Rain spits from the sky onto the onlookers gathered at a massive oak tree on a remote hill; orange and brown leaves cover the yellowing grass of mid-autumn. The tree is bare of leaves, seeming to have caught the emotions and thoughts of those of Faerun at the moment. A curse has been felt across the land, but no more so than here among the numbers gathered for this morose occasion.
Master Augustus Ziman, an elder of the monks of the nearby village nestled near the farms and orchards outside the Outer City, has been slain. Authorities are still investigating the motive and finding suspects; it appears a bandit raid, not uncommon, fell upon the settlement, but whispers of foul play lace the villagers' conversations. It's rumored that Ziman's body was found in his abode; that he'd been slain before he could mount a defense to the raid. No details have been forthcoming as to the cause of death.
Before the lid was nailed shut upon his coffin, he'd been wrapped in linen by summoned monks of his order; his face was viewable only to a select few, and it bore no trauma. Ziman appeared at peace, or perhaps that was just what the onlookers felt, knowing that his soul seemed to be irrecoverable.
For that is the nature of the fell curse upon the land: the Death Curse. None can be raised, be they king or beggar. It's been three days since rumors first came from Baldur's Gate of astonished clerics working together to attempt resurrections, to no avail. Master Ziman is the first of the village to bring the curse to the fore.
Folk from Baldur's Gate and even some from beyond have appeared to pay their respects to the elder monk. The visitors range from nobility in their finery and robes, to commonfolk, dressed in leathers and burlap. Beggars, clergy, even a Genasi barbarian line the hilltop.
Bouquets of flowers line the sides of the coffin set before the grave dug at the roots of the giant oak. Folk press forward as a cleric participating in the proceedings, one Taman Landon, calls everyone to order and explains that he will now say a few words about Master Ziman, followed by some of those who knew him. He nods in the direction of a young Tiefling and a High Elf nearby.
Once he has gathered the onlookers attention, Taman will nod his head in reverence to his fallen friend. Taman is a lanky man wearing clerical robes over ring mail armor. His raven black hair makes the stormy gray of his eyes look even darker as he stands before you.
"Master Augustus Ziman, was a friend to most of us here, and more like a father to some." His eyes flit to Cimeri once again. "Azuth bless his soul as it passes from this world to his next..." Taman touches the symbol of Azuth on his vestments as he then intones the ritual of burial for the dead. He would keep the religious platitudes short though, in deference to the old monk's wishes. "Cimeri would you like to say a few words?" Taman will ask towards the end of the ritual.
Cimeri's black eyes were dry - she spent all the tears that were given to her in that life two days ago. At least, that is what she though now. But she could talk and she tried to do just that:
"I never called Master Ziman father, and he never called me daughter, yet, he was the only parent I ever knew. My heart demands vengeance upon those who took his life away from me, from us. But you knew him, and I know as well it would not be his wish to smear the soul of those he cared about - all of us! - with hatred and revenge. There is one promise I can give, though, the one I am sure he would never object - if there is a cure to that curse, plaguing our land and denying us return of our loved ones - I will find it! This I swear by the name of my Master."
"Well spoken." Taman says as the Tiefling stepped back. Looking around the gathered, he gives a solem nod. "I too will give the same oath. The dark curse that is barring use of magic that could have saved my old friend needs to be removed from blighting this land any longer. I will go forth with Cimeri, and atempt to find the source of this plague and do what ever it takes to eliminate it."
Scoria doesn’t speak - among these people who knew the Master well, what right did she have to speak his memory? But he’d been kind and thoughtful and helpful where others had sneered. His death, this curse, is an injustice.
She holds a perfect sphere of polished obsidian, incised with runes - the Clan holds that it protects the dead, reflecting abuses of the soul back on the perpetrator. At an appropriate time, she’ll place it in the gravedirt over his head, and when the crowds have dispersed, speak to these three and offer her aid with their quest.
Flynn walks up from behind Cimeri, placing a hand on the back of her neck and shoulder gently before passing and stepping in front of the crowd.
