As the mourners disperse after saying their goodbyes to Rennika, two people who had been standing at the rear of the crowd approach. The first is a female sun elf; she's older but still spry, dressed in the noble finery of a northerner. The other is more mysterious, draped in a heavy black cloak and wearing a silver mask. The elf speaks, “Beautiful ceremony. It’s clear Rennika meant a great deal to you.”
The cloaked figure cuts in with a dry, raspy voice, one that reminds you of the way Rennika spoke as death approached, “There is a chance the deceased’s soul and countless others can be saved. If you act quickly, we might even be able to bring them back to life... and you can save those still living with the curse as well.”
The sun elf nods in agreement with her counterpart and says, "I am Remallia Haventree and this..."--motioning toward the cloaked and masked figure--"...is Syndra Silvane."
Remallia's name is unfamiliar to you. Syndra Silvane, however, is a name you know despite her retirement and aloofness. She is one of the city's great wizards.
You hear Syndra's frail voice coming from behind her mask. "Would you walk with us for a while? And allow us to speak of our plan?"
Eyeing the two, Matthias would simply shrug. Nursing a glass of wine in his hands would be a figure that would look very much like an elf. He stood at about average height, had blue hair and pale grey skin. Observing his top half, he seemed to have a sort of branch crown upon his head, vibrant violet-red eyes, forked-pointed ears. He also wore fine clothes of noble splendor with a brooch that sported the symbol of a horseshoe. He seemed to focus more on the sun elf than the cloaked figure. He finished his glass and set it down upon a nearby table.
"Sure, not like I have much better to do with my time. It is a pleasure, Lady Haventree, Lady Silvane. You may call me Saville."
Being a figure of nobility also from the north, does Rennika's attire seem familiar to some noble house close to Waterdeep or something related?
Barkas is still wiping his eyes as he walks up and approaches, he seems like he is fumbling for words. Always counting himself as an outsider, he lets others take the lead. He nods, taking a stiff drink from his mug of ale (which he has been hitting heavily since he sat down) and says. "Thank you. I'd like a nice walk. Name's Barkas Reedfellow. Like I said, I'd like to do whatever I can to help. I have been led here, the stars have guided me to this constellation of people, just didn't know your names. Nevermind me, lead on." He is a disheveled long haired dwarf with a knotted up beard in leather armor which is scuffed and dirty, not the cleanest of dwarves. He wears a wolf skull cap and walks with a staff, his boots have seen much wear.
Faloniir will make his way through the crowd of mourners after he has paid his respects, eager to be elsewhere. He is about 6'2" with dirty blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. Various rings adorn his pointy ears and he wears a dark green cloak over dark brown leather armor.
When the two strangers address him, he will stop and turn to face them. His hand unconsciously brushes his cloak clear of the hilt of the scimitar on his hip, "Yes, my sister and I owe her our lives."
Faloniir raises an eyebrow when they mention saving souls and restoring life, having heard fanciful claims from plenty of street charlatans all his life. He begins to dismiss them, but when Syndra's name is mentioned he stops. If I could save Rennika's life... I should hear them out, I owe her that much.
"If there's a chance I could save her life or at the least her soul, I'm all ears."
Eldeth's eyes widen as she recognizes Syndra Silvane. "Mistress Silvane, it's an honor to meet you,"she stammers. "I'm Eldeth, of clan Stonehew, apprentice to Gardain Stonehew, the master goldsmith. You've probably heard of our clan's skill in crafting magical artifacts. My own arcane talents are new, I've only just achieved the rank of journeywoman."She gestures with her right hand, displaying (poorly) her signet ring, with the mark of her clan and her own maker's mark on either side of a round-cut crystal that served as her arcane focus. "As I said earlier, I only regret that I have no talent for the healing arts. But what skills I do have are at your disposal."
"Syndra Silvane," Edrik Lutkeln repeats in a whisper. Of course he walks along with her and this Remalia Haventree.
