For the past several days, the talk of the streets and taverns has all been about the so-called death curse: a wasting disease afflicting everyone who’s ever been raised from the dead. Victims grow thinner and weaker each day, slowly but steadily sliding toward the death they once denied. When they finally succumb, they can’t be raised — and neither can anyone else, regardless of whether they’ve ever received that miracle in the past. Temples and scholars of divine magic are at a loss to explain a curse that has affected the entire region, and possibly the entire world.
For some, the curse has proven especially dire, but those who once lived lives of adventure and amassed great resources have a glimmer of hope. Such is the case for Syndra Silvane, whose life is slowly slipping away as old, deathly wounds—once healed—begin to reopen. Desperate for a solution, she has called upon capable individuals to confront the mystery of this affliction.
You have all been summoned to Syndra's manor in Baldur's Gate. Upon arriving, her stewards greet each of you and escort you to an elegant living room. There, a lavish banquet awaits—an assortment of food and drink thoughtfully curated to appeal to a wide array of cultures and species. As you settle in, the air is heavy with expectation, the promise of answers just beyond the next doorway.
When Lucian enters, he is the epitome of grace and elegance, though his clothes would beg to differ. He takes an obligatory drink which he nurses through the evening. He settles in a corner to watch what happens next.
Rhys walks into the living room, immediately eyeing the food laid out in all its splendor. He walks over and begins putting the unique selection on his plate, interested in trying some of the new fare this opportunity provides.
The heavy oak doors creak open, and a tall, imposing figure steps into the room. His armor gleams faintly. His deep purple skin, a striking contrast to the golden radiance of his eyes, as well as his prominent ram-like horns marks him unmistakably as a Tiefling. Long black hair falls past his shoulders, framing a face carved with both nobility and solemnity.
Thyxius Vyralis pauses just inside the threshold, his gaze sweeping the room with measured intensity. He walks with the poise of someone accustomed to command, each step purposeful, though his expression betrays an undercurrent of weariness. The weight of the news that brought them all here—this Death Curse—is evident in the furrow of his brow.
He approaches the banquet but does not immediately partake, instead resting a gauntleted hand on the back of a chair. His voice, low and resonant, cuts through the expectant silence.
"It seems the rumors are true, then. This curse reaches farther than I feared."
Though his words carry confidence, there’s a heaviness to them.
Petor ba'Comok pushes open the door, his hair matted with sweat and his face bright with embarrassment. He's am average height man, though he stands tall, years of lessons in posture and comportment hammered into his brain. Dressed modestly in grey and brown, one would think him a simple countryman, at least until they heard the faint jingle of a fat purse tucked behind his tunic.
He begins to open his mouth to apologize, fearing he's late, but quickly sits down silently, seeing the grim faces of others in the room.
Outside the door to Syndra Silvane‘s house you hear a couple of minutes of stomping, scuffing and stamping - and then the sound of a stick whacking the bottom of boots. Then you hear muttering, any who speak dwarvish might faintly hear a curse or two thrown in. And then a knock on the door.
As he is let in, you hear a low, muttering exposition about the filthy streets of Baldur’s Gate. “People oughta clean up after themselves, and their pets is all I’m tryin to say. Even in the country, in Bumfrack parts of Calimshan they know that! But don’t mind me, my dogs are barkin after the long walk here. But oooh, that’s a nice spread….”
A five foot tall dwarf with a white beard dressed in rather odd clothing, leather armor with studs that appear to be covered with moss(?) walks in, leaning in a somewhat exaggerated fashion on his quarterstaff. He has a ruddy face, and tanned skin, with wrinkles galore. He looks around the room, nodding to everyone, then saying “All called here for the same thing, I s’pose. This curse has reached as far as Mosstone, has it reached up here too? What do we have here….” And he walks over to the table, examining all of the fruits and vegetables, making side comments about their size and growth, pointing out any spots on them, polishing them, and then putting them on a plate for consumption. He seeks out the most comfortable chair that he can find, sits and begins to eat, looking around and listening. A small mouse pokes its head up out of one of the pockets on his cloak, he feeds it a small bite of cheese and it sits there, looking around and taking it all in as well.
Thyxius can't help but be quietly encouraged by the dwarf's lead. He is not the only one who is worried, of course, and there is no reason not to take advantage of a good meal when given the chance. The tiefling gives a slightly embarrassed smile before heading up to assemble a plate with a little bit of everything and retrieve a glass of wine before returning to his seat. It reminds him of home, though he tries not to linger on such thoughts too much as he indulges.
