Marcos is careful not to flinch during the display. His chain shirt feels warm against his chest. He gently taps his javelin on the dock and looked at the
‘On second thought you might be a useful part of the team. Come on aboard right away if you have a mind to…as long as you can control those flames of yours. Follow me.’ He glances at Shay and gestures towards the Sturgeon. . ‘Let’s move out!’ He turns back to Rastrin. ‘What your name? Let’s talk once we get this boat on the river’.
Just like several of the dockworkers that were either fleeing or cringing away in fear of the phoenix, Rastrin too felt a spike of fear at the blazing bird overhead, though his fear was of a different brand. He wasn't afraid of the phoenix harming him; flames couldn't hurt him if he willed it so. Rather, he was afraid of what the elemental construct might do to others. He had never done anything like that before. In fact, before his lapse yesterday, the most he could do was light fires with a touch and every once in while flick a small bolt of fire at distant objects, but even that was taxing. The thing he just did with the phoenix was beyond what he even imagined he could do even if he had spent years practicing. That fact both made him incredibly curious and incredibly alarmed at what his newfound strength might be capable of.
A different man aboard the ship calls out to Rastrin, offering to keep an eye on him. At his question of whether or not he would cause problems, Rastrin starts, "Well, I shouldn't-"
But before he can finish, the River Master cuts him off with an offer to hop onboard. Swallowing nervously, he complies, and he soon finds himself onboard the ship. The deck gently swaying with the current of the river is a bit unexpected, but he manages to not stumble too much. To the River Master, he says, "My name is Rastrin, sir."
Remembering the phoenix still hovering in the air, he looks up at it unsurely. "Oh, I should, uh, probably take care of that," he mumbles. How was he going to do that? He wasn't even sure how he had got it there in the first place. After a moment of hesitation, he focusses on the phoenix and then mentally commands the bird to disappear. The firebird suddenly flares with a blinding light, one last piercing cry splitting the air before it puffs away in a burst of sparks and embers that drift towards the ground before going out.
As the dragonborn man who soon introduces himself as Rastrin boards the Sturgeon and they prepare to depart, Shay along with many others openly study the newcomer. As tempted as she is to offer him some form of privacy, Shay can’t contain the curiosity bubbling within her at their latest addition, deciding she’d wait to bombard him later once they were moving and things had settled down more.
With so much attention on him, she was sure it made him self conscious at some level. It certainly would if she were in his position. Her sights then turned to the human man who’d essentially given Rastrin a good word based on what looked like a first impression. She thought the young woman from before had said that his name was Horace? Hedwig?
Regardless, she just hopes his words about being a good judge of character rang true and they didn’t accidentally make a huge mistake in allowing him to come along. Shay promptly decides that she’ll be polite and wait to be spoken to properly first, the last thing anyone needed so early was a babbler. She watches as Rastrin’s fire phoenix disappears with a cry and hopes when the time comes for her to speak to Kara later that her description does it some type of justice.
Yartar is, not everyone knows, ancient, though also young: for while its denizens of today build new towers, new temples, and its edges calcify outwards like a pearl growing around a grain of sand – or as some would say, like mold on an orange, – it is a place where humans have lived since they first walked the lands of Faerûn.
From fishing villages inhabited by the antecedents of the Uthgardt tribes who still wander the remote reaches of the Dessarin Hills, to the city as it now stands with its tall square citadel, bell towers and temples, Guild hall, and the central market before the temple to Waukeen, the confluence of the Dessarin River and Surbrin River have always held spiritual significance while providing ample fisheries throughout the seasons and dark, fecund earth for farming.
Yes, Yartar is a thriving body built over the crumbling graves and memories of its own ancestors, and one must only look briefly at the city’s docks to be reminded of the fact. Old, weather-beaten low walls, whose edges are soft and rounded following the centuries-long caress of the Surbrin’s waters at high tide, slide begrudgingly out of view while younger, higher walls hold back the water, and enemies, and show signs of the care the River Baron’s sprawling government gives to the coming and going of heavily laden ships, which bring treasure to the city and depart with its wares and commodities for sale.
One might even feel pride as a citizen of Yartar, to see the sun reflecting brilliantly from the new temple dome and those stained glass panels that have been so far placed in its artful facade, and feel as one with the thousand homes from which wisps of chimney smoke rise slanted in the breeze, lending the smell of cedar, and of hot metal from the forges, while odorous horses and sewage, and other smells, not so welcome, are also present, though also and equally, the smells of home.
From the well-sanded plank deck of the Sturgeon – a new ship with a young, energetic captain and an old, whiskered dwarven pilot – looking up at Yartar, lit by morning light – bright yellow though brisk, the city framed by the psychedelic burnishing of frosted dandelions and crocuses and sectioned farmlands on the round hillside looming up behind it -- the history of Yartar and the Dessarin people speaks tomes to any who view it, and bids a quiet, embracing farewell to those who depart upon the river.
And, when the gang plank is pulled up following a flurry of activity to launch the Sturgeon, when a dozen long oars are raised in a salute to the sun god Amaunator and then dipped in unison into the Surbrin with a prayer to Eldath, Mother of Calm Waters, when Yartar soon starts to dwindle in the distance as the ship slips downriver, nudged along by a slight tailwind, from the Surbrin into the Dessarin, and then south, there is an excitement evident in the oarsmen as they row, as they begin a new journey, and also, or perhaps because of it, a twinge of longing for the loved ones and comforts they leave behind, with the knowledge that danger could lie ahead of them and those comforts and loved ones may have been seen for the last time.
