangerous savages, coming back to Gradsul for brief respites and to catalogue his finds. His study is packed with artifacts, rubbings, translations, and notes, each item part of a private mystery he would reveal to no one until he had discovered its truth. He had no understudies.
When he began his career, he followed Matreyus' example and on his first mission he entered the jungle with numerous priests, soldiers, and porters cutting a wide swath to the sites. They would proceed to tear the history up searching for it. After his first mission, he reduced his expeditions over the years as he found he could travel faster and pose less of a threat to the Amedian denizens, and as he did so his searches became more lucrative. Initially, he would sell whatever treasure he would find to pay his workers and fund further expeditions. Gradually, he found that the treasures themselves often had more historic significance than writing on the walls, and it became more difficult for him to part with them. Near the end, except for his very last mission, he would hitch a ride on a boat, get dropped off alone on the beach with a single pack and head off into the Amedio. His expeditions were funded by donations and every treasure he found was an artifact to by analyzed, categorized, and sealed away. At his best, he carried no food or shelter, both of which he gleaned from the jungle, and was a master of the jungle gaining respect and notoriety from all but the most vicious of the natives. They called him Yanaho Popolocas, or the Ghostly Outsider. Still it was only a matter of time before his disappearance was final.
Of all of his journeys, there are really only three, not including the one that has vanished him, that mark turning points in his life wherein the experience changed him. Though he had been exploring the Amedio since his early thirties his access to that land would be determined by funds and his failures would often mark him as an unwise investment. It wasn't until he decided that traveling alone was more beneficial that he could cut ties with his patrons and have the freedom to explore the mysteries he thought most intriguing. So his early career as foremost historian of the Amedio is filled with many stops and starts and not until his last seven years was he most lucrative in his research and writing.
Having studied with the best theorists and historians in Keoland, some having known Matreyus himself, he was ready to do what his teachers feared to. All through his education he had questions which could not be answered satisfactorily and before he gave up on formal education he realized why he was so disheartened. None of his instructors had ever been to the jungle. They didn't know for certain what they were talking about. When he confronted them with this theory they said that the Amedio could not be studied like any civilized nation due to the extreme danger and that if Cook chose to attempt field research, he would have the shortest career in history in history. Cook thought there was no point in the study if it wasn't done right. He was going to be the next Matreyus.
He led several short coastal expeditions first, but since the Sea Princes had been plying their slave trade since 530 most of the coastal villagers fled his group when they came. Frustrated, Cook decided to find one of the lost cities deep in the Amedio. He was going to Chetanicatla. The year was 543.
This was the first mission to change Cook. It taught him that his hero Matreyus was a fool. In typical Matreyus fashion he brought a large cumbersome group to the heart of the jungle, its food and water upon its back, in search of history and treasure in the city of Chetanicatla. Aside from a few beasts, Cook's group encountered little opposition and saw none of the Amedian natives. Later, upon reflection, he says that his group was so unnecessarily large that it likely frightened the local peoples and kept them in hiding. Initially he thought this was good (I myself would think so too) because Amedians are brutal savages, but (as he would tell you) if Cook had spoken to the locals, they could have told him exactly what to expect in Chetanicatla.
The whole area is called Land of the Eye Gods by the Amedians and they know not to go there. The Eye Gods apparently were aberrations composed of eyes and mouths that ruled their land by eating everything they encountered. These horrors infested the land in and around the city and were virtually unkillable. Cook's expedition walked right into their midst.
When they reached the city, Cook's soldiers immediately scattered throughout the buildings tearing apart the contents in a search for treasure. Cook was alarmed, but there was nothing he could do. The porters and his diviners and arcanists moved into the city to find an open area to set up camp. It was Cook's nature priest who first suggested their danger when he pointed out the complete lack of foliage in the area and the strangely softened cobblestones in the street. But the sun was going down rapidly and Cook did not know what to do.
Then the screaming began. All around them in the distance of the hollow streets of the ancient city came the screams of terror as the soldiers were individually picked off by the Eye Gods. They screamed for help, for mercy, for their mothers and then they were silent. For three hours they listened as one by one the soldiers died. The porters were instructed to build a large fire, but fuel was low, so the porters began burning the soldiers' supplies to feed the flame. For each scream they heard in the night they threw another bed roll on the fire. The mages searched in their books for any knowledge that might aid them, the priests prayed and chanted, and Feanimus sat upon a large stone holding his head and shaking with abject horror as his men died all around. He was paralyzed with fear. He said later that his mind was racing but he could not reach the finish where he knew was the answer until one of the wizards demanded in a loud voice that as leaderthat, as leader, Cook had to make a decision and not simply wait for death. One of the porters was actually ready to lead a group out of the city in the night bearing torches and the supplies. The group was falling apart.
