Adventure Background: All of you have come to Candlekeep seeking aid for a stricken town, which could be the home of one or more of you - that is up for you all to decide. The settlement has withered this year. Crops have failed, the livestock stands in the fields like stick figures, and the rain has dwindled. A local mage determined that a curse had been levied on the land and recommended that the town seek aid from a sage named Matreous. After some inquiries, the mage found that Matreous was studying in Candlekeep and has sent you all to find him.
Please consider this, and adjust your backstory as needed.
CANDLEKEEP
Standing atop a rocky crag overlooking the Sea of Swords, the massive citadel of Candlekeep has endured the elements for centuries and defied the degradations of time. Visible for miles around, Candlekeep has an eye-catching silhouette: a high wall interspersed with towers. This wall encloses a large space from which more towers rise. Those who behold the edifice say it looks like nothing so much as a cake decorated with an overabundance of candles.
The entrance to Candlekeep is a double gate that stands at the end of the Way of the Lion, the only road that provides access to and from the outside world. The route follows a lonely path across the peninsula where Candlekeep stands. Those who gain entry discover a cloistered community of scholars milling around inside Candlekeep’s walls, a place of enlightened conversation and friendly debate. No better place in the Realms exists for those who have a love for or a need of knowledge and who want to pursue such interests alongside fellow seekers.
Candlekeep has the largest repository of written lore in Faerûn, including the collected prophecies of an ancient sage named Alaundo the Seer. Those compiled divinations make up a tiny fraction of the accumulated knowledge and secrets contained in the library’s vast collection.
Not all knowledge preserved in Candlekeep is of historical importance. The library holds thousands upon thousands of lost recipes, old songs, collections of folklore, and journals written by folks whose time has long since passed. The abundance of these ancillary works makes finding notable tomes an exercise in patience and perseverance. Fortunately, a legion of scholars and sages called the Avowed look after the library and remain vigilant in the care and cataloging of all the knowledge it holds.
ENTERING CANDLEKEEP
The required entrance fee for admission into Candlekeep is a work of writing not already collected therein. Those who show up at the gates without such a gift are kindly but firmly turned away. The enormous double gates of Candlekeep are three times the height of a human and wrought of black metal magically warded to foil attempts to damage them. Both doors are emblazoned with the sigil of Candlekeep. One of the two gates stands open far enough to admit visitors during the day, and the other is kept shut.
What book will you offer to enter? Consider this as you introduce your characters and we all meet in front of the gates.
A long time ago when I was a child, I received a terrible wound from a cursed blade that punctured through my throat. That was the last day I ever made a sound with my voice.
It's not like I didn't want to speak, it's that I couldn't anymore. I was now a mute. No matter what healing was applied to my injury, it always remained the same and nothing changed. So, after some adjusting, I learned to sign. It wasn't easy. Most people had no idea what I was trying to say, as sign language was very uncommon. So, while attending school, I learned how to draw and discovered I was quite gifted in drawing. Then, as the years rolled by, I grew up into a young woman and discovered I had the magical ability to communicate through it. It's hard to explain. You'll just have to see what I mean. Let's just say that new doorways opened for me as I got older.
Perhaps the blade that cursed me wasn't so bad after all?
When I finished school, I made a living by being somewhat of an entertainer, I suppose. Between learning and drawing I worked the local taverns and inns trying to make some gold. Not many people could do things that I could, I was good at it, and I liked it. People seemed to enjoy my talent, and a lady had to eat. It wasn't until a fateful day at The Hog's Wife that I met Garmus my adventuring career started. He used to be a bounty hunter but now our fates are more intertwined. I was doing caricatures for people in the corner of the tavern until a situation with him reared it's head.
I'll let him tell you about that part, but things got ugly and he was about to be thrown out by two of the half-orc bouncers. I grabbed my things and I sprung into action. I had an idea.
"No trouble now!" one half-orc said, advancing on the already upset Dwarf. "Yeah." said the other half-orc. "Outside! Wh-?!" Like a lemur poking it's head out of a hole, I popped up between Garmus and the half-orcs, scowling. I was quite good at facial expressions since I no longer talked. I put up my dukes, like I was ready to fistfight. The half-orcs were easily three times my size. I was tiny, about five foot nine, barely a hundred and fifteen pounds. With brown hair and dark green eyes, I was, physically, no barbarian. I was slender, and had enough muscle and athletic ability to hold my own for a short time, but that was it. In other words, I was not very intimidating at all.
I pointed up, wiggled my finger back and forth, saying, "no no no!" silently. I pointed to the half-orcs with my finger, and pointed to myself next with my thumb. That's right. You wanna brawl? Let's dance. "What in the-" I stood there in a fighting stance, ready for whatever might come. I was hoping they'd be stupid enough to get hooked, lined, and sunk. The half-orcs looked at each other like I was insane, looked back at me, and began laughing. I held my serious pose for a few seconds longer and then joined them as well. I made the motions of laughing myself, but didn't utter a sound. While they were in their fit, I wrapped my arm around Garmus and with a hand gesture and a nod, silently told him we're leaving right now. Yup. Let's go. We're leaving. No jail for you today, sir. That was the day I quit working at The Hog's Wife.
Then, I heard of this place called Candlekeep. It was some big library, or something. Maybe they had books on art or something?
Who’s the bald dwarf you ask? Well, stranger, let me just tell you a bit about Garmus Merryhide.
You’ll find he’s on the taller side for a dwarf, standing just shy of five feet without his boots (a word of advice…don’t ever call him short, he takes that as a grave insult). He’s very proud of his beard and keeps it groomed and trimmed so it falls right at mid chest but don’t even think about touching it, you may come back a hand short. You’ll find he’s got a surly nature and quick temper. He also has what it takes to back up the insults that tend to spew out of his mouth without thought.
Fortunately, collecting bounties on criminals doesn’t require him to be nice. Yes, I said collecting bounties and I quote, direct from Garmus himself…“Not all dwarves live underground and smack rocks despite what everyone thinks.”
From what I gather he left home in search of something different and fell into bounty hunting. It lets him work alone, legally harass and assault people and earns him enough coin to eat, drink and occasionally gamble. Mixing coin and alcohol almost always leads to a fight for Garmus, as it did the night he met Eralynn. She rescued his sorry hide from spending time in the stocks. This is how that night started out....