The pilot, who also shouts the rowers’ count, throws a shanty into the rhythm, and soon, as muscles are worked and the Sturgeon knives through the Dessarin Valley, the river curving back and forth upon itself like calligraphy on parchment, the rowers smile while they toil, and the brisk breeze feels good on their backs, though to those merely seated as passengers for the moment, the hard wooden benches may seem to grow harder by the minute.
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
Shay watches Yartar slowly grow smaller and smaller until it eventually becomes little more than a distant speck on the horizon. She realizes as her eyes face forward and out toward the expanding water that this is the first time she’d properly left home. She hopes her parents don’t worry themselves too much with her absence, knowing almost casually that Nash would be fine as he always was. When envisioning her plans to travel outside of her homeland and on to greater lands for one purpose or another however, it had always been alongside Kara. It had been a plan they’d come up with years ago before she’d gone off on her own journey of self discovery months ago. And she supposed Nash could’ve possibly joined them as well if he so decided.
While Shay wasn’t envious per se, she did get the sense of missing out whenever Kara went into detail about her experiences. To go on behalf of her faction had always been a looming possibility too, but she didn’t imagine it would happen so soon. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with so many unknown unique individuals all having various reasons for being there made Shay wonder the extent of their voyaging experiences in comparison to hers.
She turns to the dragonborn Rastrin once again, gauging from his expression that he’d calmed considerably and might just be in a good place to talk.
“Excuse me, Rastrin was it?” She waits for him to look at her before smiling gently and continuing on. “Hello. I’m Shay Quill, here on official business on behalf of the Emerald Enclave. If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been able to create shapes with your fire abilities? What you did back on the docks was incredible. Do you make any other creatures besides your phoenix?”
Shay turns to the human man at his side, “And you’re Horace, yes? I remember you from yesterday’s council meeting, how are you?” She falters some, hoping she got the man’s name right as the oarsman's sea shanties create a jovial backdrop around them.
Rastrin assumed that the River Master wanted to talk with him as soon as the boat set out on the river, but apparently he had some 'River Mastering' he needed to do first. He didn't blame the man; leading an expedition was certainly a lot to do. He was grateful for the captain's distraction though; it gave him some time to acclimate to the ship and allow the reality of what happened sink in. Did he really just let his magic out willy-nilly and just hoped that it didn't hurt someone? That was a new level of stupidity for him. He would have to say some mighty prayers of thanks to Bahumat tonight for protecting the people on the docks from that phoenix.
Those first thirty minutes of the river voyage seemed to drag by for Rastrin. He wasn't quite sure what do with himself. He had no experience with boats, so trying to help out with whatever the sailors were doing would undoubtedly end up hindering their work. He also hadn't brought any supplies or equipment with him, so he didn't have any kind of unpacking to do; deciding to inquire about joining the expedition had been a spur of the moment type of decision, and he didn't expect being allowed to join just like that. Bahumat's Breath! What was Darva going to think when he didn't show up to work next week? He didn't really have a way of letting her know that he was going to be out of town for a bit. Besides, even if he did have a way of letting her know, what would he say? Sorry Darva, I decided to ditch town and sail out on the river to the middle of a disaster zone with a bunch of strangers because a ghost told me I should go and then gave me a toy? Fat chance she'd believe that.
A woman's voice interrupts his brooding, and he shakes the dour thoughts out of his mind. “Excuse me, Rastrin was it?” the woman says with a smile. “Hello. I’m Shay Quill, here on official business on behalf of the Emerald Enclave. If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been able to create shapes with your fire abilities? What you did back on the docks was incredible. Do you make any other creatures besides your phoenix?”
"Um," he starts. What he did was incredible? Maybe it looked that way to others, but he was a bit more worried about whether or not the thing was going to incinerate gawking bystanders than if it looked neat or not. With a shrug, he continues slowly, "I never tried before, so I'm not sure." That was a true statement, but he decided against telling the whole truth that the only reason he had been able to create the fire bird was because his magic had been acting strangely lately.
Hoping to change the subject, he says awkwardly, "So, the Emerald Enclave. You guys are all about preserving nature right?"
Marcos is looking at the trees along the river shoreline almost in a trance. He has been gazing forward lost in thought for some time. The fresh green deciduous leaves are bright compared to quiet pine. The different shades of green in the spring result in a variegated appearance to the forest. In a month the leaves would darken, leaving a homogenous verdant landscape. In a few more months, the forest will burst with colour. Shortly thereafter only the quiet evergreens will remain. So it is with gods and men.
The River Master shakes his head. These are melancholic, foolish thoughts. He moves to check the rigging of the Sturgeon and is satisfied. They are making good time.
He walks over to the Dragonborn. ‘Rastrin is it?’ He squats down in front of the slightly dishevelled figure. ‘Tell me. What nature are your powers and where do they come from? I have not seen their like. Also - why do you come to join us? You do not seem the adventuring type…’
Rastrin gives an apologetic smile towards Shay and Harold as the River Master begins his interrogation. Turning his attention to the man he replies, “Well, as you can probably guess, I have a certain affinity for fire magic. As for where they came from, I have no idea,” he says with a shrug. “I assume it has something to do with my bloodline, but I never knew my birth parents.”
”The reason why I asked to join,” he continues as he starts to fidget with the fire-headed figurine, “is that I believe all of the natural disasters in the valley aren’t natural at all. Someone is doing all of this, and since I have abilities that others don’t have, I feel obligated to do something to help out.” That was also true, but he still didn’t think it was prudent to mention that his magic was unpredictable and apparently growing in strength.
'Why do you not think that the flooding is natural? What have you learned?'
Marcos looks at Shay and Harold in turn. He waits expectantly. He has used a zone of truth spell for less cause than this. He cannot have a powerful stranger on this mission that he cannot trust and who is hiding important knowledge.