Cook looked out into the night at the great vacant city of white marble glowing in the full moon's light. It shone brightly like it was a cloudy day. There were no trees to block the moon's gentle glow. By now all of the screams had ceased and the night was completely still with the only sound rising from the crackle of the dwindling fire. Cook inhaled the night, realized what had to be done in that moment and exhaled his fear.
He turned and demanded that the torches that had been lit by the porters be thrown in the fire. They were leaving by the light of the moon and they would find safety when that light was shrouded by the trees again. The mages were to prepare spells and the priests, himself included, were to blanket the group in multiple sanctuary magics. The fire would be left behind to draw their hunters. Each person filled a single pack with food only and they left everything else behind as they hurried off into the moon filled night. About halfway out of the city the group was assaulted with a cacophony of speech all around them like the streets were filled with the chatter of all of the people who once lived in the ancient city. Some of the group ran off into the side streets, some stood staring blankly, some fell to their knees weeping as a powerful madness claimed them, but they did not turn back. Cook ordered that they be left behind. The Eye Gods had taken them. As they reached the edge of the darkness where the jungle canopy again rose, they heard their friends behind in the moonlit night shrieking as their madness was ended.
At the jungle edge Cook knew they were safe for it seemed nothing approached this thin divider between two hells. They passed out exhausted upon the leaf-strewn ground. Cook's mission had failed. His team now included himself and five other men. At that time they hadn't considered their desperate situation, but when they woke, the grim realization dribbled down upon them from the shadowy leafy canopy above.
In Cook's writings he seems to fondly remember this point—when they were captured. Cook's group was set upon and disarmed by a group of Amedian warriors and they were led at spear point to a most populous village. He realized that his original caravan was most likely watched and tracked by these people as they blundered through the jungle. They had, indeed, passed quite close to the village.
The Amedians had a good laugh at the fate of the moon skins in Chetanicatla. The curse and danger of the city was well known and highly respected and the people used its menace as a protective barrier to their north. When Cook learned that he and his group were the only living creatures in the jungle for miles that didn't know that Chetanicatla was off limits, he was ashamed and knew that there was no reason for the mistake. This was one lesson he learned and he wrote: "It's common sense and we all know better. As a guest in someone's home it's advisable and can prevent embarrassment if you just ask them where the shitter is. I've learned since Chetanicatla that if the indigenous peoples are cooperative just ask them where the "shitter" is and they'll tell you exactly where you can get into some bad shit and how to avoid it. You're in their home. I guarantee they know more about it than you." (It's just like Cook to make a point with excreta.) For all future missions, where he could, he would always locate the nearest native peoples and ask them about the area. But this first relationship with the Amedians gave him a new understanding of them in such a powerful way that eventually he began to devote his life to them and their culture. Rather than try to distinguish himself apart from them, he sought to accentuate their similarities. He abandoned his supplies, his methods, and his modes of thought and adopted Amedian survival strategies. He explains that he found even his expectations and desires were dangerous to keep when in the great green. For the next months, Cook set his mind of attaining an Amedian awareness. From that point on his eyes and mind would never stop hunting.
Mind you, reader, that I am an historian telling the story the way Cook tells it. In no way do I endorse this man in his motivations and choices to lower himself in common fraternization with filthy primitives. It was his undoing.
What he did learn of value was that large caravans beating their way through the jungle was not an effective way to explore. The group was uncontrollable and irreverent and their carelessness invited ambush and attack. Never again would Cook lead another caravan into the jungle. Instead he would choose to hire small teams of experts to join him. This became his preferred method until Tamoachan.
It was his first homecoming that marked his change to the academics of Gradsul. Amid the sagely fanfare as he lectured and attended social gatherings, he unnerved the academic public at large as he picked through the world around him with his gaze. As the excitement quieted, he found himself alone, some say his preferred state, and he immediately began making plans for his next trip to the Amedio. At this point all his research and efforts went to one future goal: Tamoachan.
