Brevig replies to Donir, plainly impressed with his judiciousness, yet not in agreement. “There is merit to that argument, however in my experience, much can occur while journeying in Faerun, and even death can come unexpectedly. It is my destiny to die by the sword, and I do not fear it. Yet, the risk of reaching our first destination with four — not five — is greater the farther we must travel to retrieve the first feather.”
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Fargoth seems to get lost in his thoughts for a second, before addressing the seniors once more. “So, if we were to tackle the cult or the orcs first, what is our remit? Obtaining the artefacts through subtle means, or by force? Angering a tribe or cult with a theft will have ramifications, as will wholesale slaughter.”
"Subtlety is, of course, a favorite of mine," remarks Merranock with mischievous smile. "But some force may be needed, I fear."
Smoke continues to wreath upwardly from the halfling's pipe as he adds, "The Hi-Thoror have long been a nuisance to other tribes in the Nether Mountains, Fargoth. I suspect the crippling, or removal, of their seemingly invincible chief will embolden the Hi-Thoror's many foes and that, in turn, will minimize any ramifications you might face. Badrizar Nath, and the sect he leads, is...undoubtedly...a more delicate matter."
"I'll be more direct," Themius says. "What subtlety, what persuasion, what trickery will convince a cult warrior to forsake the armor that has protected him against so much for so long?"
Meeting the eyes of all five of you, the half-elf adds, "May Tyr sharpen your wits and blades when you meet Badrizar."
Brevig replies to Donir, plainly impressed with his judiciousness, yet not in agreement. “There is merit to that argument, however in my experience, much can occur while journeying in Faerun, and even death can come unexpectedly. It is my destiny to die by the sword, and I do not fear it. Yet, the risk of reaching our first destination with four — not five — is greater the farther we must travel to retrieve the first feather.”
Sarime, nods silently as she listens to Brevig's assessment. "I would like to suggest something, something that has just come to my mind as we discuss the days ahead. The Sunset Mountains and Badrizar Nath are quite remote, a journey of nearly three weeks. The Knights of Samular have an old friend who might be persuaded to help us in shortening that particular journey. Grant me three or four days' time, however, to make the arrangements."
"You speak of Edo?" asks Themius, with a look of mild surprise on his face.
"I do," replies Sarime. "In short, I suggest the five of you first pursue Dhamab or the sphere. When you return--which I am sure you shall--I will have better news about how to reach the Sunset Mountains more rapidly."
Donir smiles and nods, letting out another puff of smoke into the hazy room. Occasionally, one can catch a glimpse of something in the smoke. The strike of a hammer, maybe, or a tightly coiled fist striking out.
”If that is the case, my vote turns to the Hi-Thoror and Dhamab. They are the more active threat, so the sphere can wait. If all goes well, the hands that have held it until now will continue to do so without issue, at least until we claim it.”
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
“So be it”, the wood elf sighs with resignation. “Perhaps we can bargain with these rival tribes to our benefit? Mask our presence somewhat by using them against the Hi-Thoror?”
Brevig bows his head to Sarime in thanks for the benediction of her favor. He gestures with a sure hand to the wood elf. “Fargoth Applethorn, you raise an important point: the question of numbers” To the three speakers, the aasimar continues, “We five can surely accomplish much. I sense that I will have to seek divine support, daily, if I am to maintain a seat at this table of heroes. I sense too that the intention is for we five, alone, to undertake this quest, without an army or other reinforcements to slow us or...show us...in our movements. Is this so?”
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
"Correct," says Themius in response to Brevig's question. "You five alone. And the less Faerun knows about who you are and what you are doing the better. Harpers at the various teleportation locations will, of course, be a resource for you."
"From Waterdeep to Everlund, that'll be just a wee hop," remarks Merranock. The halfling then describes the location of a raised crypt in Waterdeep's walled cemetery, the City of the Dead. "The name Myrna in inscribed above the entrance. Upon entering you'll find the attending mage who will make the magic happen, so to speak. You'll then arrive in Moongleam Tower in Everlund. A host of bright and helpful Harper folk will be available to you there, of course."
Sensing this gathering is nearing its end, Sarime stands and utters a plea for divine guidance, blessing, and provision over you.
“I have pledged my life to the order and, to you, who granted me a place in it when I arrived in Waterdeep without a coin, family, or even reputation, and somehow, you saw through what was missing to what —or who—was there, kneeling before you.