Harold takes a seat as things seem to calm down... once again pulling out his knife and wood before picking his carving where he left off. This time however, the merchant wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was listening to the conversations taking place around him. His attention moved between Marcos, Shay, and the new comer Rastrin. He was sizing them up and taking in everything he could about his new companions.
When the ship began to depart, he focused even harder on both his carving and the conversations taking place nearby. The second reason he hated boats was because of how they made him feel. Now instead of feeling trapped, he felt nauseous. The gentle sway of the boat in the water was enough to cause Harold's skin to turn green. Shaking his head, he did his best to ignore the movement of the boat and focus on conversations taking place in front of him.
"Relax Marcos"... Harold says with a smile as he once again puts away his carving materials. He stands up and moves towards the dragonborn. "He says he wants to help and I believe him.. and besides, I packed enough extra food and drink that one mouth more won't hurt." He says with a smile as he reaches up to place a hand on the dragonborn's shoulder. "At my shop I've heard plenty of wild rumors as to who or what is causing all the flooding and wind... Everyone has their own opinion as to what's going on. And Besides! If he were some kind of saboteur... it would be against his best interests to tell us that he thinks it is ANYTHING BUT natural..." Harold then rubs his beard and with his free hand before giving both Marcos and the Dragonborn hardy slaps on the shoulder. "Sounds to me like you just got yourself some free labor and a powerful ally to our cause Marcos. Excellent resource management! I am sure the River Baron would be most impressed with her new River Master." He then turns and intruduces himself to the dragonborn. "My name is Harold Goldweaver. Representative of the guildsman."
Rastrin opens his toothy maw to respond to the River Master, but the man called Harold speaks first. He feels grateful for the friendly man, though he flinches slightly as Harold claps him on the shoulder. Even though Marcus had only brief contact with the dragonborn, he could feel the intense, though not painful, heat emanating from Rastrin.
Turning his attention back to "Marcus," as Harold called him, he shrugs again. "It's more of a hunch really," he says. "Yesterday, I met two people. One of them was a woman who lost her home in the recent floods. She gave me this." He shows the fire-headed figurine to the River Master. Still holding it up, he continues with a slightly agitated tone, "She said that people like these have come every day in the valley. They're looking for people to join them." With shiver, he says, "She said the people say that there is a great fire coming that will purge our souls forever."
"The second person I met was a spirit of someone who died in the Sumber Hills I think. He said I needed to travel there." Looking uncomfortable, he shrugs yet again. "That's all I really have to offer."
Taken aback by the River Master’s accusatory tone, Shay puts her hands up placatingly while rushing out a response to his questioning. “Same for me, I only know what members of my own faction have told me, which isn’t very much. Just that some theorize that the floods are unnatural in nature and want to look more into it in case they cause even more trouble down the line. The last thing anyone needs is someone using elemental magic in an unfit manner.”
She mulls over what Rastrin said, as well as the human man at his side that is actually named Harold. While she finds his easily trusting nature somewhat confusing, it eases her mind to know that the rest of them are just as in the dark as her fellow Druids. Shay takes in the odd wooden figurine in Rastrin’s hand only after he brings it up, very put off by what he says in explanation for why he owns it. None of that even got into her hesitance of accepting his claim of coming across a spirit.
“That figurine doesn’t look like any fire elemental I’ve read about.” Shay pauses to take in the faces of the other men for some form of recognition since this was new information to her. “Rastrin, what else did these people have to sat about the great fire that’s set to come? Were you given any type of timeline?” She tries not to jump to any formative conclusions yet just as she’s been taught. For all any of them knew her premonition could’ve very well been the demented ramblings of a mad woman.
”Um, thanks, I think,” Rastrin replies uncertainly to Marcos. His intensity was a bit off putting, but it wasn’t too bothersome. Rastrin was sure he could get used to it.
At Shay’s question, he racks his memory as he tries to remember. Scratching his head, he says, “I don’t think she did, but the way she said it sounded like there wasn’t much time until something happened.”
The rowers settle into slower rhythms, spelling each other in fours, an easy, steady pace which allows good progress throughout the day. The air is fresh and crisp, a slight breeze floating down from the north, and welcome indeed, for the riverbank is still dotted from time to time with tragic lone remnants of the flooding: tragic and odorous. Here, a dead steer whose body is bloated giving off a strong methane smell. Two miles further, a hundred grounded fish with roaring clouds of blackflies hanging close over them. Further down, a freshly painted home on the water, collapsed, with a sad old man sitting motionlessly outside it, his eyes empty and unfocused.
On the southern horizon, something moves in the sky, but the distance is too great for any to discern its nature. Perhaps merely a lone hippogriff or giant vulture, but somehow, ominous.
Later in the day, the clouds part and the sun comes out and blazes for fifteen minutes, in only that much time painting redness upon the back of a fair-skinned rower, and the smell of perspiration on the deck becomes overpowering. But just in time, the clouds return and almost as fast, the temperature drops again and a very few snowflakes flit on the breeze.
You pass a hill which has split apart, recently, a gorge cracked in its river-facing side, now filling in with mud sliding down. A farmhouse can be seen overturned inside the gorge. Nothing moves on that hillside.
Yet despite these reminders of tragedy, the inhabitants of the Dessarin Valley are many, and farms cover most of glens and valleys formed by many tributaries to the Dessarin River. Over the course of the day, the Sturgeon passes dozens of canoes and rowboats on the river, their passengers fishing, carrying cargo, or bussing persons across the river, for there is no ford or crossing between Yartar and the Stone Bridge. A handful of longboats and shallow-keeled beringers and other ships likewise pass or are passed in either direction, waving friendly flags or shouting “Hallooo!” to the Sturgeon, which flies Yartar’s flag.