Edrik is a dwarf, with a bushy dark brown beard and similar dark brown hair. It is left unadorned; no braids or ornamentation. He is dressed simply in brown, from his leather armor, rugged pants, sturdy shoes, and weathered cloak. He wears a short sword at his side and short bow across his back.
He says little as he follows the group out to hear about this plan.
As you introduce yourselves, Remallia and Syndra respond with slight bows of their heads. Additionally, Remallia dons a warm smile on her face with each introduction. Syndra's silver mask, of course, hides whatever expression she may have, but as each of you speak you can see her eyes are fully upon you, indicating she is granting you her full attention.
Matthias studies Remallia's noble attire, but he is unable to discern any connection the elf might have with a noble house.
Responding to Barkas, Syndra says somewhat cryptically, "The stars, when watched and heeded, humble druid, may lead one along a path that is both faint and wonderful."
"We are confident there is indeed such a chance, and a good one at that," responds Remallia to Faloniir. "It will require the efforts of many, however."
"Yes, Eldeth, I have knowledge of Clan Stonehew," remarks Syndra Silvane. "Did you know a few their works adorn my home? Old wizards, especially retired ones, are...inevitably...collectors."
After a cough-filled pause, Syndra continues, "All of us lack the power to heal any afflicted by this curse."
"Thank you for joining us, Edrik. And you as well, Rasp," says Remallia, despite the fact that neither Edrik nor Rasp have yet mentioned their own names.
All of you receive the impression that your identities were known by Syndra and Remallia long before this meeting. For the next thirty minutes or so, the eight of you slowly walk along a wide, manicured path that winds through one of the small wooded areas that lie within the upper city of Baldur's Gate. As you go, Remallia, with a few remarks added by Syndra, provides the following information:
Remallia leads a group of Harpers* who are trying to uncover the cause of the death curse, which they believe is similar to the magic a lich uses to feed souls to its phylactery. Therefore, they think a lich would be able to trace the source of the death curse.
Remallia’s team intends to raid the lair of a lich named Zaldara Cordress, known as the Duchess of Rot, and forcing the evil being to cooperate in tracking the source of the death curse.
Zaldara’s tower is in the nearby Cloakwood, a relatively short journey from Baldur's Gate.
Remallia believes the key to getting Zaldara to cooperate is to steal her phylactery. Harper wizards used the scrying spell to determine Zaldara’s phylactery is her spellbook, a tome bound in humanoid skin, which she keeps locked in a vault in her basement.
Remallia needs a small force of adventurers to sneak into Zaldara’s cellar to look for her phylactery, while the main force of Harpers attacks the ground and upper floors of the tower to draw most of the lich’s guards away from the phylactery. She asks that the six of you to be the smaller strike team. Each of you will receive one potion of healing upfront and 500 pieces of gold as a reward upon completion of the task.
Syndra brings her own personal circumstances into the discussion. “This same death curse has struck me. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last before I perish. Clerics have no help to offer. They’re stymied by what is happening.”
*Regarding the Harpers...
The Harpers are spellcasters and spies who covertly oppose any abuse of power, magical or otherwise. Working alone or in small cells, they gather information throughout Faerûn, analyze the political dynamics in each region or realm, and use what they uncover to help the weak, the poor, and the oppressed from behind the scenes. Harpers act openly only as a last resort.
Standing abnormally large for one of his kind, a Kenku silently stared towards Remallia and Syndra, expression veiling thoughts of surprise or interest at the titles of the two. Nearly six feet in height, Rasp's drab garments hung over chipped chain mailing just as the shadow of his cowl obscured his face. Taloned hands curled into pockets at his side. A prominent hunch sought to further prevent the Kenku's black-feathered face from being discernible against the similarly colored clothing he wore - but a faint glitter in beaded eyes betrayed the Kenku's rapt attention to the words of any who spoke.