Garmus’ chair flew back as he angrily stood up from the table. “You callin’ me a cheater you craven, flap-mouthed lout?” He reached across the table and grabbed the human’s shirt front, pulling him halfway across the table. Coins scattered and fell to the floor. “No one calls Garmus Merryhide a cheater.” He says, right in the man’s face.
“Hey! There’s not going to be any fighting in my bar dwarf so leave off or get out.” The barkeep yells.
Garmus looks over at the barkeep, he pulls the man across the table and throws him at the bar. “I’m not fighten, I’m throwin’” he says, looking at the barkeep. He starts towards the man he just tossed.
“Groc! Harus! Get this guy outta here!” the barkeep yells angrily. Two muscular half orcs start toward Garmus from the other side of the room.
You can ask Eralynn how the rest of the story went but Garmus walked out of the tavern with the slip of a girl who came to his rescue that night. Now, should you ask him about it, he will surely tell you that he followed her outside so she didn’t get herself in trouble with those two big half orcs she had just fooled. He also would have argued that he could have taken those two without breaking a sweat. Don’t tell him I said this, but I believe he walked out the door with her that night because he so surprised that someone would help him that he didn’t know what else to do. From what I hear the two have been traveling together ever since.
The lastest is that Eralynn has dragged him off to visit Candlekeep of all places. Gods help us for surely he will get them kicked out of there five minutes after they arrive.
Hupperdook. What a city to behold. No other place in the world - or, at least, the world Ecko hails from - compares to the exuberant work-hard, party-hard lifestyle of the citizens and workers within. "City's got a lot of gnomes, and they're filled with industry, and they work all the time. But at night, they party. Work hard, party hard. It's what that city's all about," Ecko recalls hearing from some passerby roaming the vibrantly explosive streets of the city. He supposes he agrees with the statement - the gnomes were truly fantastic inventors, and their skill reflects in the efficiently chaotic nature of their lifestyle. Each day, every gnome and citizen accustomed to that life wakes up from a night of partying and pours their soul into their eccentric work, smelting machines and crafting constructs of all outlandish varieties. However - at night, when work is finished, the city becomes alive. Each night is a festival. A celebration of anything and everything at once. Really, it's just an excuse for the old gnomes to beat each other out on who could craft the most explosive firework to light up the night air. Children laugh and run around the streets. People drink. Copiously. Carnival festivities bring joy to the citizens within until dawn breaks - and then it all repeats again. Where do they sleep? Who knows, but as all the old gnomes say, what is a hundred extra years to your life if you don't enjoy a single part of it?
But Ecko is no gnome. Not one bit. Similar in stature and size, perhaps - standing around five and a half feet tall is a Kenku. The ravenfolk of the Dwendalian Empire, banished to a life of suffering and despair by a curse in the years of yonder. Most eke out a living in the Savalier Woods nearby - or anywhere, really. Slums of cities were a favorite. But not Ecko. Somehow, as a child, he wandered too far from the safety of his kin, becoming lost in the woods in the dead of night. That was no place for anyone that wasn't a beast of the woods. Stumbling around through the murky trees and misty fog, he eventually heard a faint sound in the distance. A burst. A flash of light. A beacon in the darkness. It was a firework. He trailed towards the source of the sound, coming across the intimidating iron gates of Hupperdook's Omni-Smelter, located in the Lower Tier of the mountainous city. It was easy for the young Kenku to slide straight through the iron bars and stumble out to the overabundance of joy and festivity present within. Kenku are quite rare, and gnomes are one of the most curious beings that populate the land. They are quite benign and kind, too, taking pity on the poor thing. The Kenku was subsequently given a home and a name - Ecko. Not in a demeaning sense, but there wasn't a single Gnome child that heard Kenku's mimicry and didn't immediately blurt the word 'echo' to his face and expect an identical response.
His talents, too, were not something to be looked over. The ever-looming war between the Dwendalian Empire and the nation of Xhorhas kicked the lifestyle of the gnomes - even by Hupperdookian standards - into overdrive. The Underbellows and Omni-Smelter were constantly experimenting and churning out war machines and equipment designed by the Iron Lot's wickedly genius designers. Kenku couldn't quite create much, but they were natural experts of mimicking designs and fabricating items of all sorts - and Ecko was enlisted to aid the cause. Determined to return the kindness he was given, Ecko continued on, disregarding the increasingly cruel nature of the machinery being fabricated.
His work didn't go unnoticed. He was approached by some higher-ups - if you can call a Gnome that - and was asked to join the growing force of arcane inventors and artillerists that compromise a more mobile, machine-driven militia to aid defend against the oncoming Drow invasion. It was there he learned to weave old, combative magic with mundane and magical inventions alike. Secret technology in the Iron Lot became available to him to test and learn to use.
If only the Gnomes took adequate safety precautions, but I suppose that is too much to ask for the eclectic gnomes of Hupperdook. One such secret invention being crafted was a mass teleportation device intended to teleport hundreds of soldiers flawlessly into a destination of choice. Ecko had the misfortune of being the closest one on the railing behind as they fired it up for yet another test. Something went wrong. A crackle and jolt of energy snagged the poor Kenku, hurtling him into a dimensional rift the Gnomes accidentally opened. Hopefully someone would get fired, Ecko thought. Hours later of drifting through unknown cosmic phenomena, something attracted the energy of the drifter through space, sucking him into a menagerie of chronurgy-related artifacts present within some library. With a faint pop, Ecko was propelled and deposited directly on the marbled floor beneath. 'CANDLEKEEP CHRONICLES OF CHRONURGY & CLOCKWORK' read a signpost nearby. Apparently like attracts like, and Ecko was plopped directly where things that mess with space and time should be. Ecko took but a moment to regather his thoughts and silently panic at his current precedent, grasping an invention he made in hand - a little winding mechanism that allows him speech most Kenku would only dream of having - when he locked eyes with another person that shouldn't have been there either.
Due to an exceeding lack of adequate artwork I could find, Plague Doctors were the next best option. Pretend the mask is significantly more lifelike.
Eralynn was a young woman. Couldn't be older than twenty five. Maybe twenty six. Standing next to Garmus outside the gates of Candlekeep, she wore leathers and had a large satchel looped around her upper body. In her left hand she cradled a large sketchbook, and in her right hand, a large black crayon. Besides the scar on her throat, the only other distinguishing feature she had was her fingers. Her fingers were covered with residue from the crayon - artist hands - as if she was constantly sketching.