None of this is new to Marcus of course, for he has already witnessed the like on his journey up from Waterdeep, the unfortunate aftermath of natural disaster, as Captain Umbershaam had summarized the situation, and river commerce in the midst of a thriving, populous farmland.
Just under fifty miles separate Yartar from the Stone Bridge, straight as the crow flies. But the slaloming path hewn through tall hills by the Dessarin River is anything but straight, and the distance on the water is almost twice fifty miles. Yet heading downstream, with fresh rowers and deploying its sail for the straighter stretches, the Sturgeon is able to cover the distance in only one day. As the sun begins to set on the 9th of Mirtul, the Stone Bridge can be seen under pink striated clouds only a mile downriver, arcing over the Dessarin as if painted by an artist’s brush.
“There it is,” says the old dwarven pilot after instructing the rowers to raise their oars and rest for a few minutes while the leaders made plans.
“The Stone Bridge,” the pilot continues in his gruff voice, “Created in a single moment by the greatest of dwarven mages of ancient Besilmer. The very founder of Besilmer, King Torhild Flametongue, is said to have died fighting a hill giant atop it. Thus is it said by sages of the valley. For us, for dwarves, later legends are even more important. For the dwarven god Moradin appeared atop the Stone Bridge to rally the dwarves of the Ironstar clan against an invading orc horde. A long time ago. Thousands of years. Oh yes. My people make a pilgrimage, travel for weeks, just to see it once in their lives.”
The Sturgeon’s captain, Ede Dorka, a man in his twenties wearing a stiff leather coat and with a rapier hanging on his belt, finds Marcus and speaks with bright efficiency.
“There’s a hamlet on the water at the base of the bridge on either bank where we can debark and allow the men to spend the night in comfort camping outside the hamlet. I would aim for the west bank. I’ve friends nearby who I’m sure would welcome the River Master to their table. Unless you had other plans, Mr. Varixx?”
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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
Marcos pauses. 'We mean to travel east to Beliard to ask after the trade contingent. Going to the west bank will cause a small delay. Is the stone bridge easily accessible from the west bank? If the west entrance is difficult to pass with out horses, we should go to the east bank straight away. If a small delay, that be would be offset by the presence of friends and food. Perhaps they have useful information. I am sure everyone is looking forward to camp.'
He motions to Samitha who begins preparation for landing.
'What say you then Captain Dorka, will the delay be less than an hour?'
“Well, it is your call Mister Varixx,” answers Captain Dorka, only slightly crestfallen. “The Stone Bridge is two miles across. I would estimate thirty minutes from one end to the other, for one must go slowly, especially if there are cross winds. And it is of course foolish to cross at night. But if you wish to head east, it is easiest to put in on the eastern shore at Veszprem. Their pier will serve our needs, and there’s a small tavern there as well and grounds under the bridge where your company may camp.”
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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
Rastrin keeps to himself for most of the day. He didn't really know anyone here, and he was still too unsettle by everything that had happened the past couple of days to be in a social mood, so instead, he watches the landscape race past them as they head up the river. It was fairly beautiful at first, but then they came upon the first scene of destruction: ruined homes and downtrodden people. Rastrin can't help but feel sorrow for them. People along this river have had their entire lives uprooted and dashed to pieces in probably only a couple of minutes. There wasn't much the dragonborn could do to help them, so he just watches them solemnly as the boat carries on.
Soon, talk of stopping for the night begins circulating throughout the ship. Rastrin stand and stretches, grateful to get back onto solid ground soon. He wasn't the most graceful person around when it came to walking around on boats.
Shay isn't sure when the guilt about the floods will ever fully subside for her, looking at the amount of damage doled out in such vast amounts acted as a harsh reminder of how incredibly lucky she and her loved ones were in comparison to those directly in the wake of such a seemingly random disaster such as this. She reminds herself once again of the good that had been done for the victims and the roles she witnessed get taken on by those aiming to provide what they could, making herself stare out at the reality of it all and doing her best to commit what she can to memory. If nothing else, it resolves her desire to seek out the possible source behind them.
Later, Marcos understandably raises concerns regarding the amount of time that might be lost if they were delayed for too long while the ship nears the Stone Bridge and he's quickly given further information about what to expect as far as their resting and sleeping arrangements would go. Shay admittedly wants to be on land once again to rid herself of the persisting restlessness she feels coming on after staying seated for so long, watching Rastrin get to his own feet and stretch, clearly in a similar position. "If we do head East, that tavern will sure have their work cut out for them." She speaks generally to those within close earshot, only half expecting a response and mostly talking to get her mind off of being so ready to unboard. She'd make sure to get something full of spices on Nash's behalf at least.
Harold continued to whittle away at his block of wood until it had slowly formed into a dog over the course of their trip so far. He had carved dozens of similar figures in the past, and he could nearly do them with his eyes closed. Working on the figurine took his mind off of the swaying boat that threatened to make him sick. A few times he felt his stomach churn and his face would become hot... but Harold tried his best to hide the discomfort. "I don't care which way we go so long as we leave this ship" The merchant replies to Shay. "I'm prepared to make a meal for us that you won't spon forget... assuming I can prepare it on solid ground." He adds before attempting to stifle a small burp with his gloved hand.
When the opportunity to leave the boat is mentioned, Harold smiles wide. Hearing
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MARCOS
Marcos is careful not to flinch during the display. His chain shirt feels warm against his chest. He gently taps his javelin on the dock and looked at the
‘On second thought you might be a useful part of the team. Come on aboard right away if you have a mind to…as long as you can control those flames of yours. Follow me.’ He glances at Shay and gestures towards the Sturgeon. . ‘Let’s move out!’ He turns back to Rastrin. ‘What your name? Let’s talk once we get this boat on the river’.