Syndra is prepared to meet with you whenever you are ready. She apologizes for not being able to host the meeting in a more suitable space for such a large group but asks for your understanding, as her health is currently fragile.
After delivering this message, the steward takes their place by the stairs in the main hall, standing attentively as they wait for everyone to gather and signal their readiness to proceed.
The banquet and the seating area where you are currently gathered are still being attended to by other staff members. They assure you that you are welcome to enjoy the feast and converse at your leisure for as long as you like.
After eating his fill, Rhys (pronounced Rise - Human Ranger) looks around at the odd assembly of people called to search for a cure for this plague.
”I think we should get to know each other a little better. My name is Rhys. I’ve been working as a guide through these lands for a number of years and never had a fatality under my watch. I’m able to provide sustenance and clean drinking water for my entire group which has saved my bacon more times than I can count. What about you guys? Why were you picked for this team?”
Thyxius takes a last sip of his wine as he turns his attention to Rhys speaking up.
"I am Thyxius, a humble Paladin of Torm," he introduces, always careful to keep the humble part in mind, "I have some talent in diplomacy and healing, particularly of poisons, and of course martial skill for situations that call for it. As for why I in particular was chosen, I really cannot say...Whatever the case, it will be my honor to serve alongside all of you."
From across the room, “Chosen? Heh. Fresh meat, more like it. Wonder how many “chosen” have been sent off on what we are about to do? I suppose we are about to do somethin. Besides feed ourselves. Name’s Cleggor. And I know more in my little finger about plants, animals and the wilds than all of you know in your whole bodies! Hah! I suppose. Mr. Rhys over there exceptin, perhaps. I’m here cause it’s the right thing to do. I feel it, something is not right, somethin creepin over the land, I can feel it in my bones! They hurt enough for sure at the end of a long work day in the fields, but .. I can’t just turn a blind eye anymore and hope it’ll get better. To the hells with that. Moradin wouldn’t still have me on the right side of the ground ifn I was meant to ignore it. I have some magic to help us as well. And healin, for anyone who needs it. Thas the whole problem, iddn it? That if you die out there, you really… fade away now, right? Nothing can be done. Somethin … unnatural. And that bugs me.” He turns to the little mouse in his pocket, saying “Isn’t that right, Mr. Biggins? That is, you know it…”. And he feeds him another small table scrap.
In a cool tone Lucian, still standing in the corner and swirling the wine in his glass, says “Clearly we all bring skills, abilities, and experiences that lend themselves to this mission. My name is Lucian. “ He dies a flourish bow and continues “I bring martial as well as many other skills, though producing magical effects is not my strong suit. I also have some noble connections if needed. “ ( you may notice his eyes are green and vaguely luminous)
Petor raises his head from a small crystal that he fidgets with, quickly taking stock of everyone in the room for the first time. "I for one was just picked by chance, I'm pretty sure, but that's not to say I don't have skills of my own. One of the Lady Silvane's servants or workers, I'm not too sure, saw me make it out of a street brawl that by all rights I should not have survived uninjured. I had made the mistake of checking the instructions on my delivery, stopping and bending down to read the scroll by candlelight, when I felt cold steel against my neck. Quickly, I turned around and used a, er, special trick, I guess you could say to pull his pants down, distracting him. Using the chance I had, I ran down the alley, and nearly right into the path of another thug. To my good fortune, he somehow missed me with his mace, and I was able to slip into a store to hide. Syndra's man approached me, and asked if I knew anything about adventuring. I said yes, and here we are." He pauses, making sure he's still holding the rooms attention, before continuing. "As far as what I bring to a team, again mostly luck. I'm very lucky, and I have a bit of magic as well."
Petor doesn't elaborate, instead reaching for a piece of sausage before leaning back in his chair.
"Luck, fate, the gods' guidance," Thyxius murmurs to himself thoughtfully, before giving a smile, "It sounds to me like we were brought together for a reason, for this noble task. Those blessed to be raised in the past do not deserve to suffer such punishment now, and brave souls today deserve the same chance to carry on if their souls are willing."
“We’ll never know, will we? That’s the problem from our point o view, we’re peerin through the keyhole and lookin at shadows dancin across the wall, trying to guess the way that the gods look who are makin ‘em. When we’re all dead and gone, passed into the afterlife perhaps light will be shed real quick on those figures so we can see who was pullin our strings. Or we may never know, be lyin 6 feet deep pushin up the daisies and have no clue. But I’ll tell ya this, from my point of view - - somethin or someone unnatural has been messing with things that they shouldna - pervertin nature and the way of the cycle of life and death. That pisses me off to no end. They have no right ta! But thas just me and who knows, mebbe that’ll be the way it is from now on, maybe we should get over our bellyachin and go on with life. But … if we could help… I’m in. Something inside me tells me that we can…. Or it could be a rotten apple that I et three days ago, who knows.” A tiny belch escapes Cleggor and he flushes slightly, looking away from everyone.