Between Chetanicatla and Tamoachan he made numerous small solo trips to the beaches of the Amedio to familiarize himself with the various peoples, their languages, and their folklore. He became known as a benefactor of Olman peoples by killing slavers, setting fire to their sails, and freeing prisoners. He was the example of a good white man for many years and it could be said that his influence in taming aggressions to all white people allowed Keoland to establish ports in the south such as Port Elizabeth and Seapoint.
Otherwise, Cook was poor as a Perrenlander and he needed to make money. He went on various small missions for Gradsul with small hired bands usually vanquishing orcs or investigating some disturbance in the country. This was his source of income for the time before he met Maestro Benizio de Scuzarro. This was not a happy time for Cook for his research was stagnant and the people he was sent to work with were impossible to get along with (read: found Cook impossible to get along with). But almost to the person, any of these former co-workers I was able to locate in whatever liquor-sodden scumville they inhabit now said that they were impressed with him, despite his disagreeability, and don't think they would have done so well without him. His awareness of the smallest details would tell him his opponent's next attack, so he could dodge and then strike. He could easily spot snares and traps in the path and disable them. He would always know the nearness of a foe. His traveling companions would marvel at his skill, but could little stand his abrupt and cold demeanor. He was not the same man who trembled in Chetanicatla.
During this time he wore no armor and often would demand that his cohorts "take off that noise or go away." It would seem that the sound of a person in chainmail merely scratching their nose would make him most irritable. As time wore on though, he adapted to its presence out of necessity. He wore a large floppy straw hat, a loose fitting hemp shirt, and extra thick hemp pants that tied at the waist and the ankles. He wore woven sandals that he would jettison as soon as danger was near, at which time he would stand silent and still feeling the ground on his feet. One time he told a warrior in his party that he could sense that the man really had to pee and that he should go relieve himself, otherwise in about five minutes he would mess himself. In combat he would use a heavy mace, or a war club if that was more appropriate, but often sought ways to incapacitate first.
Only one time did a foe get the better of him. While standing listening, feeling, smelling, he looked momentarily puzzled just before a large pack of ghouls surrounded the group and attacked. Cook was so surprised he was completely clownish during the ensuing battle. Badly beaten he was taken back to Gradsul for healing. He admitted later his horror at the complete unnaturalness of the creatures. The way they moved, the emanations they exuded were totally chaotic with none of the recognizable patterns of life—with no patterns at all. Their very nearness made him a blind stumbling fool. For this fact, he always hated undead and whenever he hesitated in sensing the environment, he and his companions would prepare for the worst. In future undead encounters he would always cast protections and provide healing to his team—generally giving support from the rear and not engaging a force he could not reckon with.
In 546 he was approached by Maestro Benizio de Scuzarro, foremost authority on the ancient Suel Empire. I've met the man and I must say that he is obsessed with Suel history and is extremely opinionated about it. Even in mixed company that is all he talks about. Being independently wealthy allows him the luxury of such dedication, but despite his being socially squat I must admit I know of nobody who is so knowledgeable of Suel history, before and after the Twin Cataclysms. His extensive research turned his attention to the Amedio region and he needed to join heads with an Amedio expert. Matreyus himself was virtually unapproachable. His inflated ego kept many at bay. Asking around Scuzarro discovered that more people actually respected Cook over Matreyus in being knowledgeable and devoted, but the events in Chetanicatla would haunt him forever. Needless to say, partnership with Scuzarro was incredibly fortuitous for Cook.
Despite remarkable differences in everything from culinary preferences to theosophical and political dispositions, the one belief they shared was that the Suel had a presence during the days of the Ancient Amedian Empire. They didn't even agree on how the Suel got there, but they both stood together in the unpopular belief that the Suel had commerce with the Amedians. Cook made it known his next mission was Tamoachan.
Scuzarro thought the city was merely a symbol for the home of the gods fallen into disgrace. He thought it was pure madness to waste time and money on a myth. But the arrangement they had worked out together was that Scuzarro would pay the money, purchase the supplies and set up the contacts and Cook would go into the field. Cook put his foot down. Tamoachan would be the next stop. Scuzarro relented but was willing to give him one shot only. Cook accepted the conditions.
The team was assembled. Dumai, a young spellcaster, was their arcanist; Jebediah Shackton was their hunter and tracker; Golbad Shantz, a shifty fellow with a slight orcish turn to his nose, was on loan from the Niole Dra Night Masks to scout buildings and locate Amedian traps; and Geoff Nolaan of Gradsul, a young noble warrior encased in platemail needing adventure and time away from Keoland as trouble seemed to linger around him like a curse. His welcome was worn out in all of the Keoish north. It was said that he was the best thing to happen to the Kettite war effort since the raids began.