The last of the small gathering to introduce himself, Rasp's back straightened as he jumbled together the most coherent form of speech he could muster from the phrases he heard. When he spoke, his voice fluctuates between the words of Syndra. Of the elf. Of the dwarves. Each word seems almost plucked and reassembled; none of the words his own. "I will walk with you. My own talents are at your disposal. Speak of your plan. Let me know what I can do. Call me Rasp." The Kenku brandished a longsword and ran a stone procured from his taloned palm against the hilt of the blade, as if to sharpen it. The low scrape of steel against stone rang through the air - it's clear the Kenku intended to explain his namesake.
Eldeth beams as Syndra confirms that she is aware of her clan. "I had hoped so -- and I assume they have served you well." She sobers as the conversation continues.
Is the Duchess of Rot a known entity, would Eldeth be aware of her? Does she know enough about any of the parties involved to be able to have insight on whether or not this is a suicide mission?
"Is there a way into the cellar from the outside that is unguarded? Most unexpected! But it sounds like it may work..." He unfurls his star map and starts to consult it, drawing lines and tracing out patterns, using his fingers as compass and protractor. "***Belch***" as he finishes his ale and a hint of grapefruit and a faint soupçon of nutmeg fills the air.
Faloniir listens to the tale, his face betraying disgust at the mention of the Lich. Covert infiltrations into Lich lairs does sound a sight more exciting than bounty hunting... And the pay! The orphanage could afford new beds and quality food for a year!
Matthias would eye Rasp, tilting his head and giving a bright smile. "Huh, never seen one of your kind in-person before. That's pretty interesting!" He'd then turn his attention back to the two, accepting the potion of healing gleefully. "The Harpers, huh? You know, I was thinking of trying to join them anyhow, so this is a hell of a coincidence! Just sneak around the action and destroy the phylactery, how hard can that be?" He'd saunter around to eye this squad.
"Call me Saville."He'd begin as he looks to the three dwarves and he would speak in their language,"Three of a kind! Pleasure working with you folk."He'd give a wink until he gets to Faloniir, eyeing the fighter up-and-down and catching a glimpse of the bow. "Well look at you. I take it you're good with a bow? I've heard the prowess of elves with a handful of arrows."He'd size him up, almost playfully. Given his appearance, Matthias looked fairly sylvan.
Faloniir smiles at Matthias and says, "I know just enough to be dangerous. Though I've found my most effective weapon is up here." He taps his temple with a finger, "What about you Saville? I see you too carry a bow."Faloniir eyes the crown that Matthias wears, "Interesting headpiece. Do we have the pleasure of being in company of royalty?"
Barkas replies to Saville in Dwarvish, with a grin. "Brought my supplies as this seems this will be quite a trip. I might want to stay perched right on the edge, if you take my meaning, if I want to get through this creepy jaunt. I'm a brewer you know, got all of my equipment with me. I brewed a special batch in honor of Rennika, a brew that I call "Goat Scrotum Ale". It is a potent if somewhat acquired taste, let me know if you want me to fill a mug for ye, I have plenty to go around."
When the Harpers are mentioned, Barkas starts nodding his head vigorously, almost hopping from one foot to the other. "That explains it, that explains it. That is why I saw that triangular arc in the shape of a harp right to the right of the crescent moon! Hee heee! I knew it! Mr. Saville, there are no coincidences, be sure of that! We were led here, do you see?" He brings out his slightly dirty star map, crinkled edges, with many notes scribbled on all sides and tries to show you. You can make no sense of it. Other than seeing stars and signs representing constellations, the rest of it appears to be gibberish.