You trust in this quest and have seen fit to place your trust in us to undertake it. I will ask no more questions, but instead, shift my gaze to what is plainly visible: the power of this ancient mystery lies — at least in part — in the hands of chaos.” Looking around the room, inviting the other four to join in this statement, he continues, “I —we—will do everything we can to thwart that fate, mid-sentence, and write a new poem in its place which sings of peace and life everlasting.”
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Dhamab it is then, Gwin says giddily, but with an almost impercetible flash of flint in her eyes. I am grateful to be included in such company and hope to fulfill my duties as is worthy of the quest. That Badrizar Nath better watch himself, she continues with a wink and a couple of air punches, you know what they say, the bigger they are the harder they crawl!
As the others continue to chat amongst themselves, the cleric's demeanor transforms into one of solemnity as she reaches into the folds of her cloak, pulls out a stick of incense, lights it, and begins circling the party, muttering a prayer to the Just God under her breath.
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‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
Donir joins Gwin in brief prayer, before they depart, closing his eyes and pressing his single fist against his breast.
"Even-Handed guide us. Grant us the courage to place our hands in the maw of the beast. Grant us the swiftness required to pull away from its jaws if we must, and the endurance to withstand its teeth if we must not. Grant us the tenacity to continue our quest despite any losses we might suffer. Grant us the wisdom to judge and act fairly and rationally, blinded to bias as you are. Lord Tyr, we beseech and thank you."
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
A few hours later you are within the City of the Dead, walking its paths as silently as those who have been laid to rest there. You are grateful for the secrecy provided by the darkness and fog as you follow Merranock’s directions to the crypt. The attending mage—a pale wisp of a girl named Thestryl—greets you warmly but softly and then leads you within. She speaks the word Myrna and a shield guardian construct suddenly animates and removes the lid of the stone sarcophagus, revealing a staircase to a lower level. At the bottom of the stairs you stand in a magically lit room. Upon the floor of this chamber is the teleportation circle; nearby you see a small study alcove and a cot that you surmise to be the mage’s meager quarters while on duty.
Thestryl confirms your destination and wishes you well as you step within the 10’ circle. She utters a few words, causing the air about you to shimmer and pulse slightly, and a moment later you stand within a circular chamber in Everlund’s Moongleam Tower. The walls are smooth black stone, and the room is devoid of windows. Propped up in a chair against the wall is a rather disheveled mage; you have little doubt that he has just awakened from a nap.
“Ah…well, hello there,” he stammers. “Moongleam Tower…welcome to Moongleam Tower. I am Flewen, apprentice mage. I know enough not to ask you your business but to inform you that within this place are many who are available to assist you if needed. This way, please…”
Somewhat stiffly, Flewen leads you to the stairwell that will take you to the lower levels. You make your way to the ground floor, noting that your presence is in no way disruptive to the goings on in Moongleam Tower. Strangers arriving by teleport must be a matter of course here.
This main room of the tower is currently occupied by three apprentice mages, a hearty old shield dwarf, and several tressym lazing about. The dwarf stands and says, "Welcome, Harper friends. I'm called Spar. Here to help if I can."
Patrin steps forward to greet the dwarf. 'Nice to meet you, Spar' he holds out a scaled hand 'I'm Patrin Akambherylliax.' he grins at that 'Patrin is fine. What's the latest news out of the Nether Mountains?' he asks, getting straight to business...
"The Nethers, eh?" replies Spar. The old dwarf runs his thick fingers through his beard and provides his assessment. "News from there is a rare thing, Patrin. Folks avoid the Nethers. Orc tribes in the west; hobgoblins and blue dragons in the eastern reaches. That's been the news for as long as I've been alive. If that's where yer headed, you might share a pint with someone in Rauvincross. Mining town three days east of here. On the banks of the Rauvin in Moon Pass. Folks there live in the shadow of the Nethers. They'll know a thing or two."
The party is aware that the Nether Mountains have been a source of granite, silver ore, and copper ore for centuries. Brave-hearted miners continue to face the dangers of the mountains for the possibility of lining their pockets with gold.
Brevig endures the teleportation quietly, although troubled in his heart with memories of past instantaneous travel, followed by brutal slaughter. He pulls himself to the present and joins the conversation.