”We weep and grieve for the man we cherish and love. I didn’t use the past tense, because he will always stay with us. I remember a man who greeted each day with a smile. The heart of the town. I remember a confidant that would listen quietly to the troubles of the people. I remember a wise counselor, leading those that same to him, through their troubles. I remember a man who was quite fond of tapioca pudding.” Flynn breaks for a light chuckle. “I remember a man, standing over a pot of boiling water to warm milk in a bottle for a little girl he raised to be a fine young woman. I remember a man, that encompassed the compassion, courage, love, and sincerity that brings all life together for good. So while I follow these two to look after them as my friend once did. I know within my heart that Augustus would want you, the town, to look after each other. Be the one who greets with a smile, listen to your neighbor, counsel your brothers and sister,..... and provide for the ones that can’t provide for themselves.” Flynn steps back to look at Cemli and Taman
"Thank you Flynn." Taman nods his head in respect. He concludes the funeral ritual, speaking to the gathering and offering up Azuth's blessing on the deceased. Once the body is laid to rest, Taman will move over to the Tiefling and Flynn.
"I have moved things around, at the temple, with Acolyte Saralyssa taking over my work there." Taman informs them both with a grim look in his eyes. "I think we need to move on seeking out this curse, and have freed myself of my other responsibilities to attend to this with you."
Cimeri was grateful to everyone - she did gave the oath and had all the intention to fulfill it, but the truth was - she did not know where to begin and help of her Master's friends meant a lot now.
When the ceremony was over, and all four of them were sitting in the humble house she called home for so many years, Cimeri admitted her ignorance: "Mr. Landon, thank you for your promise to help. I have to say, I do not know where to begin my search. There has to be something or someone in Baldur's Gate, pointing to the possible source of the curse. It can not be that we are the only one who cares. Sure, priests of Azuth where looking? Or may be libraries of Oghma Temples hold some knowledge?"
"If not here in Baldur's Gate, then we will travel to Candlekeep and try there." Taman assures the girl as he sits at the table with the group. Looking around at each of them he nods. "I personally will leave no stone unturned in trying to find out what is causing this."
As the three stand huddled, accepting kind words from onlookers and shaking hands over tight smiles and nods, the crowd begins to disperse. The stranger, a female Genasi dressed in odd garb, creeps closer quietly, moving past weeping mourners. Two others approach the three as well.
"Baldur's Gate, Candlekeep, Libraries of the Temples... these will not help you," states an imposing sun elf, female, older, with a large scar upon her face and wearing the finery of a northener over the frame of a warrior. An aura of authority seems to emanate naturally from her. "But it is possible we can help you...and in turn, you may help us all."
The sun elf's companion, a figure shrouded in a multitude of the finest robes and sashes and covered in a deep hood obscuring their face, places a hand on the sun elf's arm and steps forward. A great frailty of build is apparent by the palsied movement.
The voice that issues forth from the hood is startling in its reedy raspiness. "Beautiful ceremony. It is clear that Master Ziman meant much to all of you," the hood turns to Cimeri with meaning. Beneath the hood, the scant light of the drizzly day catches silver, denoting a mask of some kind. "Our sincerest condolences to you all. Ziman meant much to us as well. My companion here," gesturing to the sun elf, "is called Remalia Haventree. My name is Syndra Silvane; I will be brief. We represent a group of associates who wish to do good in this world. Master Ziman was a member of our order. Our current undertaking is the resolution..."
Syndra Silvane's body is wracked with spasms as a horrid cough issues from her hood; the cough gurgles and stutters, and her body shakes with the sound of sinews or joints popping.
Remalia Haventree stoops to hold her companion, a stoic concern clear upon her face. Her head turns to the three as she supports Silvane. "The resolution of this damnable Death Curse. Our order has considerable resources and already we have found all possible leads, I can assure you. Our only next step to resolving this curse, in our opinion, is before us. But we need help. The order is stretched thin and this endeavor will test all our resources..."
Silvane clears her throat. "First, an explanation for those of you unschooled in the arcane. Our scholars believe that this Death Curse is has a mechanism of action similar to a Lich's phylactery; you are familiar with the concept of the Lich, yes?" She glances at the three, who nod blankly, as the female Genasi draws nearer.
"The phylactery holds a Lich's souls and lifeforces, such that if the Lich is destroyed, it can (and will) reanimate at the phylactery, drawing the stored souls, power and essences from it."
"Essentially, a reserve life kept in safety," adds Haventree, relaxing her support of Silvane.