Matthias simply grins and nods to Faloniir. "I'm surgical with it. As for my crown, like my nobility..." He'd slowly reach up and tug upon his crown which seems to not move whatsoever. "...I was born with it, though not by royal standards. But my skill? I am an Open Lord. Witness and marvel." He'd pat the elf's shoulder, give a playful wink and turn to Barakas. "I'll take you up on that." He'd grin as he'd partake in the strange dwarf's offer and takes a deep sip of the ale s he eyes the star map. Seems like he's had too much of his own supply.Oh, this one is going to be a lot of fun."Why yes! I do see! And I also see the a bottle right there!" He'd point to a random cluster of dots that in his mind would randomly make up a bottle if you'd connect the dots a certain way.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
24
Eldeth has heard an unwritten but longstanding agreement exists between the Duchess of Rot and the surrounding communities: as long as no one bothers her, she will remain in the Cloakwood. For all of you, your knowledge of the Harpers brings some confidence that such a mission has a fair chance of success. Harpers face some of Faerun's greatest dangers but never do so recklessly.
"Served me well indeed," responds Syndra to Eldeth.
Mildly amused, Syndra and Remallia listen to the back-and-forth conversation among Barkas, Saville, Edrik, and Faloniir. Then, prompted by Edrik's question, Syndra says, "We do earnestly believe this, Edrik. And we ask that you depart tomorrow. Please."
There's an unmistakable sound of urgency in the old wizard's voice.
"Yes. Tomorrow," echoes Remallia, who then provides the six of you with the plan for gaining possession of the lich's spellbook:
Tomorrow morning, you will leave Baldur’s Gate aboard TheDiviner, a keelboat bound for the Cloakwood. It will sail out to the Sea of Swords and then south down the Sword Coast. The Diviner has a single Harper crewmember, Callbrax, a male halfling mage, who will captain the vessel, which is stocked with plenty of food and water for the three-day journey. On day three of the journey, the ship will arrive at a seaside cave connected to Zaldara’s tower. The blowing of my horn will signal the Harper’s assault on the tower has begun. You must then move as quickly as possible to find the phylactery to minimize the number of Harper casualties. When the spellbook is found, return to The Diviner. Callbrax will teleport you and the phylactery to me. Rest well tonight, friends!
In a look of astonishment, like one who has been shown the calculation of pi to the last digit, Barkas stares at the map, turning it this way and that. "Really! Hmm, I guess so... no, no, no, you're looking at it wrong. Here is the chalice! And I like to think that these 5 little stars over here make it into a stein. But that is just my opinion. Maybe you could be taught...I don't know. You know, you are the first person to take a true interest in my map! And no, it isn't any dang treasure map, like those fools thought it was. But it is treasure, in a way.. depends on your point of view!" He pauses and takes a large slug of the dark ale.
"Saville, I think the goal was to take the phylactery, not destroy it," Edrik says with a chuckle, sticking to Common. "You must not negotiate much." He shrinks back from the pair imbibing the homemade brew. "I may pass on that particular flavor," he says, although he wasn't really asked.
To Remallia and Syndra he says, "It seems you already know who I am. But I would be glad to take you up on your offer. You really think you can restore those already lost to this strange sickness? Even Rennika? That would be truly remarkable. But anything to prevent others falling to this would be worthwhile." He pauses for just a moment before asking, "When do we get started on this?"
"Bargaining may be better than threats," Eldeth pursues. "If the death curse may either affect her also, or bring competition to her door." She stops. "I suppose you've already tried this, though. Well, perhaps if the phylactery is returned if she is able to track the curse for you, she may decide to cut her losses to save some face."Her face indicates that she's still unsure. "Surely even the cellar will be warded, especially if it is where she keeps her spellbook."
Faloniir will give a hearty laugh at the name of Barkas' brew and say, "Sure friend, a round of Goat Scroat' for us all!" When he receives his, he will offer a toast, "To Rennika!"
How does it taste?
In response to Matthias, "Surgical eh? Care to put your coin where you mouth is with a friendly wager? One silver piece to the one who tallies the most kills during our raid tomorrow."