Cook would not allow the group to get larger and was very angry at having Geoff foisted upon him, as though he was to babysit this large clanking child. But Geoff then insisted his leadership role in the group, claiming his right by noble blood. Cook cared not to argue. He knew the jungle would stifle his bravado, but until then Geoff was rude, condescending, and demanding. At one point Shackton requested of Cook that he be allowed to pitch him in the sea.
"The sea is a dangerous place, mate. Accidents 'appen all the time. And 'e's wearing that bloody plate armor all the time, 'e'd sink like a dwarf after a 'eavy meal, 'e would, if'n there was an accident. Nobody'd be wiser. B'sides everbody else wants the bloke ta take a drink anyhow."
Which wasn't true because the arcanist Dumai was also of the privileged class. He was just quiet enough that the rest of the crew forgot about him entirely. Though he had no love for the stupid armored man-child, he would not condone the murder of a member of a relative of a ruling family.
But more significantly was Feanimus himself obstructing the wicked behavior. Priests of Istus are commonly thought of as cold, somnolent individuals casually watching time pass, carefully noting the intricacies of its path, but my more familiar experience of the members of Her order is that they deeply care about events as they unfold on a personal level, and nobody better exemplified this fact than Cook. There is no cosmic balance, there is no proper passage of time. Things happen and that is all. Their spiritual mission is simply to note events and glory in them and the best way to celebrate a timely happening is to throw oneself into the mix and make your personal position in any debate more significant. Cook's central belief was best noted in an earlier work: "We only have Time to judge us and the only means by which you are blessed or damned by it is through what you do. Time punishes and rewards these actions with results. I have found that regardless of what comes there is no punishment for one who follows his or her heart. The nature of ones actions is defined by the heart and all things that come to it in Time are fully deserved by the Glory of who you are. Never betray your heart or you will never know who you are and what to do ever again. You will never know the Glory of living again." And then he goes on some diatribe against slavery and its injustice.
Cook, the champion of freedom and the opponent of bad will, would not let the venom of harmful intent into his heart. He told Shackton to ignore Geoff and to focus on preparing for the inland journey. Time would serve Geoff what he deserved.
But this little exchange was just a minor result of an overlying problem. The team was fractured or more likely, they had never come together. Dumai was quietly terrified of the whole mission because he was not at all ready for the hazards. He was too young with insufficient ability. He hid below decks shunning conversation with the others for fear they would discover he was a novice.
Geoff, of course, separated himself from all the others as one of noble bearing should. He spent his days standing near the ship's command imagining how he would return home rich and famous from this journey and would be given command of the king's elite cavalry when he returned. This he told to the captain who did not want to upset him with this unlikelihood by remarking that king Trevlyan was not a fool.
Shackton and Shantz became thick as thieves on the voyage. They sat on deck all day sharpening weapons, tossing bones, throwing daggers at targets, and shooting at sharks and dolphins in the water. They quickly realized that they were of the same class of people. They made no pretense about their reservations of going off into the great green, but this served to harden them and the more they prepared the more emboldened they became. But they also knew their limits. Despite being skilled men they both were keenly aware when it was time to pack up and go home. They both respected Cook and knew that he too was a skilled and capable companion, but they weren't sure he could be depended on to be realistic. Shackton said later that both he and Shantz had agreed during the voyage that if things turned bad, they would work together in calling the shots. Knowledge, treasure, and nobility be damned, they would not feed the jungle needlessly.
Cook could see that his team was not cohesive—they weren't even friendly. He almost wished he waswere going alone because he was quite confident of his own ability in the jungle, but he felt he was leading the rest of them to their deaths. This was the last time he gathered a group to aid him in his research. It was this epiphany on the way to Tamoachan that he realized that all of this time it was only his fear that he was insufficient to work alone that held him back. He was placing people in danger and without them along he wouldn't have to watch over them, find them food, make them shelters. If he went alone he could move faster, accomplish more, do what he needed to unhindered and for less money and preparation. It was fear all along that tied him down. This would be the last mission he made with support.
When they disembarked from their ship to begin their trek through the jungle, Cook inspected their gear instructing them to leave aromatics and jewelry behind. He told Geoff to take off his helm. He refused and told Cook to go back to his library. Cook then suggested that he at least undo his chin strap. Geoff ignored him. They set off into the great green.