Thyxius nods appreciatively at Cleggor's wisdom, before getting up to follow Rhys in to see Silvane. He has yet to see any of the victims of this curse first-hand, so he tries to steel himself for the worst.
A uniformed attendant leads you up a grand staircase to the third floor, then ushers you into a wood-paneled room with a fireplace, comfortable chairs, and a heavy table bearing goblets and bottles of wine. The darkly paneled walls are hung with maps and sea charts. Racks, shelves, and cabinets hold hundreds more rolled-up maps and charts.
“Thank you for your patience. I know the waiting room isn’t exactly a grand hall of luxury, but I wanted to see all of you together when my strength permitted it.
I am Syndra Silvane, former adventurer and arcane scholar. Once, I could have crossed a continent in a tenday with my wits and magic alone. Now, well… what little power I have left is tied to a timer I cannot control.
You’ve likely heard whispers of what we face—an unnatural death curse gripping the land, striking down the living and tormenting the souls of the departed. For me, it is personal. It’s a noose tightening around my own neck. I was resurrected once, and now this curse unravels the very magic that holds me here. Day by day, I feel my body faltering.
But my plight is not the worst. Across the realms, this curse preys on all it touches—common folk, nobles, warriors, scholars. People whose only crime was their return from death. And if it is not stopped, it will spread like a cancer, leaving countless innocents to suffer the same fate.
That is where you come in. Chult holds the answers, I am certain. A distant, perilous jungle, wild and ancient, where the curse’s heart festers. I’ve gathered resources, information, and what wealth I still command to send you there.
I will not deceive you: the journey will test you. The land itself is treacherous, the dangers many. But I believe you—the very essence of your lives and talents—are our best chance.
For now, I only ask this: will you stand against this darkness? Will you take this first step into the unknown to fight for a cause greater than yourselves? Or will you leave us to our fate?”
Syndra pulls back her hood slightly, revealing the faint gray pallor creeping across her once-vibrant face—a silent but stark reminder of what is at stake. She straightens herself, her cane trembling in her grasp.
"The choice is yours. But know this: no matter what you decide, the clock is ticking."
“Ah a wild jungle. It now makes sense why you want a Ranger to venture forth with the party. Are you able to tell us more about this place, it’s connection to the plague, and what compensation we will receive?”
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For some, the curse has proven especially dire, but those who once lived lives of adventure and amassed great resources have a glimmer of hope. Such is the case for Syndra Silvane, whose life is slowly slipping away as old, deathly wounds—once healed—begin to reopen. Desperate for a solution, she has called upon capable individuals to confront the mystery of this affliction.
You have all been summoned to Syndra's manor in Baldur's Gate. Upon arriving, her stewards greet each of you and escort you to an elegant living room. There, a lavish banquet awaits—an assortment of food and drink thoughtfully curated to appeal to a wide array of cultures and species. As you settle in, the air is heavy with expectation, the promise of answers just beyond the next doorway.
When Lucian enters, he is the epitome of grace and elegance, though his clothes would beg to differ. He takes an obligatory drink which he nurses through the evening. He settles in a corner to watch what happens next.
D&D since 1984
Rhys walks into the living room, immediately eyeing the food laid out in all its splendor. He walks over and begins putting the unique selection on his plate, interested in trying some of the new fare this opportunity provides.
The heavy oak doors creak open, and a tall, imposing figure steps into the room. His armor gleams faintly. His deep purple skin, a striking contrast to the golden radiance of his eyes, as well as his prominent ram-like horns marks him unmistakably as a Tiefling. Long black hair falls past his shoulders, framing a face carved with both nobility and solemnity.
Thyxius Vyralis pauses just inside the threshold, his gaze sweeping the room with measured intensity. He walks with the poise of someone accustomed to command, each step purposeful, though his expression betrays an undercurrent of weariness. The weight of the news that brought them all here—this Death Curse—is evident in the furrow of his brow.
He approaches the banquet but does not immediately partake, instead resting a gauntleted hand on the back of a chair. His voice, low and resonant, cuts through the expectant silence.
"It seems the rumors are true, then. This curse reaches farther than I feared."
Though his words carry confidence, there’s a heaviness to them.