"The Death Curse," rasps Silvane, "seems to be like a phylactery but that draws escaped souls to it, like filings to a lodestone, or flotsam into the heart of a maelstrom. And its power is affecting all of Toril, as best we can tell." She pauses. "We have not seen power the likes of this ever before."
Haventree continues. "Because of the nature of the magic, we hypothesize that a Lich could give us more information about the Death Curse, perhaps even finding a direction of origin or location." She pulls her cloak more tightly about her body as a wind adds to the drizzle. "So we must find a Lich and... 'convince' it to help us. We need a small force to infiltrate the Lich's lair and find its phylactery, while the rest of our order applies its might in a frontal attack as a diversion. Phylactery in hand, we will extort what we need from the fiend."
She looks at the ground for a moment and takes a heavy breath, crossing her arms. "These are desperate times. We would never judge your answer and I realize we are manipulating your emotions by coming here. But we are out of resources." She swallows, licks her lips. "We... are begging you. The souls of the dead, including Master Ziman, are begging you. Can you help us?"
"I myself have found nothing in all of my research at the temple." Taman says with a sigh. "I was hoping that something therin would help us, but, having found nothing myself, I will defer to you in this matter." He nods to the two speakers. "I will pledge myself to aid in this, if it means getting us closer to learning what is causing this curse." He places a hand over his symbol of Azuth as he speaks.
So, people did search! Of course they did, how could they not? And as far fetched as it sounded, it was much better than complete nothing Cimeri had a moment before. "You do not have to beg me - you heard my oath and I meant every word I said. Point me to that lich and I will do anything in my power to convince him."If Cimeri knew a bit more about liches, she probably would be less eager to meet one. But she did not and was ready to go anywhere for the sake of the cure.
“Er, hi?” Scoria steps up from where she had knelt at the side of the grave. She looks odd, her elemental nature obvious. She looms, skirting 7ft tall, and broad across the shoulders, with grey skin like labradorite, shot through with black and occasional flashes of iridescence, and her hair looks like broken flint.
“I don’t mean to butt in, but I heard what you were saying - can I help? The Master was helping me find out more about my ancestors - I want to help him find peace with his.”
"You will need all the help you can get," whispers Syndra Silvane.
"Time is of the essence, of course. You will need to move quickly," Haventree states. "We know of a Lich, Zaldara Cordress, the Duchess of Rot, who makes her lair to the south in the Cloakwood, roughly three days travel by boat. I can arrange to have you taken there tomorrow morning; be at the docks tomorrow morning at dawn. Ask for the ship Diviner, and our agent named Calibrax. He will pilot the ship and arrange for food and lodging on board; he'll also have the finer details of your mission. I would tell you more now but need to arrange our forces and logistics and don't have the information at the moment."
Syndra Silvane speaks from beneath the mask. "These may prove helpful," she hisses as she produces four, stoppered vials full of viscous, red fluid and hands one to each of you. "Our organization will, of course, reward your bravery handsomely upon completion, should you require more motivation for the task; I imagine you do not, but gold is always useful. Five Hundred pieces should compensate the four of you. It will await at my mansion in Baldur's Gate."
She pauses a moment, sharing a glance with Remalia Haventree, the sun elf. "To be transparent, I must tell you that I am personally involved in this matter. We have not mentioned another effect of the Death Curse; not only are those who die unable to be raised, but those of us who have been previously raised," she utters, gesturing to her amorphous, robed self with both finely-gloved hands, "are wasting away. I do not know how much time we have, but each moment I feel more of my restored life slip away. This tells me that Master Ziman's soul, and every lost person's soul, has a limited amount of time to be saved."
"Are we agreed then? Tomorrow, the docks, the Diviner, Calibrax? I suggest you get what rest you can; events will move quickly starting tomorrow morning."
[Please let me know if you have any specific things you'd like to do before the morning or if you'd like to proceed to the docks.]
"What is in this?" Taman asks, holding up the container of red liquid he was just given.
After being asked if the plan was good... "Yes, I will meet at the docks in the morning." Taman confirms as he tucks the potion into his pack. "I need to get my gear together and pack some provisions, but should have no issues being there at the appointed time."