Only a few hours had passed when Cook stopped and smelled the air. He knelt and inspected the soft sandy ground. A few green leaves tumbled down slowly spinning from above. Cook dove to the ground shouting "Get down!" Just then an enormous hairy beast dropped down from above and with a terrible roar snatched Golbad by the shoulders and hauled him screaming into the dark trees above. Geoff reached for his sword and Dumai prepared a spell, but two more of the beasts swung down, one grabbing Geoff under the helmet on two sides with two black claws. Geoff's head was pulled off with a loud "Thock!" and was borne away without a sound. Dumai raised his hand and the other beast sank its teeth into his shoulder and with incredible strength ripped his casting arm from his body with a grasping claw. In another second shrieking, dying Dumai followed Golbad into the trees. Jebediah spun around out of the path of the attacks, but stumbled over the falling and thrashing armored body of Geoff as it twisted and writhed upon the jungle floor, gouting blood from its torn neck, painting the broad leafed plants crimson. Jebediah's tumble over the noble's son saved him from another grasping attack by a fourth vicious ape as it failed to reach beneath the leafy tangle where Shackton had fallen. Later Shackton would admit that this was the best thing a Keoish lord had ever done for him.
Jebediah sprang up, grabbed Feanimus by the wrist, hauled him to his feet, looked at him with a wild, determined, Geoff-bespattered face and said forcefully, "Sorry, mate. The mession is over." and then raced back to the boat. They both ran all the way back to the beach followed by crashes and howls in the trees above. The mad dash only ended once the anchor had been raised and the moorings cut. On the water, Shackton told Cook that he did not blame him, but Cook did. From then on he traveled the Amedio alone, allowing for his distress with Scuzarro and freedom from patronage.
They returned to Gradsul and reported their failure. Maestro Scuzarro seemed satisfied with the result as he had warned Cook that the search for Tamoachan was a fool's game. Now it was Scuzarro's choice for the next site. Beaten, Cook relented. However, Feanimus had to make himself scarce for a time as the Nolaan family was enraged at their son's death. The smoothing over process was Scuzarro's arena. Until that was accomplished Cook hid at far off Xamaclan.
Incidentally, Jebediah Shackton, still a filthy and disreputable man, is under the employ of Prince Kael (may he smother in his evil) of the Hold. He is a swamper and acts as a go-between and emissary for the Prince to the orcs of the Hool. This is a perfect position for him. As he said himself, "Ah never met a man more honorable than a orc. Yeh can always trust 'em ta kill yeh if yeh piss 'em off, not later when yeh've forgot the argament and yer no longer sore."
Xamaclan was a perfect respite for Cook. I've never been there, but from what Cook and the few others invited in its walls have said, it is a peaceful, what one might term as, "classical" city. It has founts and pools of flowing water, great temples and amphitheaters and a hearty yet sophisticated (as sophistication goes) populace. There is no other known archive south of Port Toli than the one carefully tended and expanded in Xamaclan. Cook was welcomed to the city and he embraced the people and its culture. After staying in Xamaclan for a year, it is well known that Cook preferred the Amedians to any other people he had met. He loved their directness and felt he never had to guess their mind or heart. Though his heightened awareness had given him marvelous insight to human behavior (for example, it was said he could tell you were lying by looking at your hands) he could relax when talking to an Olman. If Cook's survival instincts were constantly aroused when anywhere but in Xamaclan, it's not surprising he adopted it as his restful home. For when he returned to Gradsul, Scuzarro was awaiting him for his next journey and home would be lost to him for five long years.
It was Scuzarro's turn to pick the site. Constantly searching for Suel artifacts in the Amedio, Scuzarro thought Cook should go to Hucanuea. Cook protested. Based on the best information available—the archive in Xamaclan—he expected the search to be most lucrative south of Xamaclan. Scuzarro blanched at this and reminded Cook that he had entertained his fantasies last time with Tamoachan and they gleaned nothing but trouble. Cook would not argue the point. They had a deal and without Scuzarro's money there would be no mission at all. At this point Cook still hadn't realized he could live virtually hand to mouth without funding but it took this trip to show him that he could work independently without a patron. So in 548 Cook headed off to Hucanuea—this time alone.
By now Feanimus had adapted to wearing armor. He could wear his full set of platemail and still discern the sounds, smells, and other nuances of the environment without annoyance. So he donned his platemail (without the helm) filled a pack, mostly with parchment, quills, and ink and boarded a boat for the Amedian shore. He disembarked near the river that would take him inland closest to Hucanuea and bade the ship farewell.