Petor ba'Comok pushes open the door, his hair matted with sweat and his face bright with embarrassment. He's am average height man, though he stands tall, years of lessons in posture and comportment hammered into his brain. Dressed modestly in grey and brown, one would think him a simple countryman, at least until they heard the faint jingle of a fat purse tucked behind his tunic.
He begins to open his mouth to apologize, fearing he's late, but quickly sits down silently, seeing the grim faces of others in the room.
Outside the door to Syndra Silvane‘s house you hear a couple of minutes of stomping, scuffing and stamping - and then the sound of a stick whacking the bottom of boots. Then you hear muttering, any who speak dwarvish might faintly hear a curse or two thrown in. And then a knock on the door.
As he is let in, you hear a low, muttering exposition about the filthy streets of Baldur’s Gate. “People oughta clean up after themselves, and their pets is all I’m tryin to say. Even in the country, in Bumfrack parts of Calimshan they know that! But don’t mind me, my dogs are barkin after the long walk here. But oooh, that’s a nice spread….”
A five foot tall dwarf with a white beard dressed in rather odd clothing, leather armor with studs that appear to be covered with moss(?) walks in, leaning in a somewhat exaggerated fashion on his quarterstaff. He has a ruddy face, and tanned skin, with wrinkles galore. He looks around the room, nodding to everyone, then saying “All called here for the same thing, I s’pose. This curse has reached as far as Mosstone, has it reached up here too? What do we have here….” And he walks over to the table, examining all of the fruits and vegetables, making side comments about their size and growth, pointing out any spots on them, polishing them, and then putting them on a plate for consumption. He seeks out the most comfortable chair that he can find, sits and begins to eat, looking around and listening. A small mouse pokes its head up out of one of the pockets on his cloak, he feeds it a small bite of cheese and it sits there, looking around and taking it all in as well.
Thyxius can't help but be quietly encouraged by the dwarf's lead. He is not the only one who is worried, of course, and there is no reason not to take advantage of a good meal when given the chance. The tiefling gives a slightly embarrassed smile before heading up to assemble a plate with a little bit of everything and retrieve a glass of wine before returning to his seat. It reminds him of home, though he tries not to linger on such thoughts too much as he indulges.
Syndra is prepared to meet with you whenever you are ready. She apologizes for not being able to host the meeting in a more suitable space for such a large group but asks for your understanding, as her health is currently fragile.
After delivering this message, the steward takes their place by the stairs in the main hall, standing attentively as they wait for everyone to gather and signal their readiness to proceed.
The banquet and the seating area where you are currently gathered are still being attended to by other staff members. They assure you that you are welcome to enjoy the feast and converse at your leisure for as long as you like.
After eating his fill, Rhys (pronounced Rise - Human Ranger) looks around at the odd assembly of people called to search for a cure for this plague.
”I think we should get to know each other a little better. My name is Rhys. I’ve been working as a guide through these lands for a number of years and never had a fatality under my watch. I’m able to provide sustenance and clean drinking water for my entire group which has saved my bacon more times than I can count. What about you guys? Why were you picked for this team?”
Thyxius takes a last sip of his wine as he turns his attention to Rhys speaking up.
"I am Thyxius, a humble Paladin of Torm," he introduces, always careful to keep the humble part in mind, "I have some talent in diplomacy and healing, particularly of poisons, and of course martial skill for situations that call for it. As for why I in particular was chosen, I really cannot say...Whatever the case, it will be my honor to serve alongside all of you."
From across the room, “Chosen? Heh. Fresh meat, more like it. Wonder how many “chosen” have been sent off on what we are about to do? I suppose we are about to do somethin. Besides feed ourselves. Name’s Cleggor. And I know more in my little finger about plants, animals and the wilds than all of you know in your whole bodies! Hah! I suppose. Mr. Rhys over there exceptin, perhaps. I’m here cause it’s the right thing to do. I feel it, something is not right, somethin creepin over the land, I can feel it in my bones! They hurt enough for sure at the end of a long work day in the fields, but .. I can’t just turn a blind eye anymore and hope it’ll get better. To the hells with that. Moradin wouldn’t still have me on the right side of the ground ifn I was meant to ignore it. I have some magic to help us as well. And healin, for anyone who needs it. Thas the whole problem, iddn it? That if you die out there, you really… fade away now, right? Nothing can be done. Somethin … unnatural. And that bugs me.” He turns to the little mouse in his pocket, saying “Isn’t that right, Mr. Biggins? That is, you know it…”. And he feeds him another small table scrap.