Eralynn had managed to convince, somehow, that inside Candlekeep, she would find the next latest and greatest artbook to add to her magical inventory. She smiled, and gasped silently, reaching for her satchel. She pulled out a book, showing it to Garmus. She tapped him excitedly on the shoulder and tapped the cover of her book, making him look at the cover.
"How To Make Thumbprint People"
Inside the book, Eralynn used her thumb to create wild and adorable scenes of thumbprint people using her own thumb. Step by step instructions, too. She gave him the book and she scribbled on her sketchbook.
Garmus grabs the book..."Stop yer pokin' lass." says a heavily armored, bald dwarf in a grumbly voice as he opens the book and looks through it. "Even if they do it's not as good as yours." He hands the book back and strokes his long beard. "Hmm, ya think these bookworms will let both of us in on that? I can show them how to crack a skull but don't expect me to be scribblin' a book about it." He says, his hand resting on the head of his battle axe.
Eralynn holds a finger up, and digs into her backpack once more. On the front cover, it's got an illustration close up of a table full of food and ale, with a lone male dwarf eating so messily and voraciously.
"Table Manners For Dwarves, Volume 1"
She hands you the book, and scribbles on her sketchbook again, showing you what she wrote.
Eralynn makes a comical face that she's treading on dangerous territory, but you know her well enough that she's just playfully teasing you and respects you nonetheless. When you're ready, she gives you an inquisitive face as if asking if you're ready to try and go inside. You can tell she's excited to try and find a new art book.
A Kenku bouncily treks towards the imposing - yet glorious - gates of Candlekeep. Contrary to the regular visage of Kenku those in Faerun may be accustomed to, this one seems to be quite well-dressed. A dark brown leather tunic wraps around his chest, accentuated by studded bits of gleaming metal armor. Perched on his beak is a cracked and shattered - and subsequently taped together - pair of large spectacles crafted from some metal. For a Kenku, the birdling is quite tall - standing just under six feet in height, but something more curious about his behavior is his tendency to look downwards towards the ground below. Living in a city predominantly populated by Gnomes does that to a person. He blinks, rapidly swiveling his head in small, jerky motions customary to regular morning sparrows, eventually setting his gaze on the gate. A book? He rummages into a small sack strung around his waist, giving the occupants milling outside the gate a quick look of curiosity. A few things spill out - among other things a small, steam-powered, mechanical raven, some kind of globe, and a miniature easel-looking contraption pour onto the dirt street. He lets out a dramatic, irritated sigh, mimicking the sound of a high-pitched whistle from a steampunk gyrogenerater being tested in the Omni-Smelter, bending down to scoop up his possessions in a series of rapid movements with feather-covered arms. Sitting some distance away is a small journal the Kenku leaves for the time being - "THE CURIOUS CRAFTS OF CLEFF TINKERTOP".
The lone figure stood quietly to a side of the main gate, studying the towering wall that had proven to be his adversary for so long. "Just one peep inside. A quick looksie to see what I can find. We'd be set for life, dad," the words echoed in his mind as did the glowering image of his father. "Too dangerous. Not worth it. We're doing fine with what you've 'found' so far," his father replied, turning back to the bag full of items he was currently cataloguing...fruits of one of Raastin Rolfwann's more recent excursions. Mostly baubles and trinkets, but that potion may well bring good coin. As if he could feel his son's silent sigh, Adolin Rolfwann turned back once more. "Your life is more important than this shop. You want to earn entrance to the Keep, you know the fare -- either you be invited to study amongst its magic users or you find a book."
A fortnight ago, the words still hung in the air around the diminutive half-elf, dressed in a dark coat over well-worn leathers. His mop of messy black hair, left unkempt and uncontrollable. Raastin's father had been trying unsuccessfully to get "invited" to join the mages for decades. The young half-elf had no aspirations of following in those footsteps, though, his mother had earned one of those coveted envelopes before her untimely death. No, studying the arcane arts, while a fun distraction, was not what Raastin needed.
With a smile and a flourish, he whips a tome from his pouch -- a work that securing almost cost Raastin his life. Flipping the book expertly in his hand as he traverses toward the gate, he thinks to himself, "I have no idea who Camilla and Poopy are, but surely this tale of demons, devils and brain-eating spawn has got to be worth something."
Just as they were about to walk in, the sigh from the Kenku caught Eralynn's attention. She patted Garmus excitedly on the shoulder, again. Look, look! She pantomimed. And her face was filled with wonder. She signaled Garmus again, as if wanting to meet this person, half dragging him along.
And then, something equally amazing happened.
She saw Raastin whip out the book. She recognized it instantly. She pulled Garmus with her, going up to him. She spoke, making no sound, but moving her mouth, indicating to you, through pointing, smiling and nodding, that she's very familiar with that book!
Are we using italics? I'm using italics. I love italics.
The Kenku's head jerks in Eralynn's direction. Curious - most usually made their presence known through speech. He waves back with a feathered hand and hurriedly scoops up the remainder of his pouch that spilled on the floor, casting nervous looks around - the eyes of thieves seemed to be gravitationally attracted to anything precious and metal - before standing up straight, meeting her in the eye. He rummages in a frayed, burlap pocket for something, withdrawing what appears to be a miniature sonograph with a handheld crank. He winds a small mechanism on the back, staring at it expectantly for several moments before shrugging. It must have been broken in the fall.
He struts towards the two when his eyes catch Raastin in the corner. He lets out his trademark sound; an ear-piercing, flawless audio recording of a saw shredding through bits of sparkly metal. Ecko had used it often when he was lost in this strange place he had been shunted into, and it was often the curious creature wandered off on some tangent to investigate sparkly things around town.
He pulls on his glasses, enlarging and highlighting bright, twinkling, brown eyes, rapidly retrieves a wrench and a screw, and fiddles with the miniature sonograph for a moment. With a pop, something clicks in place. He folds his spectacles with a satisfying click, letting the thing unwind. "Hello, there! You don't seem to speak much. What's your name?" the invention whirrs, gradually fading until the rotating wind ceases to move. In one hand the book of inventions remains wedged inside a pocket strapped to a meticulously polished bronze shield emblazoned with the arms of the Dwendalian Empire.