He has admitted that he spent the next days fashioning a canoe and oar from a log and then paddled up river. Of his experiences in Hucanuea, we know nothing. He has not written, lectured or otherwise related any information of his time there. All we know is that two years later, after everyone had been resigned to his permanent loss, he appeared in Gradsul. Some claim his coming to Gradsul was not a return because his heart had stayed in the Amedio (and many thought his whole self should have stayed too) and he didn't actually return in spirit for another three years. In any case, he had paddled in his canoe down the river and then north up the sea coast all the way to Port Toli. He purchased a ride on a ship north to Gradsul with a handful of precious stones and upon arrival returned to his house in the dark of night without fanfare. To all who saw him that night, his eyes burned with malevolence.
After Cook's totally unexpected return to Gradsul, the academic community was excited but wary. He had returned with the biggest chip on his shoulder ever. He didn't set up a show for the artifacts he returned with, he didn't respond to invitations to social gatherings, and the few lectures he gave were short and he accepted no questions. Walking through the streets recoiling with an enfanged glare at anyone who came near him, it was obvious contempt he held for his hometown neighbors. He stayed for only a month as he packed his essentials and viciously severed ties to all his friends and family, especially Scuzarro. Benizio had learned of Feanimus' return in Niole Dra and traveled to see him. Maestro Scuzarro said Cook made a few inappropriate remarks about his heritage and his work and then said that Scuzarro's money was a venomous trap that he would not accept ever again to accomplish his work. Scuzarro returned to Niole Dra never wishing to see Cook again.
I spoke to Scuzarro to write this book. He said this degradation was apparent the day they met. "The lands to the south are wild and savage and yet they are alluring in their simplicity. A person who can learn to live the brutish sort of life will become enraptured by its direct manner. But what seems like simple solutions is really avoidance of cultural maturity. Problems aren't solved, they are beaten down only to return again; nothing is learned. That is simplicity. That is what Cook sought. He despised etiquette and courtesy, he couldn't entertain small talk for even a moment … at the time I spoke to him last, he could barely speak in full sentences. The jungle has taken him. Let him have his simple life while we enjoy civil culture and growth." I couldn't agree more.
Cook left his home, tacking a message to his door that said only "I seek a place of greater value." This note was duplicated and served as the title thought for his final show in Gradsul, the one I attended, most recently.
According to him, he spent the next three years in the jungle city of Xamaclan deep in research. He became a respected member of the city, but for the most part, he kept a low profile and studied their histories. He wrote a series of fantastic historical accounts coalescing the Xamaclan records and northern history and thought and returned to Gradsul. He returned calm, quiet, and respectful.
After his last departure, Cook's serenity, let alone his return, surprised everyone. Older scholars and historians still would not receive him as they expected only insults even if cloaked in fine words. Younger academics sought him out. The "jungle man" had returned. Here was an historian who put his life on the line for knowledge. He did not sit and imagine the truth. He went in search of it. Cook was an old man, yet he moved with strength and confidence. It was at this time that Cook was most abundantly prolific in his writings, travels, politics, and popularity. The youth of Keoland collected his books and imagined the exotic and adventurous lands of the Amedio and Cook was the true figure of free spirit that they yearned to emulate. Cook wasn't flattered by this attention; he was annoyed—he wouldn't be the one to dispel their illusions—so he did his best to ignore them all. He knew with bravery and heart they would discover the truth for themselves—a truth not truly found in the Amedio.
It was at that last exhibition I attended (the one that begins my story) wherein Feanimus met Tikul Farfell. Before Cook's abrupt exeunt, in the beginning of the evening, even before the meal, it was noticed that Cook was in serious conversation with one of Gradsul's most notable excentrics,eccentrics, Tikul Farfell. As Tikul spoke it was clear that Cook had a deep interest in what he was saying. It was Tikul's invitation of a lifetime.
Now, we are speaking more of current events rather than history for the following all happened within the past year. Tikul and Feanimus kept quiet about their destination though Tikul would say they were going to return with riches beyond the wildest imaginings and Cook would promise historic revelations that would redefine western Greyhawk forever. These two were clearly not on the same page.
Feanimus had been studying the southern Amedio for years. Among what few friends he had, they knew his goal was ultimately the far southern Amedio near the colony of Port Elizabeth. He would have gone nowhere else. But Tikul was a suspicious twitchy man who invited Cook only for his usefulness. Cook expressed his misgivings about working with Tikul, but this opportunity was too good to pass up despite his sense of approaching doom.