“Greetings and well met, Spar. I am Brevig, Knight of Samular, as you see,” the paladin states, simply, his livery showing the same. “If you are able to spare what we need, we come with instructions from Merranock Mistymoon to supply us for a journey to the Nethers. Can that be accomplished in time for us to set out at break of day?”
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DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
"Three on horseback. Four on foot,"Spar responds to Fargoth. Then, to Brevig, he says "Aye, in three-quarters of an hour the stables will have mounts ready. Rations too."
He then motions to one of the apprentices nearby; the mage nods and briskly exits the room for the stables. Forty-five minutes later you enter the courtyard at the base of Moongleam Tower, and, as promised, five horses stand at the ready. Patting two of the horses on the neck, Spar murmurs affectionately, "Keep yourselves out of harm's way. Understood?"
Turning toward the five of you, the old dwarf says, "Serve you well they will. I've no doubt. And someday I hope to know what business the likes of you might have in the Nethers. An interesting tale no doubt."
A few hours later, as the sun begins to brighten the sky behind you, Everlund's towers and roofs are well out of sight. To the party's left and right are rolling hills, and the Rauvin must not be too distant, for the sound of its rushing waters is falling upon your ears.
(If any additional conversation needed to occur in Everlund, then we can certainly fill that in. Assuming the destination is the mining town of Rauvincross but will wait for confirmation)
Upon Thestryl's final word, Gwin sees an intense flash of light and her head dizzies. Arriving in Moongleam Tower she finds herself momentarily discombobulated with wisps of her hair standing up as if lightening had struck the cleric in transport. Smoothing her vestments she steps off and spends a great deal of time exclaiming at everything she sees, engaging Spar in Dwarvish, and talking about simpler times.
Unsurprisingly the cleric seems to reach new levels of excitement when she is presented with her mount and chuckles to herself, I'm never one to look a gift horse in the snout. With an ease of movement you wouldn't expect from a stout dwarf Gwin is immediately astride her horse and spends the first few hours of their journey vacillating between prayer and speaking in hushed, affectionate tones to her new four-legged friend.
Donir is less disoriented by the sudden teleportation, but he still takes a few moments to blink the spots out of his eyes before staggering forward. He smooths out his tangled beard, and follows the others to the stables. Upon being presented with a horse, he awkwardly clambers onto its back, nervously clutching the reins with his hand.
"I've, er, only actually ridden a horse a few times in my life. This is sure to be quite a treat, isn't it?"
He sighs, attempting to stretch his stubby legs to fit his feet into the stirrups for a minute, before readjusting them to better accommodate his height.
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Patrin looks over to Donir. ‘Best let me know if you need healing during the trip then..’ he says, recalling the discomfort of adapting to riding new types of mount...
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Brevig replies to Donir, plainly impressed with his judiciousness, yet not in agreement. “There is merit to that argument, however in my experience, much can occur while journeying in Faerun, and even death can come unexpectedly. It is my destiny to die by the sword, and I do not fear it. Yet, the risk of reaching our first destination with four — not five — is greater the farther we must travel to retrieve the first feather.”
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
"Subtlety is, of course, a favorite of mine," remarks Merranock with mischievous smile. "But some force may be needed, I fear."
Smoke continues to wreath upwardly from the halfling's pipe as he adds, "The Hi-Thoror have long been a nuisance to other tribes in the Nether Mountains, Fargoth. I suspect the crippling, or removal, of their seemingly invincible chief will embolden the Hi-Thoror's many foes and that, in turn, will minimize any ramifications you might face. Badrizar Nath, and the sect he leads, is...undoubtedly...a more delicate matter."
"I'll be more direct," Themius says. "What subtlety, what persuasion, what trickery will convince a cult warrior to forsake the armor that has protected him against so much for so long?"
Meeting the eyes of all five of you, the half-elf adds, "May Tyr sharpen your wits and blades when you meet Badrizar."
Sarime, nods silently as she listens to Brevig's assessment. "I would like to suggest something, something that has just come to my mind as we discuss the days ahead. The Sunset Mountains and Badrizar Nath are quite remote, a journey of nearly three weeks. The Knights of Samular have an old friend who might be persuaded to help us in shortening that particular journey. Grant me three or four days' time, however, to make the arrangements."
"You speak of Edo?" asks Themius, with a look of mild surprise on his face.
