Some of you may remember an article done a couple months back about the First Annual Great Kender Race. For those of you who missed it, here is a recap. The race took place outside the kender village of Looikit. The course was to be run all the way around the perimeter of the town, back to the starting point, a total distance of about sixty-five kilometers. The race was announced a month ahead of time, and as word spread, its popularity grew exponentially. By a week before the race began, there were nearly eight hundred thousand kender camped in and around the city. Every day was like a festival, dancing and parading in the streets.
Finally, on the day of the race, three thousand and seventy-two kender had signed up to participate. As the mass of eager contestants stirred in anticipation, the Master of Ceremonies struck the gong to signal the beginning of the race. At the sound, the wave of kender lurched forward, and the cheers and screams of the crowd were so loud, some claim to have heard it in the Minotaur Isles. Immediately, the contestants all began running, every which way, in mass confusion, and kept running until each and every one was out of sight.
Now, two months later, the Master of Ceremonies has informed us that not a single kender who entered the race has been seen. Not one has made his or her way back to town, and the townspeople have grown rather tired of taking shifts all day and night waiting by the finish line for someone to finish. Its generally assumed that the contestants, once out of sight of the town, likely got distracted and have completely forgotten all about the race. The real question isn't why this happened, though. The real question is why in the world law enforcement in non kender cities across Ansalon hadn't thought of doing this before.
Now, being so close to Hallows Eve, Tavin felt it would be appropriate to document the types of festivities that non-human races enjoy. Actually, it was our editor's idea after Tavin decided to play the question game at the office. For the seventeenth time that day. So the Palanthas Times put up the steel to hire a couple bodyguards to help motivate our kender friend into his new assignment by escorting him off the premises. Here is the correspondence we later received:
I started my journey by visiting the elves of Qualinesti. It took a while, but after spotting one in the trees, they decided to let me join them in their festivities of what they called "The Morrow of Requiem". I must tell you, I typically enjoy the company of elves. This time, however, I was severely disappointed. The entire time was spent fasting. No feasts... only bread and water. And the whole time there was this horribly mournful song they kept singing. My attempts to ask about the meaning of the song (my elvenspeak is a bit rusty. And nonexistent) were completely ignored. On and on they sang... and after a day without any food or drink... I was ready to join in the wailing. I later found out that the sad song was some sort of song to appease the souls of the dead, as well as the fast. After hearing that, I am quite proud to announce that I have decided that I am never going to die, myself. I hate the thought of being turned into such a meanie that I force the living to be miserable by starving them until they want to die themselves and making them sing like that while they do so.Next on my list was the Minotaur Isles. After my initial week long stay in their prison accommodation, I was met by the Minotaurian Ambassador, who, after I explained why I was there, did a great deal of laughing. I was instructed to wear a large orange jacket, and that I was NEVER to take it off during the course of what they called the Spirit Hunt. It seems that during the festival, young minotaurs are given all kinds of shivs and other makeshift weapons and are all locked out of their houses. Then, all the lights in the city are turned out. In the ensuing dark, it is said that the spirits of the dead take hold of weak youngsters, trying to once again return to life. Since the dead coming back to life is dishonorable, these spirits must be killed, and it is the duty of the young ones to do so. Since they are also honor bound to erradicate the weak of their species, this bloody free-for-all becomes quite the rewarding experience. In the morning the parents let the children back in, giving them treats for each horn they claimed in victory over another. I found the entire thing to be rather senseless, but I'm glad I decided to keep my jacket on. Apparently it signified that I was NOT a minotaur, and thus not a target of the dead. Thank the GODS for small favors. It will be a long time before I return there.
Finally, I had a great experience. Dwarves are stodgy curmudgeons to the last, but on the eve of the dead, they become a great deal of fun. On this night, it seems that every dead dwarf in existence suddenly has a beastly anger with the living, and with typical dwarf gusto, they come back to yell about it at the top of their incorporeal lungs. Its quite a sight to see. The living dwarves, for a while, return the sentiment cursing beards and screaming oaths to Reorx right back at their dead ancestors. Finally, realizing that screaming at ghosts who have nothing better to do with their time in existence, the living dwarves do what any self-respecting dwarf does. They get themselves so plastered on spirits that they just don't CARE about their ancestral apparitions anymore. I've been sworn to secrecy as to what happened after that point, but the images will be with me the rest of my life, and for those who have seen a truly sloshed dwarf... you can only imagine.
My journey this time was nearly complete, but I absolutely had to stop by the home front. Back in Hylo I was met with some disconcerting news. Kender, being the jubilant folk they are, don't really have a set tradition. Instead they tend to celebrate everything they've seen on their collective adventures. There is always one constant, though. The Impersonators Ball. During the festivities which, depending on circumstances, typically last anywhere from two days to two months, there is announced a Ball of Impersonators. All kender are invited to dress up as anyone and anything and make their way to the festival. It is an incredible thing to behold. Lord Verminaards, Wooly Mammoths, even creatures from space like the Lumber Hulks are in attendance. I even met one young pouchsnipper once dressed as myself! However, while joyous, kender are not very accurate. festivities can take place at just about any time of the year, and it seems that this time, this years fall festival took place last year, a month after the last one. Well, perhaps next year.
Finally, on my final leg of the adventure (I was running out of money and provisions, and people were not being too friendly), I visited the Gully Dwarves. Surely these folks would have a very unique and entertaining festival. It turns out, they don't. In fact, they don't even understand what dying is. None of them had ever seen another Gully dwarf die. And none had ever seen a gully dwarf ghost. And thinking about it, I hadn't either. Nor had anyone I talked to consequently. This has led me to the conclusion that gully dwarves are either immortal and cannot die, or that they are literally too stupid to figure out how to become ghosts after they're dead.
That was my experience, this year, and I am rather hoping that I get the chance to do it again next year, when I'll try to visit the Dargonesti, Centaurs, and Irda. And knowing how crabby my editor gets this time of year, it will likely be the case. So until next time, this is Krynn's Premiere Investigative Reporter, Tavin Springfingers, signing off.