Why didn't he go alone? The exact area he sought to penetrate was known as a territory possessed by some particularly nasty natives known as the Atem. As a sovereign tribe Xamaclan will not allow their utter extermination, surely Cook wouldn't either, but there is apparently no reasoning with them. They kill all intruders they find. The extreme nature of the Atem is not understood so there is no way to approach them in understanding, so even Cook kept away from the deep Indicara jungle area. According to sources in who he confided his research his last year was spent seeking a friendly way past them. We don't know if he found it.
Tikul Farfell was a paranoid megalomaniacal wizard. He sought power through wealth and he enjoyed displaying that wealth in fine clothes and adornments, yet people who noticed or admired his attire would make him nervous, especially other spellcasters. He would arrive at a social event brimming to the top with himself, the master of all he could buy, but gradually, it seemed, little demons of inadequacy would crawl into him and he would begin to shy and scamper away from attention, hiding from all those who would seek his wealth and power until he was a quivering mass of nerves and he would have to go home to ease his crumpled mind. It became a popular party event for the guests to constantly remark to Tikul how much they liked his shoes, robes, rings, etc. until the man broke down and went home sick.
He hated spellcasters of all kinds, though, because that ability was the one thing he ever had faith in of himself. If that was ever proven insufficient against another who had such powers he would have to admit that he was nothing special. Tikul clung to survival by his ego. Initial backing down from confrontations with other spellcasters became total flight from their mere presence. Deep within him was the knowledge that he might not be able to live with himself if he knew without a doubt that someone else was better at magic than him. He never realized that he was his own worst enemy.
Like most magicians, his family had money, enough to get him through his education, but then Tikul built his fortune. He opened a spell component and reagent trade. One would think this would make him an herbalist or chemist, but no, he was a monster hunter and he had a knack for finding rare and expensive components. But he was too twitchy to work in a shop frequented by spellcasters. He had other people selling his wares for him. He made a tidy profit doing this and continued until his latest adventure. He had no passion for this work, though. His love was wealth and the possibility of more wealth to come. Again, following the theme of being one's own worst enemy, he had an adversarial relationship with his money. It made him think that everyone hated him and wanted his money. Ironically, he attracted people who would cater to his whims and such people usually were exactly the kind of people who would actually be after his money. To Tikul anyone who respected his demands must be a friend. So he surrounded himself with a cadre of deceitful people, like Pemin Donka.
Pemin Donka was Tikul's lackey in Gradsul. I can spare only a short paragraph for the weasel. He studied under Tikul, but mostly served as Tikul's house servant. He was as desirable in the Wizards' Guild as Tikul was and was known as a black market dealer in narcotics and poisonous toads. As soon as Tikul left on his mission, Donka evidently prepared to leave and when he was certain that Tikul would never return, he left Gradsul in the night taking everything with him. Tikul's house is completely bare.
Tikul and Feanimus combined their pathetic people skills to churn up a team of the most mismatched characters possible to aid them in their quest. Cook's friends say he was made miserable by the process and the more they conferred the more Cook realized he was at odds with Tikul. Cook's friends also say that they got the sense that at some point Cook had decided to go out of duty to protect valuable historic artifacts from these careless explorers. More or less, "If these jokers get through then I better be there to take notes before history is lost." As a spellcaster, Cook was also suspect to Tikul and his paranoia became more pronounced as Feanimus would disagree or defy him. Tikul refused to under any circumstances invite another spellcaster into the group. He packed the group with toughs and scabs, generally people he could control with his magic. All together their number was nine when they arrived in Port Elizabeth. Cook was allowed to pick two of them.
The first was a noble warrior of respect and temperence,temperance, in fact, a holy warrior whose mother is the current regent of Craufield. His name was Jason Rheyd and he served the goddess Lydia with his strength of character and his strong sword arm. Through his studies he learned of Pelor and that god's ongoing struggle with the Infernal realms. He made it his personal mission to be Lydia's champion in Hell and he sought protections and magics to oppose these wicked foes. It is assumed that it was for this reason that Jason was asked to join them. Cook knew his mother, but not him, so by some level of familiarity Cook was able to decide on Jason. Full of youthful motivation he joined the team, the day of departure, the excitement in his eyes, his willingness toward fate.