RASTRIN
Just like several of the dockworkers that were either fleeing or cringing away in fear of the phoenix, Rastrin too felt a spike of fear at the blazing bird overhead, though his fear was of a different brand. He wasn't afraid of the phoenix harming him; flames couldn't hurt him if he willed it so. Rather, he was afraid of what the elemental construct might do to others. He had never done anything like that before. In fact, before his lapse yesterday, the most he could do was light fires with a touch and every once in while flick a small bolt of fire at distant objects, but even that was taxing. The thing he just did with the phoenix was beyond what he even imagined he could do even if he had spent years practicing. That fact both made him incredibly curious and incredibly alarmed at what his newfound strength might be capable of.
A different man aboard the ship calls out to Rastrin, offering to keep an eye on him. At his question of whether or not he would cause problems, Rastrin starts, "Well, I shouldn't-"
But before he can finish, the River Master cuts him off with an offer to hop onboard. Swallowing nervously, he complies, and he soon finds himself onboard the ship. The deck gently swaying with the current of the river is a bit unexpected, but he manages to not stumble too much. To the River Master, he says, "My name is Rastrin, sir."
Remembering the phoenix still hovering in the air, he looks up at it unsurely. "Oh, I should, uh, probably take care of that," he mumbles. How was he going to do that? He wasn't even sure how he had got it there in the first place. After a moment of hesitation, he focusses on the phoenix and then mentally commands the bird to disappear. The firebird suddenly flares with a blinding light, one last piercing cry splitting the air before it puffs away in a burst of sparks and embers that drift towards the ground before going out.
SHAY
As the dragonborn man who soon introduces himself as Rastrin boards the Sturgeon and they prepare to depart, Shay along with many others openly study the newcomer. As tempted as she is to offer him some form of privacy, Shay can’t contain the curiosity bubbling within her at their latest addition, deciding she’d wait to bombard him later once they were moving and things had settled down more.
With so much attention on him, she was sure it made him self conscious at some level. It certainly would if she were in his position. Her sights then turned to the human man who’d essentially given Rastrin a good word based on what looked like a first impression. She thought the young woman from before had said that his name was Horace? Hedwig?
Regardless, she just hopes his words about being a good judge of character rang true and they didn’t accidentally make a huge mistake in allowing him to come along. Shay promptly decides that she’ll be polite and wait to be spoken to properly first, the last thing anyone needed so early was a babbler. She watches as Rastrin’s fire phoenix disappears with a cry and hopes when the time comes for her to speak to Kara later that her description does it some type of justice.
Yartar is, not everyone knows, ancient, though also young: for while its denizens of today build new towers, new temples, and its edges calcify outwards like a pearl growing around a grain of sand – or as some would say, like mold on an orange, – it is a place where humans have lived since they first walked the lands of Faerûn.
From fishing villages inhabited by the antecedents of the Uthgardt tribes who still wander the remote reaches of the Dessarin Hills, to the city as it now stands with its tall square citadel, bell towers and temples, Guild hall, and the central market before the temple to Waukeen, the confluence of the Dessarin River and Surbrin River have always held spiritual significance while providing ample fisheries throughout the seasons and dark, fecund earth for farming.
Yes, Yartar is a thriving body built over the crumbling graves and memories of its own ancestors, and one must only look briefly at the city’s docks to be reminded of the fact. Old, weather-beaten low walls, whose edges are soft and rounded following the centuries-long caress of the Surbrin’s waters at high tide, slide begrudgingly out of view while younger, higher walls hold back the water, and enemies, and show signs of the care the River Baron’s sprawling government gives to the coming and going of heavily laden ships, which bring treasure to the city and depart with its wares and commodities for sale.
One might even feel pride as a citizen of Yartar, to see the sun reflecting brilliantly from the new temple dome and those stained glass panels that have been so far placed in its artful facade, and feel as one with the thousand homes from which wisps of chimney smoke rise slanted in the breeze, lending the smell of cedar, and of hot metal from the forges, while odorous horses and sewage, and other smells, not so welcome, are also present, though also and equally, the smells of home.
From the well-sanded plank deck of the Sturgeon – a new ship with a young, energetic captain and an old, whiskered dwarven pilot – looking up at Yartar, lit by morning light – bright yellow though brisk, the city framed by the psychedelic burnishing of frosted dandelions and crocuses and sectioned farmlands on the round hillside looming up behind it -- the history of Yartar and the Dessarin people speaks tomes to any who view it, and bids a quiet, embracing farewell to those who depart upon the river.
And, when the gang plank is pulled up following a flurry of activity to launch the Sturgeon, when a dozen long oars are raised in a salute to the sun god Amaunator and then dipped in unison into the Surbrin with a prayer to Eldath, Mother of Calm Waters, when Yartar soon starts to dwindle in the distance as the ship slips downriver, nudged along by a slight tailwind, from the Surbrin into the Dessarin, and then south, there is an excitement evident in the oarsmen as they row, as they begin a new journey, and also, or perhaps because of it, a twinge of longing for the loved ones and comforts they leave behind, with the knowledge that danger could lie ahead of them and those comforts and loved ones may have been seen for the last time.
The pilot, who also shouts the rowers’ count, throws a shanty into the rhythm, and soon, as muscles are worked and the Sturgeon knives through the Dessarin Valley, the river curving back and forth upon itself like calligraphy on parchment, the rowers smile while they toil, and the brisk breeze feels good on their backs, though to those merely seated as passengers for the moment, the hard wooden benches may seem to grow harder by the minute.