Eralynn smiles in pleasant surprise and holds up a finger. She then flips to a specific page in her sketchbook, towards the beginning and shows it to you. The image on the page is a near perfect caricature of her in an animated way, and it moved, like a cartoon, showing her getting injured and clearly explaining that she cannot speak because of it. The cartoon repeats once it ends.
She flips the page where she has already written "I am Eralynn. Very nice to meet you!"including herself, on the page, waving to you in a very happy manner. "And you?"it ends with.
Then, she flips a few pages more, and shows you a question: Why are you here?
Slowly making their way up the Way of the Lion towards the immense citadel was a solitary figure draped in a large flowing shawl of purplish-black reaching down towards the ground. As they approached the black metal gates, it became clear that the lonely figure was in fact a woman, an elven woman, with unusually pale skin and hair the color of a spring moon in the dead of night. The woman seemed to carry nothing on their person besides a small backpack slung casually over one shoulder and a massive scythe - at least the woman's height if not taller - slung across her back. She seemed to glide as she approached the small group up ahead, moving at a languid pace as if she had all the time in the world. And in a sense, she did being an elf and all, having lived what amounted to at least 2-4 lifetimes of the "more active" races as she often thought them; always in a rush and on the move to something bigger and better. She never could understand the sentiment but she understood a lifetime or two ago that being so long lived had a tendency to warp one's view on the world. And so be it, she had thought then, she rather liked how things went and had no interest in changing that anytime soon.
And it hadn't. For a very long time. For years - and honestly since she was first volunteered as a chosen of Pharasma, a "Child of Death" - her life had followed a very similar routine: Travel across the realm until she was called upon by either her Goddess or a person in need to "extinguish" certain entities that had escaped death or continued to live in "undeath". Rinse and repeat.
Though she did not know that her routine was about to be turned upside down for a time - and perhaps forever - her current mission began like any other, with a dream. Told by her mistress to investigate the citadel, she was most of the way there when she came across a town she had visited a few times here and there in her travels. Each time she visited, the inhabitants she had come to know had long since passed or moved on, leaving just one family of mages who passed on her story and would call upon her whenever she appeared. This time, she was met by the third mage of the family who explained their plight and asked for assistance in contacting a certain sage who happened to be studying at the same citadel she was heading to. Fondly remembering the mage's ancestors and the life the town once had, she agreed and quickened her pace "slightly" towards the Citadel.
Coming up to the gates, she was better able to note the four individuals in front of her: a rather animated human, a dwarf, a half-elf and... was that a Kenku? She hadn't seen one in at least a decade! What an interesting group... she thought amiably to herself as she arrived at the main gates.
Now having a clearer view of her, you could see that she was a relatively short elven woman with pale silver eyes matching her hair and skin color. Her hair, long, flowing and reaching down to the small of her back was partially braided with some sort of green cloth. Her face was smooth, friendly, attractive and showed no hints of her current age. Lastly, up close and personal, it was clear to see that her scythe was much bigger than it appeared to be from afar. Though it didn't seem particularly heavy, it did look rather... unwieldy and unbalanced; it was impossible by looking at the elf just how she typically wielded the weapon.
"Hello! Are you all waiting to enter as well." The elf began in rather silky voice once she was next to the party. "I am Ysabell and... Garmus is that you...? Ah it is! It's been much too long! I hope your work is continuing to go quite well. What brings you out here?"
"Cripes, Eralynn, slow yerself!" Garmus grumbles as she tries to pull him in different directions. He takes another look at the tall, feathered stranger. "Huh, is that one a them bird folk you drew a picture of?" he asks her as she heads towards Raastin.
He turns back to the other stranger that Eralynn has dragged him to meet. He looks over the youngster with a critical eye, noting the quick work of his hands. He crosses his arms. "You watch yourself around this one Lynny." He says, giving Raastin a little bit of the stink eye. He cringes at the high pitched sound from the kenku, his attention taken from the half-elf. "Gods! Are ya tryin' ta make me deaf ya mammering harpy?!" Garmus barks at the kenku.
"Ysabell?" Well, if it ain't death's hand maiden herself!" He says and turns to Eralynn. "This is the cleric I told you about, the one that tried ta steal my bounty, said he belonged to...what's the name again, Ysabell?" Garmus asks in a taunting voice.
"Huh, is that one a them bird folk you drew a picture of?" he asks her as she heads towards Raastin.
Eralynn nods enthusiastically. You get a thumbs up.
"This is the cleric I told you about, the one that tried ta steal my bounty, said he belonged to...what's the name again, Ysabell?"
Eralynn claps her hands. She holds out her sketchbook, and she dramatically waves her hand on the empty page, where, magically, words sprinkle on to the page.
Hello! I'm Eralynn! Garmus has NOT said ANYTHING rude about you. Ever. At all.
She nods in a very sage like manner, as if it was..uh..mostly true.
"Ysabell?" Well, if it ain't death's hand maiden herself!" He says and turns to Eralynn. "This is the cleric I told you about, the one that tried ta steal my bounty, said he belonged to...what's the name again, Ysabell?" Garmus asks in a taunting voice.
Hello! I'm Eralynn! Garmus has NOT said ANYTHING rude about you. Ever. At all.
She nods in a very sage like manner, as if it was..uh..mostly true.
"Pharasma," Ysabell replied amiably with a smile. "I don't take it you're here for a book are you? I don't remember you being the type."
Then seeing the lively women motion to her sketchbook, a genuine smile spread across her face as she saw the words magically appear on the page. "Fascinating! What wonderful magic! It's truly a pleasure to meet you Eralynn." Ysabell replied pleasantly, completely ignoring the second part of the woman's message. Looking back up at her she asked, "So I take it Garmus has made a few friends has he? Are you all traveling together?" Then looking at the other two members in front of the gate, she adds, "I'm sorry, I never caught either of your names. I am Ysabell. A pleasure."
COMING NEXT WEEK
CANDLEKEEP MYSTERIES - LEVEL ONE:
THE JOY OF EXTRADIMENTIONAL SPACES
Adventure Background: All of you have come to Candlekeep seeking aid for a stricken town, which could be the home of one or more of you - that is up for you all to decide. The settlement has withered this year. Crops have failed, the livestock stands in the fields like stick figures, and the rain has dwindled. A local mage determined that a curse had been levied on the land and recommended that the town seek aid from a sage named Matreous. After some inquiries, the mage found that Matreous was studying in Candlekeep and has sent you all to find him.