"I do," replies Sarime. "In short, I suggest the five of you first pursue Dhamab or the sphere. When you return--which I am sure you shall--I will have better news about how to reach the Sunset Mountains more rapidly."
Donir smiles and nods, letting out another puff of smoke into the hazy room. Occasionally, one can catch a glimpse of something in the smoke. The strike of a hammer, maybe, or a tightly coiled fist striking out.
”If that is the case, my vote turns to the Hi-Thoror and Dhamab. They are the more active threat, so the sphere can wait. If all goes well, the hands that have held it until now will continue to do so without issue, at least until we claim it.”
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Patrin nods ‘Dhamab then...’ he says almost eagerly...
“So be it”, the wood elf sighs with resignation. “Perhaps we can bargain with these rival tribes to our benefit? Mask our presence somewhat by using them against the Hi-Thoror?”
Brevig bows his head to Sarime in thanks for the benediction of her favor. He gestures with a sure hand to the wood elf. “Fargoth Applethorn, you raise an important point: the question of numbers” To the three speakers, the aasimar continues, “We five can surely accomplish much. I sense that I will have to seek divine support, daily, if I am to maintain a seat at this table of heroes. I sense too that the intention is for we five, alone, to undertake this quest, without an army or other reinforcements to slow us or...show us...in our movements. Is this so?”
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
"Correct," says Themius in response to Brevig's question. "You five alone. And the less Faerun knows about who you are and what you are doing the better. Harpers at the various teleportation locations will, of course, be a resource for you."
"From Waterdeep to Everlund, that'll be just a wee hop," remarks Merranock. The halfling then describes the location of a raised crypt in Waterdeep's walled cemetery, the City of the Dead. "The name Myrna in inscribed above the entrance. Upon entering you'll find the attending mage who will make the magic happen, so to speak. You'll then arrive in Moongleam Tower in Everlund. A host of bright and helpful Harper folk will be available to you there, of course."
Sensing this gathering is nearing its end, Sarime stands and utters a plea for divine guidance, blessing, and provision over you.
Brevig turns to Sarimé.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Dhamab it is then, Gwin says giddily, but with an almost impercetible flash of flint in her eyes. I am grateful to be included in such company and hope to fulfill my duties as is worthy of the quest. That Badrizar Nath better watch himself, she continues with a wink and a couple of air punches, you know what they say, the bigger they are the harder they crawl!
As the others continue to chat amongst themselves, the cleric's demeanor transforms into one of solemnity as she reaches into the folds of her cloak, pulls out a stick of incense, lights it, and begins circling the party, muttering a prayer to the Just God under her breath.
‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
Donir joins Gwin in brief prayer, before they depart, closing his eyes and pressing his single fist against his breast.
"Even-Handed guide us. Grant us the courage to place our hands in the maw of the beast. Grant us the swiftness required to pull away from its jaws if we must, and the endurance to withstand its teeth if we must not. Grant us the tenacity to continue our quest despite any losses we might suffer. Grant us the wisdom to judge and act fairly and rationally, blinded to bias as you are. Lord Tyr, we beseech and thank you."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
A few hours later you are within the City of the Dead, walking its paths as silently as those who have been laid to rest there. You are grateful for the secrecy provided by the darkness and fog as you follow Merranock’s directions to the crypt. The attending mage—a pale wisp of a girl named Thestryl—greets you warmly but softly and then leads you within. She speaks the word Myrna and a shield guardian construct suddenly animates and removes the lid of the stone sarcophagus, revealing a staircase to a lower level. At the bottom of the stairs you stand in a magically lit room. Upon the floor of this chamber is the teleportation circle; nearby you see a small study alcove and a cot that you surmise to be the mage’s meager quarters while on duty.
Thestryl confirms your destination and wishes you well as you step within the 10’ circle. She utters a few words, causing the air about you to shimmer and pulse slightly, and a moment later you stand within a circular chamber in Everlund’s Moongleam Tower. The walls are smooth black stone, and the room is devoid of windows. Propped up in a chair against the wall is a rather disheveled mage; you have little doubt that he has just awakened from a nap.
“Ah…well, hello there,” he stammers. “Moongleam Tower…welcome to Moongleam Tower. I am Flewen, apprentice mage. I know enough not to ask you your business but to inform you that within this place are many who are available to assist you if needed. This way, please…”
Somewhat stiffly, Flewen leads you to the stairwell that will take you to the lower levels. You make your way to the ground floor, noting that your presence is in no way disruptive to the goings on in Moongleam Tower. Strangers arriving by teleport must be a matter of course here.