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
SHAY
Shay watches Yartar slowly grow smaller and smaller until it eventually becomes little more than a distant speck on the horizon. She realizes as her eyes face forward and out toward the expanding water that this is the first time she’d properly left home. She hopes her parents don’t worry themselves too much with her absence, knowing almost casually that Nash would be fine as he always was. When envisioning her plans to travel outside of her homeland and on to greater lands for one purpose or another however, it had always been alongside Kara. It had been a plan they’d come up with years ago before she’d gone off on her own journey of self discovery months ago. And she supposed Nash could’ve possibly joined them as well if he so decided.
While Shay wasn’t envious per se, she did get the sense of missing out whenever Kara went into detail about her experiences. To go on behalf of her faction had always been a looming possibility too, but she didn’t imagine it would happen so soon. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with so many unknown unique individuals all having various reasons for being there made Shay wonder the extent of their voyaging experiences in comparison to hers.
She turns to the dragonborn Rastrin once again, gauging from his expression that he’d calmed considerably and might just be in a good place to talk.
“Excuse me, Rastrin was it?” She waits for him to look at her before smiling gently and continuing on. “Hello. I’m Shay Quill, here on official business on behalf of the Emerald Enclave. If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been able to create shapes with your fire abilities? What you did back on the docks was incredible. Do you make any other creatures besides your phoenix?”
Shay turns to the human man at his side, “And you’re Horace, yes? I remember you from yesterday’s council meeting, how are you?” She falters some, hoping she got the man’s name right as the oarsman's sea shanties create a jovial backdrop around them.
RASTRIN
Rastrin assumed that the River Master wanted to talk with him as soon as the boat set out on the river, but apparently he had some 'River Mastering' he needed to do first. He didn't blame the man; leading an expedition was certainly a lot to do. He was grateful for the captain's distraction though; it gave him some time to acclimate to the ship and allow the reality of what happened sink in. Did he really just let his magic out willy-nilly and just hoped that it didn't hurt someone? That was a new level of stupidity for him. He would have to say some mighty prayers of thanks to Bahumat tonight for protecting the people on the docks from that phoenix.
Those first thirty minutes of the river voyage seemed to drag by for Rastrin. He wasn't quite sure what do with himself. He had no experience with boats, so trying to help out with whatever the sailors were doing would undoubtedly end up hindering their work. He also hadn't brought any supplies or equipment with him, so he didn't have any kind of unpacking to do; deciding to inquire about joining the expedition had been a spur of the moment type of decision, and he didn't expect being allowed to join just like that. Bahumat's Breath! What was Darva going to think when he didn't show up to work next week? He didn't really have a way of letting her know that he was going to be out of town for a bit. Besides, even if he did have a way of letting her know, what would he say? Sorry Darva, I decided to ditch town and sail out on the river to the middle of a disaster zone with a bunch of strangers because a ghost told me I should go and then gave me a toy? Fat chance she'd believe that.
A woman's voice interrupts his brooding, and he shakes the dour thoughts out of his mind. “Excuse me, Rastrin was it?” the woman says with a smile. “Hello. I’m Shay Quill, here on official business on behalf of the Emerald Enclave. If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been able to create shapes with your fire abilities? What you did back on the docks was incredible. Do you make any other creatures besides your phoenix?”
"Um," he starts. What he did was incredible? Maybe it looked that way to others, but he was a bit more worried about whether or not the thing was going to incinerate gawking bystanders than if it looked neat or not. With a shrug, he continues slowly, "I never tried before, so I'm not sure." That was a true statement, but he decided against telling the whole truth that the only reason he had been able to create the fire bird was because his magic had been acting strangely lately.
Hoping to change the subject, he says awkwardly, "So, the Emerald Enclave. You guys are all about preserving nature right?"
Marcos is looking at the trees along the river shoreline almost in a trance. He has been gazing forward lost in thought for some time. The fresh green deciduous leaves are bright compared to quiet pine. The different shades of green in the spring result in a variegated appearance to the forest. In a month the leaves would darken, leaving a homogenous verdant landscape. In a few more months, the forest will burst with colour. Shortly thereafter only the quiet evergreens will remain. So it is with gods and men.
The River Master shakes his head. These are melancholic, foolish thoughts. He moves to check the rigging of the Sturgeon and is satisfied. They are making good time.
He walks over to the Dragonborn. ‘Rastrin is it?’ He squats down in front of the slightly dishevelled figure. ‘Tell me. What nature are your powers and where do they come from? I have not seen their like. Also - why do you come to join us? You do not seem the adventuring type…’
RASTRIN
Rastrin gives an apologetic smile towards Shay and Harold as the River Master begins his interrogation. Turning his attention to the man he replies, “Well, as you can probably guess, I have a certain affinity for fire magic. As for where they came from, I have no idea,” he says with a shrug. “I assume it has something to do with my bloodline, but I never knew my birth parents.”
”The reason why I asked to join,” he continues as he starts to fidget with the fire-headed figurine, “is that I believe all of the natural disasters in the valley aren’t natural at all. Someone is doing all of this, and since I have abilities that others don’t have, I feel obligated to do something to help out.” That was also true, but he still didn’t think it was prudent to mention that his magic was unpredictable and apparently growing in strength.
The dragonborn is inscrutable.
'Why do you not think that the flooding is natural? What have you learned?'
Marcos looks at Shay and Harold in turn. He waits expectantly. He has used a zone of truth spell for less cause than this. He cannot have a powerful stranger on this mission that he cannot trust and who is hiding important knowledge.