Garret Leah of the Axewood was one of the few personal friends of Cook from the early days working for Gradsul when he ate like a Yeoman. He was a skilled woodsman and through the many years always had the perfect timing to watch Feanimus' back. Though their meetings were spare they were always friendly, except during the days after Hucanuea. Garret was willing to forgive and forget and remained certainly Cook's best friend through the long years. Leah wasn't terribly excited about the jungle and on the few trips to the Amedio with Cook he made, he admitted feeling limited in that environment. So, when Cook asked Leah to join him to Port Elizabeth and beyond Garret knew Feanimus was concerned about this one. Cook was a loner and never would have asked his ablest friend to join him if he didn't think he was in over his head. Without hesitation Leah donned his armor and shield, bade farewell to his wife and children, and sailed away forever.
The first hires made by Tikul were a couple of dirty low class brothers from the dirty low class town of Saltmarsh. Devin and Janus Crow learned to fight by skirmishing with orcs from the marshes. They happened into Gradsul looking for work and Tikul hired them because they were cheap and admitted that they were frightened of magic. We know nothing else.
Tanion Mal was a drifter from Niole Dra. She carried herself confidently and demonstrated her ability to open a lock without a key. To the best of our knowledge Tikul hired her primarily because of her breast size. Pemin Donka, who witnessed the interviews, is our primary source for some of these characters, but since he disappeared the information is third hand given to me by people he told. Tanion Mal may have been skilled in some way, but we don't know how.
Before leaving, Tikul contacted a friend in Monmurg by the name of Luigi Funatello. He was a middling Sea Princes dignitary (if one can say that of the Princes in any way) for Tarrick in Monmurg. It was his job to obtain the ship and sail it up to Gradsul to meet them there and begin their journey. From there he was charged with protecting the ship in the Princes' waters. Luigi was happy to do this since shipping lanes had been open for quite some time and Tikul was still under the impression that the Princes were bloodthirsty pirates (it's still debatable). He would be their guide through the "dangerous" waters. Luigi was getting a cut of the loot for doing nothing. I've heard that his role was over once they reached Port Elizabeth, but he stubbornly insisted on joining them for the rest of the adventure to protect his interests. Stupid man.
Finally, the ship made one stop along the way in Port Toli. When Jelissa Van Artok boarded the ship Cook almost bashed her head in with his mace. He knew a Van Artok when he saw one. Her family was one of his most hated enemies in all the world. She was invited to be a guide and navigator through the Amedian seas and along the coastlines as she knew them quite well. The Toli Van Artoks were friends of Tikul's and they owed him a small favor. He figured there could be no better navigator of the Amedian seas than a slave trader. Quick with a sword, she was invited along the rest of the journey too. Cook was horrified. But then Time will bring you your just rewards.
The ship left Port Toli and arrived in Port Elizabeth. There are reports that the group did get to the Mallata village and that they entered the Indicara and never returned.
I would like to say that it was the Sea Princes who captured Cook. Try as I might, though, despite the presence of two of the traitorous wretches as part of the group, I cannot see how the Princes could have been involved. The ship they arrived in was eventually considered salvage and was sold and nobody from the region saw any of them return. Though it pains me to say it, it must have been the Atem that got them.
The first thing nearly everyone has said to me since I started this project has been, "Don't you think you're being a little hasty in your treatment of this matter. Cook has been known to disappear for years at a time." I have to give some credence for their concern, and honestly, I wouldn't be one bit surprised if Cook came swinging through the window of my study on a vine later this afternoon around tea. But Rheyd, Funatello, Van Artok, and Leah haven't returned home and extended disappearances isare not their style. Each of these people had something to come home to and would have wanted to return home at the designated time. Even if all of these key people died on the journey and Cook was left alone he would do his utmost to get back to Keoland to tell the family and friends of their fate, particularly in the case of Leah. No, this time I fear the worst.
It was only a matter of time before Cook would meet his end. His work was particularly hazardous and it is amazing he survived as long as he did. One has to wonder, though, if he wouldn't have been better off alone which was when he was at his best. If that were the case I might be inclined to wait two more years before I started this. I hate to be proven wrong. But as it is I have no fear of that.
Cook was a great historian—the best to tackle the history of the Amedio. Like no other land it poses the most danger (I daresay even more than the Horned Society) to an explorer, but because of its relative freshness it offers the most to be revealed. Cook's finds were astounding and his keen mind was able to interpret his discoveries with conclusive skill. He is irreplaceable (except maybe by the one who learns Cook's fate) and despite his crazy and unorthodox past, he will be sorely missed.
~*~