Please consider this, and adjust your backstory as needed.
CANDLEKEEP
Standing atop a rocky crag overlooking the Sea of Swords, the massive citadel of Candlekeep has endured the elements for centuries and defied the degradations of time. Visible for miles around, Candlekeep has an eye-catching silhouette: a high wall interspersed with towers. This wall encloses a large space from which more towers rise. Those who behold the edifice say it looks like nothing so much as a cake decorated with an overabundance of candles.
The entrance to Candlekeep is a double gate that stands at the end of the Way of the Lion, the only road that provides access to and from the outside world. The route follows a lonely path across the peninsula where Candlekeep stands. Those who gain entry discover a cloistered community of scholars milling around inside Candlekeep’s walls, a place of enlightened conversation and friendly debate. No better place in the Realms exists for those who have a love for or a need of knowledge and who want to pursue such interests alongside fellow seekers.
Candlekeep has the largest repository of written lore in Faerûn, including the collected prophecies of an ancient sage named Alaundo the Seer. Those compiled divinations make up a tiny fraction of the accumulated knowledge and secrets contained in the library’s vast collection.
Not all knowledge preserved in Candlekeep is of historical importance. The library holds thousands upon thousands of lost recipes, old songs, collections of folklore, and journals written by folks whose time has long since passed. The abundance of these ancillary works makes finding notable tomes an exercise in patience and perseverance. Fortunately, a legion of scholars and sages called the Avowed look after the library and remain vigilant in the care and cataloging of all the knowledge it holds.
ENTERING CANDLEKEEP
The required entrance fee for admission into Candlekeep is a work of writing not already collected therein. Those who show up at the gates without such a gift are kindly but firmly turned away. The enormous double gates of Candlekeep are three times the height of a human and wrought of black metal magically warded to foil attempts to damage them. Both doors are emblazoned with the sigil of Candlekeep. One of the two gates stands open far enough to admit visitors during the day, and the other is kept shut.
What book will you offer to enter? Consider this as you introduce your characters and we all meet in front of the gates.
ERALYNN
A long time ago when I was a child, I received a terrible wound from a cursed blade that punctured through my throat. That was the last day I ever made a sound with my voice.
It's not like I didn't want to speak, it's that I couldn't anymore. I was now a mute. No matter what healing was applied to my injury, it always remained the same and nothing changed. So, after some adjusting, I learned to sign. It wasn't easy. Most people had no idea what I was trying to say, as sign language was very uncommon. So, while attending school, I learned how to draw and discovered I was quite gifted in drawing. Then, as the years rolled by, I grew up into a young woman and discovered I had the magical ability to communicate through it. It's hard to explain. You'll just have to see what I mean. Let's just say that new doorways opened for me as I got older.
Perhaps the blade that cursed me wasn't so bad after all?
When I finished school, I made a living by being somewhat of an entertainer, I suppose. Between learning and drawing I worked the local taverns and inns trying to make some gold. Not many people could do things that I could, I was good at it, and I liked it. People seemed to enjoy my talent, and a lady had to eat. It wasn't until a fateful day at The Hog's Wife that I met Garmus my adventuring career started. He used to be a bounty hunter but now our fates are more intertwined. I was doing caricatures for people in the corner of the tavern until a situation with him reared it's head.
I'll let him tell you about that part, but things got ugly and he was about to be thrown out by two of the half-orc bouncers. I grabbed my things and I sprung into action. I had an idea.
"No trouble now!" one half-orc said, advancing on the already upset Dwarf.
"Yeah." said the other half-orc. "Outside! Wh-?!"
Like a lemur poking it's head out of a hole, I popped up between Garmus and the half-orcs, scowling. I was quite good at facial expressions since I no longer talked. I put up my dukes, like I was ready to fistfight. The half-orcs were easily three times my size. I was tiny, about five foot nine, barely a hundred and fifteen pounds. With brown hair and dark green eyes, I was, physically, no barbarian. I was slender, and had enough muscle and athletic ability to hold my own for a short time, but that was it. In other words, I was not very intimidating at all.
I pointed up, wiggled my finger back and forth, saying, "no no no!" silently. I pointed to the half-orcs with my finger, and pointed to myself next with my thumb. That's right. You wanna brawl? Let's dance.
"What in the-"
I stood there in a fighting stance, ready for whatever might come. I was hoping they'd be stupid enough to get hooked, lined, and sunk. The half-orcs looked at each other like I was insane, looked back at me, and began laughing. I held my serious pose for a few seconds longer and then joined them as well. I made the motions of laughing myself, but didn't utter a sound. While they were in their fit, I wrapped my arm around Garmus and with a hand gesture and a nod, silently told him we're leaving right now. Yup. Let's go. We're leaving. No jail for you today, sir. That was the day I quit working at The Hog's Wife.
Then, I heard of this place called Candlekeep. It was some big library, or something. Maybe they had books on art or something?
Who’s the bald dwarf you ask? Well, stranger, let me just tell you a bit about Garmus Merryhide.
You’ll find he’s on the taller side for a dwarf, standing just shy of five feet without his boots (a word of advice…don’t ever call him short, he takes that as a grave insult). He’s very proud of his beard and keeps it groomed and trimmed so it falls right at mid chest but don’t even think about touching it, you may come back a hand short. You’ll find he’s got a surly nature and quick temper. He also has what it takes to back up the insults that tend to spew out of his mouth without thought.
Fortunately, collecting bounties on criminals doesn’t require him to be nice. Yes, I said collecting bounties and I quote, direct from Garmus himself…“Not all dwarves live underground and smack rocks despite what everyone thinks.”
From what I gather he left home in search of something different and fell into bounty hunting. It lets him work alone, legally harass and assault people and earns him enough coin to eat, drink and occasionally gamble. Mixing coin and alcohol almost always leads to a fight for Garmus, as it did the night he met Eralynn. She rescued his sorry hide from spending time in the stocks. This is how that night started out....