Harold
Harold takes a seat as things seem to calm down... once again pulling out his knife and wood before picking his carving where he left off. This time however, the merchant wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was listening to the conversations taking place around him. His attention moved between Marcos, Shay, and the new comer Rastrin. He was sizing them up and taking in everything he could about his new companions.
When the ship began to depart, he focused even harder on both his carving and the conversations taking place nearby. The second reason he hated boats was because of how they made him feel. Now instead of feeling trapped, he felt nauseous. The gentle sway of the boat in the water was enough to cause Harold's skin to turn green. Shaking his head, he did his best to ignore the movement of the boat and focus on conversations taking place in front of him.
"Relax Marcos"... Harold says with a smile as he once again puts away his carving materials. He stands up and moves towards the dragonborn. "He says he wants to help and I believe him.. and besides, I packed enough extra food and drink that one mouth more won't hurt." He says with a smile as he reaches up to place a hand on the dragonborn's shoulder. "At my shop I've heard plenty of wild rumors as to who or what is causing all the flooding and wind... Everyone has their own opinion as to what's going on. And Besides! If he were some kind of saboteur... it would be against his best interests to tell us that he thinks it is ANYTHING BUT natural..." Harold then rubs his beard and with his free hand before giving both Marcos and the Dragonborn hardy slaps on the shoulder. "Sounds to me like you just got yourself some free labor and a powerful ally to our cause Marcos. Excellent resource management! I am sure the River Baron would be most impressed with her new River Master." He then turns and intruduces himself to the dragonborn. "My name is Harold Goldweaver. Representative of the guildsman."
RASTRIN
Rastrin opens his toothy maw to respond to the River Master, but the man called Harold speaks first. He feels grateful for the friendly man, though he flinches slightly as Harold claps him on the shoulder. Even though Marcus had only brief contact with the dragonborn, he could feel the intense, though not painful, heat emanating from Rastrin.
Turning his attention back to "Marcus," as Harold called him, he shrugs again. "It's more of a hunch really," he says. "Yesterday, I met two people. One of them was a woman who lost her home in the recent floods. She gave me this." He shows the fire-headed figurine to the River Master. Still holding it up, he continues with a slightly agitated tone, "She said that people like these have come every day in the valley. They're looking for people to join them." With shiver, he says, "She said the people say that there is a great fire coming that will purge our souls forever."
"The second person I met was a spirit of someone who died in the Sumber Hills I think. He said I needed to travel there." Looking uncomfortable, he shrugs yet again. "That's all I really have to offer."
SHAY
Taken aback by the River Master’s accusatory tone, Shay puts her hands up placatingly while rushing out a response to his questioning. “Same for me, I only know what members of my own faction have told me, which isn’t very much. Just that some theorize that the floods are unnatural in nature and want to look more into it in case they cause even more trouble down the line. The last thing anyone needs is someone using elemental magic in an unfit manner.”
She mulls over what Rastrin said, as well as the human man at his side that is actually named Harold. While she finds his easily trusting nature somewhat confusing, it eases her mind to know that the rest of them are just as in the dark as her fellow Druids. Shay takes in the odd wooden figurine in Rastrin’s hand only after he brings it up, very put off by what he says in explanation for why he owns it. None of that even got into her hesitance of accepting his claim of coming across a spirit.
“That figurine doesn’t look like any fire elemental I’ve read about.” Shay pauses to take in the faces of the other men for some form of recognition since this was new information to her. “Rastrin, what else did these people have to sat about the great fire that’s set to come? Were you given any type of timeline?” She tries not to jump to any formative conclusions yet just as she’s been taught. For all any of them knew her premonition could’ve very well been the demented ramblings of a mad woman.
‘Truth is the cry of all and the game of few. ‘ He glances at Shay Marcos stands. ‘You are young. You will learn.’
He returns his gaze to the sorcerer. ‘Welcome aboard Rastrin. We will see what awaits.’
RASTRIN
”Um, thanks, I think,” Rastrin replies uncertainly to Marcos. His intensity was a bit off putting, but it wasn’t too bothersome. Rastrin was sure he could get used to it.
At Shay’s question, he racks his memory as he tries to remember. Scratching his head, he says, “I don’t think she did, but the way she said it sounded like there wasn’t much time until something happened.”
##
The rowers settle into slower rhythms, spelling each other in fours, an easy, steady pace which allows good progress throughout the day. The air is fresh and crisp, a slight breeze floating down from the north, and welcome indeed, for the riverbank is still dotted from time to time with tragic lone remnants of the flooding: tragic and odorous. Here, a dead steer whose body is bloated giving off a strong methane smell. Two miles further, a hundred grounded fish with roaring clouds of blackflies hanging close over them. Further down, a freshly painted home on the water, collapsed, with a sad old man sitting motionlessly outside it, his eyes empty and unfocused.
On the southern horizon, something moves in the sky, but the distance is too great for any to discern its nature. Perhaps merely a lone hippogriff or giant vulture, but somehow, ominous.
Later in the day, the clouds part and the sun comes out and blazes for fifteen minutes, in only that much time painting redness upon the back of a fair-skinned rower, and the smell of perspiration on the deck becomes overpowering. But just in time, the clouds return and almost as fast, the temperature drops again and a very few snowflakes flit on the breeze.
You pass a hill which has split apart, recently, a gorge cracked in its river-facing side, now filling in with mud sliding down. A farmhouse can be seen overturned inside the gorge. Nothing moves on that hillside.