This main room of the tower is currently occupied by three apprentice mages, a hearty old shield dwarf, and several tressym lazing about. The dwarf stands and says, "Welcome, Harper friends. I'm called Spar. Here to help if I can."
Patrin steps forward to greet the dwarf. 'Nice to meet you, Spar' he holds out a scaled hand 'I'm Patrin Akambherylliax.' he grins at that 'Patrin is fine. What's the latest news out of the Nether Mountains?' he asks, getting straight to business...
"The Nethers, eh?" replies Spar. The old dwarf runs his thick fingers through his beard and provides his assessment. "News from there is a rare thing, Patrin. Folks avoid the Nethers. Orc tribes in the west; hobgoblins and blue dragons in the eastern reaches. That's been the news for as long as I've been alive. If that's where yer headed, you might share a pint with someone in Rauvincross. Mining town three days east of here. On the banks of the Rauvin in Moon Pass. Folks there live in the shadow of the Nethers. They'll know a thing or two."
The party is aware that the Nether Mountains have been a source of granite, silver ore, and copper ore for centuries. Brave-hearted miners continue to face the dangers of the mountains for the possibility of lining their pockets with gold.
Fargoth steps out of the circle, and breathes deeply as he recomposes himself, before joining the conversation. "Three days by foot or on horseback?"
“Greetings and well met, Spar. I am Brevig, Knight of Samular, as you see,” the paladin states, simply, his livery showing the same. “If you are able to spare what we need, we come with instructions from Merranock Mistymoon to supply us for a journey to the Nethers. Can that be accomplished in time for us to set out at break of day?”
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
"Three on horseback. Four on foot," Spar responds to Fargoth. Then, to Brevig, he says "Aye, in three-quarters of an hour the stables will have mounts ready. Rations too."
He then motions to one of the apprentices nearby; the mage nods and briskly exits the room for the stables. Forty-five minutes later you enter the courtyard at the base of Moongleam Tower, and, as promised, five horses stand at the ready. Patting two of the horses on the neck, Spar murmurs affectionately, "Keep yourselves out of harm's way. Understood?"
Turning toward the five of you, the old dwarf says, "Serve you well they will. I've no doubt. And someday I hope to know what business the likes of you might have in the Nethers. An interesting tale no doubt."
A few hours later, as the sun begins to brighten the sky behind you, Everlund's towers and roofs are well out of sight. To the party's left and right are rolling hills, and the Rauvin must not be too distant, for the sound of its rushing waters is falling upon your ears.
(If any additional conversation needed to occur in Everlund, then we can certainly fill that in. Assuming the destination is the mining town of Rauvincross but will wait for confirmation)
Upon Thestryl's final word, Gwin sees an intense flash of light and her head dizzies. Arriving in Moongleam Tower she finds herself momentarily discombobulated with wisps of her hair standing up as if lightening had struck the cleric in transport. Smoothing her vestments she steps off and spends a great deal of time exclaiming at everything she sees, engaging Spar in Dwarvish, and talking about simpler times.
Unsurprisingly the cleric seems to reach new levels of excitement when she is presented with her mount and chuckles to herself, I'm never one to look a gift horse in the snout. With an ease of movement you wouldn't expect from a stout dwarf Gwin is immediately astride her horse and spends the first few hours of their journey vacillating between prayer and speaking in hushed, affectionate tones to her new four-legged friend.
(DM: Are there names for the horses?)
‘The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.’ - Buffy Summers
Donir is less disoriented by the sudden teleportation, but he still takes a few moments to blink the spots out of his eyes before staggering forward. He smooths out his tangled beard, and follows the others to the stables. Upon being presented with a horse, he awkwardly clambers onto its back, nervously clutching the reins with his hand.
"I've, er, only actually ridden a horse a few times in my life. This is sure to be quite a treat, isn't it?"
He sighs, attempting to stretch his stubby legs to fit his feet into the stirrups for a minute, before readjusting them to better accommodate his height.
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Patrin looks over to Donir. ‘Best let me know if you need healing during the trip then..’ he says, recalling the discomfort of adapting to riding new types of mount...