As the mourners disperse after saying their goodbyes to Rennika, two people who had been standing at the rear of the crowd approach. The first is a female sun elf; she's older but still spry, dressed in the noble finery of a northerner. The other is more mysterious, draped in a heavy black cloak and wearing a silver mask. The elf speaks, “Beautiful ceremony. It’s clear Rennika meant a great deal to you.”
The cloaked figure cuts in with a dry, raspy voice, one that reminds you of the way Rennika spoke as death approached, “There is a chance the deceased’s soul and countless others can be saved. If you act quickly, we might even be able to bring them back to life... and you can save those still living with the curse as well.”
The sun elf nods in agreement with her counterpart and says, "I am Remallia Haventree and this..."--motioning toward the cloaked and masked figure--"...is Syndra Silvane."
Remallia's name is unfamiliar to you. Syndra Silvane, however, is a name you know despite her retirement and aloofness. She is one of the city's great wizards.
You hear Syndra's frail voice coming from behind her mask. "Would you walk with us for a while? And allow us to speak of our plan?"
Eyeing the two, Matthias would simply shrug. Nursing a glass of wine in his hands would be a figure that would look very much like an elf. He stood at about average height, had blue hair and pale grey skin. Observing his top half, he seemed to have a sort of branch crown upon his head, vibrant violet-red eyes, forked-pointed ears. He also wore fine clothes of noble splendor with a brooch that sported the symbol of a horseshoe. He seemed to focus more on the sun elf than the cloaked figure. He finished his glass and set it down upon a nearby table.
"Sure, not like I have much better to do with my time. It is a pleasure, Lady Haventree, Lady Silvane. You may call me Saville."
Being a figure of nobility also from the north, does Rennika's attire seem familiar to some noble house close to Waterdeep or something related?
Barkas is still wiping his eyes as he walks up and approaches, he seems like he is fumbling for words. Always counting himself as an outsider, he lets others take the lead. He nods, taking a stiff drink from his mug of ale (which he has been hitting heavily since he sat down) and says. "Thank you. I'd like a nice walk. Name's Barkas Reedfellow. Like I said, I'd like to do whatever I can to help. I have been led here, the stars have guided me to this constellation of people, just didn't know your names. Nevermind me, lead on." He is a disheveled long haired dwarf with a knotted up beard in leather armor which is scuffed and dirty, not the cleanest of dwarves. He wears a wolf skull cap and walks with a staff, his boots have seen much wear.
Faloniir will make his way through the crowd of mourners after he has paid his respects, eager to be elsewhere. He is about 6'2" with dirty blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. Various rings adorn his pointy ears and he wears a dark green cloak over dark brown leather armor.
When the two strangers address him, he will stop and turn to face them. His hand unconsciously brushes his cloak clear of the hilt of the scimitar on his hip, "Yes, my sister and I owe her our lives."
Faloniir raises an eyebrow when they mention saving souls and restoring life, having heard fanciful claims from plenty of street charlatans all his life. He begins to dismiss them, but when Syndra's name is mentioned he stops. If I could save Rennika's life... I should hear them out, I owe her that much.
"If there's a chance I could save her life or at the least her soul, I'm all ears."
DM I The Forge of Fey Fury
Palifwan "Pal" Turnipson I Level 0 Harengon I Hero's Journey
Eldeth's eyes widen as she recognizes Syndra Silvane. "Mistress Silvane, it's an honor to meet you," she stammers. "I'm Eldeth, of clan Stonehew, apprentice to Gardain Stonehew, the master goldsmith. You've probably heard of our clan's skill in crafting magical artifacts. My own arcane talents are new, I've only just achieved the rank of journeywoman." She gestures with her right hand, displaying (poorly) her signet ring, with the mark of her clan and her own maker's mark on either side of a round-cut crystal that served as her arcane focus. "As I said earlier, I only regret that I have no talent for the healing arts. But what skills I do have are at your disposal."