Garmus’ chair flew back as he angrily stood up from the table. “You callin’ me a cheater you craven, flap-mouthed lout?” He reached across the table and grabbed the human’s shirt front, pulling him halfway across the table. Coins scattered and fell to the floor. “No one calls Garmus Merryhide a cheater.” He says, right in the man’s face.
“Hey! There’s not going to be any fighting in my bar dwarf so leave off or get out.” The barkeep yells.
Garmus looks over at the barkeep, he pulls the man across the table and throws him at the bar. “I’m not fighten, I’m throwin’” he says, looking at the barkeep. He starts towards the man he just tossed.
“Groc! Harus! Get this guy outta here!” the barkeep yells angrily. Two muscular half orcs start toward Garmus from the other side of the room.
You can ask Eralynn how the rest of the story went but Garmus walked out of the tavern with the slip of a girl who came to his rescue that night. Now, should you ask him about it, he will surely tell you that he followed her outside so she didn’t get herself in trouble with those two big half orcs she had just fooled. He also would have argued that he could have taken those two without breaking a sweat. Don’t tell him I said this, but I believe he walked out the door with her that night because he so surprised that someone would help him that he didn’t know what else to do. From what I hear the two have been traveling together ever since.
The lastest is that Eralynn has dragged him off to visit Candlekeep of all places. Gods help us for surely he will get them kicked out of there five minutes after they arrive.
ECKO
Hupperdook. What a city to behold. No other place in the world - or, at least, the world Ecko hails from - compares to the exuberant work-hard, party-hard lifestyle of the citizens and workers within. "City's got a lot of gnomes, and they're filled with industry, and they work all the time. But at night, they party. Work hard, party hard. It's what that city's all about," Ecko recalls hearing from some passerby roaming the vibrantly explosive streets of the city. He supposes he agrees with the statement - the gnomes were truly fantastic inventors, and their skill reflects in the efficiently chaotic nature of their lifestyle. Each day, every gnome and citizen accustomed to that life wakes up from a night of partying and pours their soul into their eccentric work, smelting machines and crafting constructs of all outlandish varieties. However - at night, when work is finished, the city becomes alive. Each night is a festival. A celebration of anything and everything at once. Really, it's just an excuse for the old gnomes to beat each other out on who could craft the most explosive firework to light up the night air. Children laugh and run around the streets. People drink. Copiously. Carnival festivities bring joy to the citizens within until dawn breaks - and then it all repeats again. Where do they sleep? Who knows, but as all the old gnomes say, what is a hundred extra years to your life if you don't enjoy a single part of it?
But Ecko is no gnome. Not one bit. Similar in stature and size, perhaps - standing around five and a half feet tall is a Kenku. The ravenfolk of the Dwendalian Empire, banished to a life of suffering and despair by a curse in the years of yonder. Most eke out a living in the Savalier Woods nearby - or anywhere, really. Slums of cities were a favorite. But not Ecko. Somehow, as a child, he wandered too far from the safety of his kin, becoming lost in the woods in the dead of night. That was no place for anyone that wasn't a beast of the woods. Stumbling around through the murky trees and misty fog, he eventually heard a faint sound in the distance. A burst. A flash of light. A beacon in the darkness. It was a firework. He trailed towards the source of the sound, coming across the intimidating iron gates of Hupperdook's Omni-Smelter, located in the Lower Tier of the mountainous city. It was easy for the young Kenku to slide straight through the iron bars and stumble out to the overabundance of joy and festivity present within. Kenku are quite rare, and gnomes are one of the most curious beings that populate the land. They are quite benign and kind, too, taking pity on the poor thing. The Kenku was subsequently given a home and a name - Ecko. Not in a demeaning sense, but there wasn't a single Gnome child that heard Kenku's mimicry and didn't immediately blurt the word 'echo' to his face and expect an identical response.
His talents, too, were not something to be looked over. The ever-looming war between the Dwendalian Empire and the nation of Xhorhas kicked the lifestyle of the gnomes - even by Hupperdookian standards - into overdrive. The Underbellows and Omni-Smelter were constantly experimenting and churning out war machines and equipment designed by the Iron Lot's wickedly genius designers. Kenku couldn't quite create much, but they were natural experts of mimicking designs and fabricating items of all sorts - and Ecko was enlisted to aid the cause. Determined to return the kindness he was given, Ecko continued on, disregarding the increasingly cruel nature of the machinery being fabricated.
His work didn't go unnoticed. He was approached by some higher-ups - if you can call a Gnome that - and was asked to join the growing force of arcane inventors and artillerists that compromise a more mobile, machine-driven militia to aid defend against the oncoming Drow invasion. It was there he learned to weave old, combative magic with mundane and magical inventions alike. Secret technology in the Iron Lot became available to him to test and learn to use.
If only the Gnomes took adequate safety precautions, but I suppose that is too much to ask for the eclectic gnomes of Hupperdook. One such secret invention being crafted was a mass teleportation device intended to teleport hundreds of soldiers flawlessly into a destination of choice. Ecko had the misfortune of being the closest one on the railing behind as they fired it up for yet another test. Something went wrong. A crackle and jolt of energy snagged the poor Kenku, hurtling him into a dimensional rift the Gnomes accidentally opened. Hopefully someone would get fired, Ecko thought. Hours later of drifting through unknown cosmic phenomena, something attracted the energy of the drifter through space, sucking him into a menagerie of chronurgy-related artifacts present within some library. With a faint pop, Ecko was propelled and deposited directly on the marbled floor beneath. 'CANDLEKEEP CHRONICLES OF CHRONURGY & CLOCKWORK' read a signpost nearby. Apparently like attracts like, and Ecko was plopped directly where things that mess with space and time should be. Ecko took but a moment to regather his thoughts and silently panic at his current precedent, grasping an invention he made in hand - a little winding mechanism that allows him speech most Kenku would only dream of having - when he locked eyes with another person that shouldn't have been there either.
Due to an exceeding lack of adequate artwork I could find, Plague Doctors were the next best option. Pretend the mask is significantly more lifelike.
OUTSIDE THE GATES
Eralynn was a young woman. Couldn't be older than twenty five. Maybe twenty six. Standing next to Garmus outside the gates of Candlekeep, she wore leathers and had a large satchel looped around her upper body. In her left hand she cradled a large sketchbook, and in her right hand, a large black crayon. Besides the scar on her throat, the only other distinguishing feature she had was her fingers. Her fingers were covered with residue from the crayon - artist hands - as if she was constantly sketching.