In a cool tone Lucian, still standing in the corner and swirling the wine in his glass, says “Clearly we all bring skills, abilities, and experiences that lend themselves to this mission. My name is Lucian. “ He dies a flourish bow and continues “I bring martial as well as many other skills, though producing magical effects is not my strong suit. I also have some noble connections if needed. “ ( you may notice his eyes are green and vaguely luminous)
D&D since 1984
Petor raises his head from a small crystal that he fidgets with, quickly taking stock of everyone in the room for the first time. "I for one was just picked by chance, I'm pretty sure, but that's not to say I don't have skills of my own. One of the Lady Silvane's servants or workers, I'm not too sure, saw me make it out of a street brawl that by all rights I should not have survived uninjured. I had made the mistake of checking the instructions on my delivery, stopping and bending down to read the scroll by candlelight, when I felt cold steel against my neck. Quickly, I turned around and used a, er, special trick, I guess you could say to pull his pants down, distracting him. Using the chance I had, I ran down the alley, and nearly right into the path of another thug. To my good fortune, he somehow missed me with his mace, and I was able to slip into a store to hide. Syndra's man approached me, and asked if I knew anything about adventuring. I said yes, and here we are." He pauses, making sure he's still holding the rooms attention, before continuing. "As far as what I bring to a team, again mostly luck. I'm very lucky, and I have a bit of magic as well."
Petor doesn't elaborate, instead reaching for a piece of sausage before leaning back in his chair.
“I know what you mean, there have definitely been times when I feel like a strike should have hit but fate had other plans.”
"Luck, fate, the gods' guidance," Thyxius murmurs to himself thoughtfully, before giving a smile, "It sounds to me like we were brought together for a reason, for this noble task. Those blessed to be raised in the past do not deserve to suffer such punishment now, and brave souls today deserve the same chance to carry on if their souls are willing."
“Let us go see what our host has to say on the matter”
“We’ll never know, will we? That’s the problem from our point o view, we’re peerin through the keyhole and lookin at shadows dancin across the wall, trying to guess the way that the gods look who are makin ‘em. When we’re all dead and gone, passed into the afterlife perhaps light will be shed real quick on those figures so we can see who was pullin our strings. Or we may never know, be lyin 6 feet deep pushin up the daisies and have no clue. But I’ll tell ya this, from my point of view - - somethin or someone unnatural has been messing with things that they shouldna - pervertin nature and the way of the cycle of life and death. That pisses me off to no end. They have no right ta! But thas just me and who knows, mebbe that’ll be the way it is from now on, maybe we should get over our bellyachin and go on with life. But … if we could help… I’m in. Something inside me tells me that we can…. Or it could be a rotten apple that I et three days ago, who knows.” A tiny belch escapes Cleggor and he flushes slightly, looking away from everyone.
Thyxius nods appreciatively at Cleggor's wisdom, before getting up to follow Rhys in to see Silvane. He has yet to see any of the victims of this curse first-hand, so he tries to steel himself for the worst.
“Thank you for your patience. I know the waiting room isn’t exactly a grand hall of luxury, but I wanted to see all of you together when my strength permitted it.
I am Syndra Silvane, former adventurer and arcane scholar. Once, I could have crossed a continent in a tenday with my wits and magic alone. Now, well… what little power I have left is tied to a timer I cannot control.
You’ve likely heard whispers of what we face—an unnatural death curse gripping the land, striking down the living and tormenting the souls of the departed. For me, it is personal. It’s a noose tightening around my own neck. I was resurrected once, and now this curse unravels the very magic that holds me here. Day by day, I feel my body faltering.
But my plight is not the worst. Across the realms, this curse preys on all it touches—common folk, nobles, warriors, scholars. People whose only crime was their return from death. And if it is not stopped, it will spread like a cancer, leaving countless innocents to suffer the same fate.
That is where you come in. Chult holds the answers, I am certain. A distant, perilous jungle, wild and ancient, where the curse’s heart festers. I’ve gathered resources, information, and what wealth I still command to send you there.
I will not deceive you: the journey will test you. The land itself is treacherous, the dangers many. But I believe you—the very essence of your lives and talents—are our best chance.
For now, I only ask this: will you stand against this darkness? Will you take this first step into the unknown to fight for a cause greater than yourselves? Or will you leave us to our fate?”
"The choice is yours. But know this: no matter what you decide, the clock is ticking."
“Ah a wild jungle. It now makes sense why you want a Ranger to venture forth with the party. Are you able to tell us more about this place, it’s connection to the plague, and what compensation we will receive?”