Birgit | Shifter | Sorcerer | Dragonlords
Shayone | Hobgoblin | Sorcerer | Netherdeep
"Syndra Silvane," Edrik Lutkeln repeats in a whisper. Of course he walks along with her and this Remalia Haventree.
Edrik is a dwarf, with a bushy dark brown beard and similar dark brown hair. It is left unadorned; no braids or ornamentation. He is dressed simply in brown, from his leather armor, rugged pants, sturdy shoes, and weathered cloak. He wears a short sword at his side and short bow across his back.
He says little as he follows the group out to hear about this plan.
Rabbit Sebrica | Skarai | Katryl Brightfury | Rylia Lionrage | Roxana Raincrest | Janek Whitmor | Lokilia Vaelphin
As you introduce yourselves, Remallia and Syndra respond with slight bows of their heads. Additionally, Remallia dons a warm smile on her face with each introduction. Syndra's silver mask, of course, hides whatever expression she may have, but as each of you speak you can see her eyes are fully upon you, indicating she is granting you her full attention.
Matthias studies Remallia's noble attire, but he is unable to discern any connection the elf might have with a noble house.
Responding to Barkas, Syndra says somewhat cryptically, "The stars, when watched and heeded, humble druid, may lead one along a path that is both faint and wonderful."
"We are confident there is indeed such a chance, and a good one at that," responds Remallia to Faloniir. "It will require the efforts of many, however."
"Yes, Eldeth, I have knowledge of Clan Stonehew," remarks Syndra Silvane. "Did you know a few their works adorn my home? Old wizards, especially retired ones, are...inevitably...collectors."
After a cough-filled pause, Syndra continues, "All of us lack the power to heal any afflicted by this curse."
"Thank you for joining us, Edrik. And you as well, Rasp," says Remallia, despite the fact that neither Edrik nor Rasp have yet mentioned their own names.
All of you receive the impression that your identities were known by Syndra and Remallia long before this meeting. For the next thirty minutes or so, the eight of you slowly walk along a wide, manicured path that winds through one of the small wooded areas that lie within the upper city of Baldur's Gate. As you go, Remallia, with a few remarks added by Syndra, provides the following information:
Syndra brings her own personal circumstances into the discussion. “This same death curse has struck me. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last before I perish. Clerics have no help to offer. They’re stymied by what is happening.”
*Regarding the Harpers...
The Harpers are spellcasters and spies who covertly oppose any abuse of power, magical or otherwise. Working alone or in small cells, they gather information throughout Faerûn, analyze the political dynamics in each region or realm, and use what they uncover to help the weak, the poor, and the oppressed from behind the scenes. Harpers act openly only as a last resort.
Standing abnormally large for one of his kind, a Kenku silently stared towards Remallia and Syndra, expression veiling thoughts of surprise or interest at the titles of the two. Nearly six feet in height, Rasp's drab garments hung over chipped chain mailing just as the shadow of his cowl obscured his face. Taloned hands curled into pockets at his side. A prominent hunch sought to further prevent the Kenku's black-feathered face from being discernible against the similarly colored clothing he wore - but a faint glitter in beaded eyes betrayed the Kenku's rapt attention to the words of any who spoke.
The last of the small gathering to introduce himself, Rasp's back straightened as he jumbled together the most coherent form of speech he could muster from the phrases he heard. When he spoke, his voice fluctuates between the words of Syndra. Of the elf. Of the dwarves. Each word seems almost plucked and reassembled; none of the words his own. "I will walk with you. My own talents are at your disposal. Speak of your plan. Let me know what I can do. Call me Rasp." The Kenku brandished a longsword and ran a stone procured from his taloned palm against the hilt of the blade, as if to sharpen it. The low scrape of steel against stone rang through the air - it's clear the Kenku intended to explain his namesake.
Eldeth beams as Syndra confirms that she is aware of her clan. "I had hoped so -- and I assume they have served you well." She sobers as the conversation continues.