Eralynn had managed to convince, somehow, that inside Candlekeep, she would find the next latest and greatest artbook to add to her magical inventory. She smiled, and gasped silently, reaching for her satchel. She pulled out a book, showing it to Garmus. She tapped him excitedly on the shoulder and tapped the cover of her book, making him look at the cover.
"How To Make Thumbprint People"
Inside the book, Eralynn used her thumb to create wild and adorable scenes of thumbprint people using her own thumb. Step by step instructions, too. She gave him the book and she scribbled on her sketchbook.
"bet they don't have this one"
Garmus grabs the book..."Stop yer pokin' lass." says a heavily armored, bald dwarf in a grumbly voice as he opens the book and looks through it. "Even if they do it's not as good as yours." He hands the book back and strokes his long beard. "Hmm, ya think these bookworms will let both of us in on that? I can show them how to crack a skull but don't expect me to be scribblin' a book about it." He says, his hand resting on the head of his battle axe.
Eralynn holds a finger up, and digs into her backpack once more. On the front cover, it's got an illustration close up of a table full of food and ale, with a lone male dwarf eating so messily and voraciously.
"Table Manners For Dwarves, Volume 1"
She hands you the book, and scribbles on her sketchbook again, showing you what she wrote.
"Not that you need it."
She tries to hold back a "giggle".
Garmus cocks an eyebrow at Eralynn "Think yer funny do ya? Better watch yerself jabbermouth."
Eralynn makes a comical face that she's treading on dangerous territory, but you know her well enough that she's just playfully teasing you and respects you nonetheless. When you're ready, she gives you an inquisitive face as if asking if you're ready to try and go inside. You can tell she's excited to try and find a new art book.
"Lead the way, scribbler." Garmus says and gives her a wink and a playful shove.
In the current moment:
A Kenku bouncily treks towards the imposing - yet glorious - gates of Candlekeep. Contrary to the regular visage of Kenku those in Faerun may be accustomed to, this one seems to be quite well-dressed. A dark brown leather tunic wraps around his chest, accentuated by studded bits of gleaming metal armor. Perched on his beak is a cracked and shattered - and subsequently taped together - pair of large spectacles crafted from some metal. For a Kenku, the birdling is quite tall - standing just under six feet in height, but something more curious about his behavior is his tendency to look downwards towards the ground below. Living in a city predominantly populated by Gnomes does that to a person. He blinks, rapidly swiveling his head in small, jerky motions customary to regular morning sparrows, eventually setting his gaze on the gate. A book? He rummages into a small sack strung around his waist, giving the occupants milling outside the gate a quick look of curiosity. A few things spill out - among other things a small, steam-powered, mechanical raven, some kind of globe, and a miniature easel-looking contraption pour onto the dirt street. He lets out a dramatic, irritated sigh, mimicking the sound of a high-pitched whistle from a steampunk gyrogenerater being tested in the Omni-Smelter, bending down to scoop up his possessions in a series of rapid movements with feather-covered arms. Sitting some distance away is a small journal the Kenku leaves for the time being - "THE CURIOUS CRAFTS OF CLEFF TINKERTOP".
Better portrait!
The lone figure stood quietly to a side of the main gate, studying the towering wall that had proven to be his adversary for so long.
"Just one peep inside. A quick looksie to see what I can find. We'd be set for life, dad," the words echoed in his mind as did the glowering image of his father.
"Too dangerous. Not worth it. We're doing fine with what you've 'found' so far," his father replied, turning back to the bag full of items he was currently cataloguing...fruits of one of Raastin Rolfwann's more recent excursions. Mostly baubles and trinkets, but that potion may well bring good coin.
As if he could feel his son's silent sigh, Adolin Rolfwann turned back once more. "Your life is more important than this shop. You want to earn entrance to the Keep, you know the fare -- either you be invited to study amongst its magic users or you find a book."
A fortnight ago, the words still hung in the air around the diminutive half-elf, dressed in a dark coat over well-worn leathers. His mop of messy black hair, left unkempt and uncontrollable. Raastin's father had been trying unsuccessfully to get "invited" to join the mages for decades. The young half-elf had no aspirations of following in those footsteps, though, his mother had earned one of those coveted envelopes before her untimely death. No, studying the arcane arts, while a fun distraction, was not what Raastin needed.
With a smile and a flourish, he whips a tome from his pouch -- a work that securing almost cost Raastin his life. Flipping the book expertly in his hand as he traverses toward the gate, he thinks to himself, "I have no idea who Camilla and Poopy are, but surely this tale of demons, devils and brain-eating spawn has got to be worth something."
Corrin Kettlewhistle: Halfling Life Cleric (Curse of Strahd)
Kip Dalton: Human Lore Bard (Waterdeep Dragon Heist)
Debauchery Dalliance: Half-Drow Oath of Conquest Paladin (White Plume Mountain)
JUST OUTSIDE THE GATE
Just as they were about to walk in, the sigh from the Kenku caught Eralynn's attention. She patted Garmus excitedly on the shoulder, again. Look, look! She pantomimed. And her face was filled with wonder. She signaled Garmus again, as if wanting to meet this person, half dragging him along.
And then, something equally amazing happened.
She saw Raastin whip out the book. She recognized it instantly. She pulled Garmus with her, going up to him. She spoke, making no sound, but moving her mouth, indicating to you, through pointing, smiling and nodding, that she's very familiar with that book!
Then, finally, she waved to the kenku. Hello!
Are we using italics? I'm using italics. I love italics.
The Kenku's head jerks in Eralynn's direction. Curious - most usually made their presence known through speech. He waves back with a feathered hand and hurriedly scoops up the remainder of his pouch that spilled on the floor, casting nervous looks around - the eyes of thieves seemed to be gravitationally attracted to anything precious and metal - before standing up straight, meeting her in the eye. He rummages in a frayed, burlap pocket for something, withdrawing what appears to be a miniature sonograph with a handheld crank. He winds a small mechanism on the back, staring at it expectantly for several moments before shrugging. It must have been broken in the fall.
He struts towards the two when his eyes catch Raastin in the corner. He lets out his trademark sound; an ear-piercing, flawless audio recording of a saw shredding through bits of sparkly metal. Ecko had used it often when he was lost in this strange place he had been shunted into, and it was often the curious creature wandered off on some tangent to investigate sparkly things around town.