Yet despite these reminders of tragedy, the inhabitants of the Dessarin Valley are many, and farms cover most of glens and valleys formed by many tributaries to the Dessarin River. Over the course of the day, the Sturgeon passes dozens of canoes and rowboats on the river, their passengers fishing, carrying cargo, or bussing persons across the river, for there is no ford or crossing between Yartar and the Stone Bridge. A handful of longboats and shallow-keeled beringers and other ships likewise pass or are passed in either direction, waving friendly flags or shouting “Hallooo!” to the Sturgeon, which flies Yartar’s flag.
None of this is new to Marcus of course, for he has already witnessed the like on his journey up from Waterdeep, the unfortunate aftermath of natural disaster, as Captain Umbershaam had summarized the situation, and river commerce in the midst of a thriving, populous farmland.
Just under fifty miles separate Yartar from the Stone Bridge, straight as the crow flies. But the slaloming path hewn through tall hills by the Dessarin River is anything but straight, and the distance on the water is almost twice fifty miles. Yet heading downstream, with fresh rowers and deploying its sail for the straighter stretches, the Sturgeon is able to cover the distance in only one day. As the sun begins to set on the 9th of Mirtul, the Stone Bridge can be seen under pink striated clouds only a mile downriver, arcing over the Dessarin as if painted by an artist’s brush.
“There it is,” says the old dwarven pilot after instructing the rowers to raise their oars and rest for a few minutes while the leaders made plans.
“The Stone Bridge,” the pilot continues in his gruff voice, “Created in a single moment by the greatest of dwarven mages of ancient Besilmer. The very founder of Besilmer, King Torhild Flametongue, is said to have died fighting a hill giant atop it. Thus is it said by sages of the valley. For us, for dwarves, later legends are even more important. For the dwarven god Moradin appeared atop the Stone Bridge to rally the dwarves of the Ironstar clan against an invading orc horde. A long time ago. Thousands of years. Oh yes. My people make a pilgrimage, travel for weeks, just to see it once in their lives.”
The Sturgeon’s captain, Ede Dorka, a man in his twenties wearing a stiff leather coat and with a rapier hanging on his belt, finds Marcus and speaks with bright efficiency.
“There’s a hamlet on the water at the base of the bridge on either bank where we can debark and allow the men to spend the night in comfort camping outside the hamlet. I would aim for the west bank. I’ve friends nearby who I’m sure would welcome the River Master to their table. Unless you had other plans, Mr. Varixx?”
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
Marcos pauses. 'We mean to travel east to Beliard to ask after the trade contingent. Going to the west bank will cause a small delay. Is the stone bridge easily accessible from the west bank? If the west entrance is difficult to pass with out horses, we should go to the east bank straight away. If a small delay, that be would be offset by the presence of friends and food. Perhaps they have useful information. I am sure everyone is looking forward to camp.'
He motions to Samitha who begins preparation for landing.
'What say you then Captain Dorka, will the delay be less than an hour?'
“Well, it is your call Mister Varixx,” answers Captain Dorka, only slightly crestfallen. “The Stone Bridge is two miles across. I would estimate thirty minutes from one end to the other, for one must go slowly, especially if there are cross winds. And it is of course foolish to cross at night. But if you wish to head east, it is easiest to put in on the eastern shore at Veszprem. Their pier will serve our needs, and there’s a small tavern there as well and grounds under the bridge where your company may camp.”
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
RASTRIN
Rastrin keeps to himself for most of the day. He didn't really know anyone here, and he was still too unsettle by everything that had happened the past couple of days to be in a social mood, so instead, he watches the landscape race past them as they head up the river. It was fairly beautiful at first, but then they came upon the first scene of destruction: ruined homes and downtrodden people. Rastrin can't help but feel sorrow for them. People along this river have had their entire lives uprooted and dashed to pieces in probably only a couple of minutes. There wasn't much the dragonborn could do to help them, so he just watches them solemnly as the boat carries on.
Soon, talk of stopping for the night begins circulating throughout the ship. Rastrin stand and stretches, grateful to get back onto solid ground soon. He wasn't the most graceful person around when it came to walking around on boats.
SHAY
Shay isn't sure when the guilt about the floods will ever fully subside for her, looking at the amount of damage doled out in such vast amounts acted as a harsh reminder of how incredibly lucky she and her loved ones were in comparison to those directly in the wake of such a seemingly random disaster such as this. She reminds herself once again of the good that had been done for the victims and the roles she witnessed get taken on by those aiming to provide what they could, making herself stare out at the reality of it all and doing her best to commit what she can to memory. If nothing else, it resolves her desire to seek out the possible source behind them.
Later, Marcos understandably raises concerns regarding the amount of time that might be lost if they were delayed for too long while the ship nears the Stone Bridge and he's quickly given further information about what to expect as far as their resting and sleeping arrangements would go. Shay admittedly wants to be on land once again to rid herself of the persisting restlessness she feels coming on after staying seated for so long, watching Rastrin get to his own feet and stretch, clearly in a similar position. "If we do head East, that tavern will sure have their work cut out for them." She speaks generally to those within close earshot, only half expecting a response and mostly talking to get her mind off of being so ready to unboard. She'd make sure to get something full of spices on Nash's behalf at least.
Harold
Harold continued to whittle away at his block of wood until it had slowly formed into a dog over the course of their trip so far. He had carved dozens of similar figures in the past, and he could nearly do them with his eyes closed. Working on the figurine took his mind off of the swaying boat that threatened to make him sick. A few times he felt his stomach churn and his face would become hot... but Harold tried his best to hide the discomfort. "I don't care which way we go so long as we leave this ship" The merchant replies to Shay. "I'm prepared to make a meal for us that you won't spon forget... assuming I can prepare it on solid ground." He adds before attempting to stifle a small burp with his gloved hand.
When the opportunity to leave the boat is mentioned, Harold smiles wide. Hearing