Is the Duchess of Rot a known entity, would Eldeth be aware of her? Does she know enough about any of the parties involved to be able to have insight on whether or not this is a suicide mission?
Birgit | Shifter | Sorcerer | Dragonlords
Shayone | Hobgoblin | Sorcerer | Netherdeep
"Is there a way into the cellar from the outside that is unguarded? Most unexpected! But it sounds like it may work..." He unfurls his star map and starts to consult it, drawing lines and tracing out patterns, using his fingers as compass and protractor. "***Belch***" as he finishes his ale and a hint of grapefruit and a faint soupçon of nutmeg fills the air.
Faloniir listens to the tale, his face betraying disgust at the mention of the Lich. Covert infiltrations into Lich lairs does sound a sight more exciting than bounty hunting... And the pay! The orphanage could afford new beds and quality food for a year!
"I'm in."
DM I The Forge of Fey Fury
Palifwan "Pal" Turnipson I Level 0 Harengon I Hero's Journey
Matthias would eye Rasp, tilting his head and giving a bright smile. "Huh, never seen one of your kind in-person before. That's pretty interesting!" He'd then turn his attention back to the two, accepting the potion of healing gleefully. "The Harpers, huh? You know, I was thinking of trying to join them anyhow, so this is a hell of a coincidence! Just sneak around the action and destroy the phylactery, how hard can that be?" He'd saunter around to eye this squad.
"Call me Saville." He'd begin as he looks to the three dwarves and he would speak in their language, "Three of a kind! Pleasure working with you folk." He'd give a wink until he gets to Faloniir, eyeing the fighter up-and-down and catching a glimpse of the bow. "Well look at you. I take it you're good with a bow? I've heard the prowess of elves with a handful of arrows." He'd size him up, almost playfully. Given his appearance, Matthias looked fairly sylvan.
Faloniir smiles at Matthias and says, "I know just enough to be dangerous. Though I've found my most effective weapon is up here." He taps his temple with a finger, "What about you Saville? I see you too carry a bow." Faloniir eyes the crown that Matthias wears, "Interesting headpiece. Do we have the pleasure of being in company of royalty?"
DM I The Forge of Fey Fury
Palifwan "Pal" Turnipson I Level 0 Harengon I Hero's Journey
Barkas replies to Saville in Dwarvish, with a grin. "Brought my supplies as this seems this will be quite a trip. I might want to stay perched right on the edge, if you take my meaning, if I want to get through this creepy jaunt. I'm a brewer you know, got all of my equipment with me. I brewed a special batch in honor of Rennika, a brew that I call "Goat Scrotum Ale". It is a potent if somewhat acquired taste, let me know if you want me to fill a mug for ye, I have plenty to go around."
When the Harpers are mentioned, Barkas starts nodding his head vigorously, almost hopping from one foot to the other. "That explains it, that explains it. That is why I saw that triangular arc in the shape of a harp right to the right of the crescent moon! Hee heee! I knew it! Mr. Saville, there are no coincidences, be sure of that! We were led here, do you see?" He brings out his slightly dirty star map, crinkled edges, with many notes scribbled on all sides and tries to show you. You can make no sense of it. Other than seeing stars and signs representing constellations, the rest of it appears to be gibberish.
Matthias simply grins and nods to Faloniir. "I'm surgical with it. As for my crown, like my nobility..." He'd slowly reach up and tug upon his crown which seems to not move whatsoever. "...I was born with it, though not by royal standards. But my skill? I am an Open Lord. Witness and marvel." He'd pat the elf's shoulder, give a playful wink and turn to Barakas. "I'll take you up on that." He'd grin as he'd partake in the strange dwarf's offer and takes a deep sip of the ale s he eyes the star map. Seems like he's had too much of his own supply. Oh, this one is going to be a lot of fun. "Why yes! I do see! And I also see the a bottle right there!" He'd point to a random cluster of dots that in his mind would randomly make up a bottle if you'd connect the dots a certain way.