He pulls on his glasses, enlarging and highlighting bright, twinkling, brown eyes, rapidly retrieves a wrench and a screw, and fiddles with the miniature sonograph for a moment. With a pop, something clicks in place. He folds his spectacles with a satisfying click, letting the thing unwind. "Hello, there! You don't seem to speak much. What's your name?" the invention whirrs, gradually fading until the rotating wind ceases to move. In one hand the book of inventions remains wedged inside a pocket strapped to a meticulously polished bronze shield emblazoned with the arms of the Dwendalian Empire.
Eralynn smiles in pleasant surprise and holds up a finger. She then flips to a specific page in her sketchbook, towards the beginning and shows it to you. The image on the page is a near perfect caricature of her in an animated way, and it moved, like a cartoon, showing her getting injured and clearly explaining that she cannot speak because of it. The cartoon repeats once it ends.
She flips the page where she has already written "I am Eralynn. Very nice to meet you!" including herself, on the page, waving to you in a very happy manner. "And you?" it ends with.
Then, she flips a few pages more, and shows you a question: Why are you here?
Slowly making their way up the Way of the Lion towards the immense citadel was a solitary figure draped in a large flowing shawl of purplish-black reaching down towards the ground. As they approached the black metal gates, it became clear that the lonely figure was in fact a woman, an elven woman, with unusually pale skin and hair the color of a spring moon in the dead of night. The woman seemed to carry nothing on their person besides a small backpack slung casually over one shoulder and a massive scythe - at least the woman's height if not taller - slung across her back. She seemed to glide as she approached the small group up ahead, moving at a languid pace as if she had all the time in the world. And in a sense, she did being an elf and all, having lived what amounted to at least 2-4 lifetimes of the "more active" races as she often thought them; always in a rush and on the move to something bigger and better. She never could understand the sentiment but she understood a lifetime or two ago that being so long lived had a tendency to warp one's view on the world. And so be it, she had thought then, she rather liked how things went and had no interest in changing that anytime soon.
And it hadn't. For a very long time. For years - and honestly since she was first volunteered as a chosen of Pharasma, a "Child of Death" - her life had followed a very similar routine: Travel across the realm until she was called upon by either her Goddess or a person in need to "extinguish" certain entities that had escaped death or continued to live in "undeath". Rinse and repeat.
Though she did not know that her routine was about to be turned upside down for a time - and perhaps forever - her current mission began like any other, with a dream. Told by her mistress to investigate the citadel, she was most of the way there when she came across a town she had visited a few times here and there in her travels. Each time she visited, the inhabitants she had come to know had long since passed or moved on, leaving just one family of mages who passed on her story and would call upon her whenever she appeared. This time, she was met by the third mage of the family who explained their plight and asked for assistance in contacting a certain sage who happened to be studying at the same citadel she was heading to. Fondly remembering the mage's ancestors and the life the town once had, she agreed and quickened her pace "slightly" towards the Citadel.
Coming up to the gates, she was better able to note the four individuals in front of her: a rather animated human, a dwarf, a half-elf and... was that a Kenku? She hadn't seen one in at least a decade! What an interesting group... she thought amiably to herself as she arrived at the main gates.
Now having a clearer view of her, you could see that she was a relatively short elven woman with pale silver eyes matching her hair and skin color. Her hair, long, flowing and reaching down to the small of her back was partially braided with some sort of green cloth. Her face was smooth, friendly, attractive and showed no hints of her current age. Lastly, up close and personal, it was clear to see that her scythe was much bigger than it appeared to be from afar. Though it didn't seem particularly heavy, it did look rather... unwieldy and unbalanced; it was impossible by looking at the elf just how she typically wielded the weapon.
"Hello! Are you all waiting to enter as well." The elf began in rather silky voice once she was next to the party. "I am Ysabell and... Garmus is that you...? Ah it is! It's been much too long! I hope your work is continuing to go quite well. What brings you out here?"
Zoldier’s Curse of the Crimson Throne: DM/ Redii || Zoldier's Strange Aeon's: DM
"Cripes, Eralynn, slow yerself!" Garmus grumbles as she tries to pull him in different directions. He takes another look at the tall, feathered stranger. "Huh, is that one a them bird folk you drew a picture of?" he asks her as she heads towards Raastin.
He turns back to the other stranger that Eralynn has dragged him to meet. He looks over the youngster with a critical eye, noting the quick work of his hands. He crosses his arms. "You watch yourself around this one Lynny." He says, giving Raastin a little bit of the stink eye. He cringes at the high pitched sound from the kenku, his attention taken from the half-elf. "Gods! Are ya tryin' ta make me deaf ya mammering harpy?!" Garmus barks at the kenku.
"Ysabell?" Well, if it ain't death's hand maiden herself!" He says and turns to Eralynn. "This is the cleric I told you about, the one that tried ta steal my bounty, said he belonged to...what's the name again, Ysabell?" Garmus asks in a taunting voice.
"Huh, is that one a them bird folk you drew a picture of?" he asks her as she heads towards Raastin.
Eralynn nods enthusiastically. You get a thumbs up.
"This is the cleric I told you about, the one that tried ta steal my bounty, said he belonged to...what's the name again, Ysabell?"
Eralynn claps her hands. She holds out her sketchbook, and she dramatically waves her hand on the empty page, where, magically, words sprinkle on to the page.
Hello! I'm Eralynn! Garmus has NOT said ANYTHING rude about you. Ever. At all.
She nods in a very sage like manner, as if it was..uh..mostly true.
"Pharasma," Ysabell replied amiably with a smile. "I don't take it you're here for a book are you? I don't remember you being the type."
Then seeing the lively women motion to her sketchbook, a genuine smile spread across her face as she saw the words magically appear on the page. "Fascinating! What wonderful magic! It's truly a pleasure to meet you Eralynn." Ysabell replied pleasantly, completely ignoring the second part of the woman's message. Looking back up at her she asked, "So I take it Garmus has made a few friends has he? Are you all traveling together?" Then looking at the other two members in front of the gate, she adds, "I'm sorry, I never caught either of your names. I am Ysabell. A pleasure."
Zoldier’s Curse of the Crimson Throne: DM/ Redii || Zoldier's Strange Aeon's: DM