24
Eldeth has heard an unwritten but longstanding agreement exists between the Duchess of Rot and the surrounding communities: as long as no one bothers her, she will remain in the Cloakwood. For all of you, your knowledge of the Harpers brings some confidence that such a mission has a fair chance of success. Harpers face some of Faerun's greatest dangers but never do so recklessly.
"Served me well indeed," responds Syndra to Eldeth.
Mildly amused, Syndra and Remallia listen to the back-and-forth conversation among Barkas, Saville, Edrik, and Faloniir. Then, prompted by Edrik's question, Syndra says, "We do earnestly believe this, Edrik. And we ask that you depart tomorrow. Please."
There's an unmistakable sound of urgency in the old wizard's voice.
"Yes. Tomorrow," echoes Remallia, who then provides the six of you with the plan for gaining possession of the lich's spellbook:
Tomorrow morning, you will leave Baldur’s Gate aboard The Diviner, a keelboat bound for the Cloakwood. It will sail out to the Sea of Swords and then south down the Sword Coast. The Diviner has a single Harper crewmember, Callbrax, a male halfling mage, who will captain the vessel, which is stocked with plenty of food and water for the three-day journey. On day three of the journey, the ship will arrive at a seaside cave connected to Zaldara’s tower. The blowing of my horn will signal the Harper’s assault on the tower has begun. You must then move as quickly as possible to find the phylactery to minimize the number of Harper casualties. When the spellbook is found, return to The Diviner. Callbrax will teleport you and the phylactery to me. Rest well tonight, friends!
In a look of astonishment, like one who has been shown the calculation of pi to the last digit, Barkas stares at the map, turning it this way and that. "Really! Hmm, I guess so... no, no, no, you're looking at it wrong. Here is the chalice! And I like to think that these 5 little stars over here make it into a stein. But that is just my opinion. Maybe you could be taught...I don't know. You know, you are the first person to take a true interest in my map! And no, it isn't any dang treasure map, like those fools thought it was. But it is treasure, in a way.. depends on your point of view!" He pauses and takes a large slug of the dark ale.
"Saville, I think the goal was to take the phylactery, not destroy it," Edrik says with a chuckle, sticking to Common. "You must not negotiate much." He shrinks back from the pair imbibing the homemade brew. "I may pass on that particular flavor," he says, although he wasn't really asked.
To Remallia and Syndra he says, "It seems you already know who I am. But I would be glad to take you up on your offer. You really think you can restore those already lost to this strange sickness? Even Rennika? That would be truly remarkable. But anything to prevent others falling to this would be worthwhile." He pauses for just a moment before asking, "When do we get started on this?"
Rabbit Sebrica | Skarai | Katryl Brightfury | Rylia Lionrage | Roxana Raincrest | Janek Whitmor | Lokilia Vaelphin
"Bargaining may be better than threats," Eldeth pursues. "If the death curse may either affect her also, or bring competition to her door." She stops. "I suppose you've already tried this, though. Well, perhaps if the phylactery is returned if she is able to track the curse for you, she may decide to cut her losses to save some face." Her face indicates that she's still unsure. "Surely even the cellar will be warded, especially if it is where she keeps her spellbook."
Birgit | Shifter | Sorcerer | Dragonlords
Shayone | Hobgoblin | Sorcerer | Netherdeep
Faloniir will give a hearty laugh at the name of Barkas' brew and say, "Sure friend, a round of Goat Scroat' for us all!" When he receives his, he will offer a toast, "To Rennika!"
How does it taste?
In response to Matthias, "Surgical eh? Care to put your coin where you mouth is with a friendly wager? One silver piece to the one who tallies the most kills during our raid tomorrow."
DM I The Forge of Fey Fury
Palifwan "Pal" Turnipson I Level 0 Harengon I Hero's Journey