"The reward will be appreciated." Taman says at the mention of the gold. "As you say we would do it regardless, but our funds may not be all that great and there will be costs as we move onward to end this curse once and for all."
There was a moment when Cimeri honestly expected Lady Syndra Silvane to drop the mask and reveal herself as a lich. But Death Curse - as horrible as it was - also eased things a bit: it explained the rush, all the sudden happenings, unexpected meetings and vortex of events.
Of course, Scoria was welcomed and if it was just short polite "Master Ziman's friends are my friends" - it was only because they were still listening instructions from Lady Silvane. Now was the time for that last quiet evening before the journey, when now four of them could remember Master one last time, or just sir in a sad but uniting silence.
Cimeri could not help it but to keep cast glances at Scoria. Cimeri was no stranger to side looks and open staring - with her dark purple skin, black eyes with no visible sclera or pupil, curling horns and a tail. But Scoria was a whole new level of unusual. Strangely enough, her presence was comforting, and - though Cimeri would never admit it - gave a feeling of being protected.
There was nothing much to prepare for the journey - a weapon (old short sword used for exercises), come change of clothes,a few coins ... Cimeri's life was never luxurious to contemplate on what's to take to the road.
Flynn ponders for a moment, while raising an eyebrow during the time he is listening. “This plan goes under the assumption that once we have the phylactery, that we are able to pose enough of a threat to a Lich that it wouldn’t just whisk us away into the afterlife. Bound to its servitude as shells of our former lives.... zombies helping our new master in its necromantic endeavors. It’s highly likely we could perish even with health potions you gave us. I hope to find that you value life more than 125 pieces of gold. Especially when you follow up your offer to “return to your mansion.” . I am not bargaining for a higher price because it’s not about the money, but if we make it out alive; You need to do better.” Flynn looks at the group discomforted at the idea of being used like pawns in a chess match.
Remalia steps forward, raising a hand to placate Flynn.
"The Harpers, for that is our organization, are not in the habit of sending 'pawns' to their doom. You will not be part of the assault force, which will be the broadsword coming at Zaldara's head; you will be the stilleto in the off-hand that plunges into her breast."
"Remalia," hacks Silvane, "has a flair for the dramatic. With luck, you will not face the Lich or any of her greater servants; the assault force will be unexpected and strong enough that Zaldara will have to commit all her resources in defense of her keep. We aim for this to appear as a surprise coup; she will think, hopefully, that we've decided once and for all to extinguish the threat she poses. We will be throwing many of our forces to their doom. Those of us in this conversation are the only ones to know that there is more to this than an assault."
"Some in our force," Remalia continues, curling her fingers into a fist in front of Flynn, "will die for less than the gold you'll be given... happily. They'll throw their lives away, with no chance at resurrection, so that we might discover more about this curse. Does that not move you?"
Syndra interrupts before Flynn can respond. "There is likely to be treasure in the cellar of the Lich, and we can talk more about compensation upon completion of the task at hand." She gathers her robes about herself, crumpling as another bout of coughing strikes. "I must rest now. Gods be with you on this task," she nods at each member of the strike force, "and you, Remalia."
The villagers cobble together a meal in gratitude for Taman's service and no small number of them stop in to the Master's abode with food and small gifts for Cimeri. Cimeri helps Ziman's former attendants prepare space for Taman, Scoria, and Flynn to stay overnight; Scoria's appearance draws more than a few looks from the servants and she spends a quiet night in contemplation as most are wary if not fearful of her. Flynn and Taman busy themselves putting some of Master Ziman's affairs in order and notifying the village elders of their ad-hoc 'guardianship' of Cimeri, laying the foundations for a story that they are taking Cimeri to Baldur's Gate for schooling with the Genasi warrior.
Sleep is not restful as each of the heroes thinks about the impending danger they're about to put themselves in, and it's with bleary, puffy eyes that each sees the first rays of the sun peek over the edge of Toril as they arrive at the docks of Baldur's Gate.
The Diviner is a small keelboat with little protection from the elements; the four travellers are greeted by a morose halfling, introducing himself as Calabrax as he fiddles with the dock ropes. He gestures them all aboard with a wave and doesn't speak again until an hour after they've set off through the slapping waves.
"Food," says the halfling, "is in that crate in the bow. Water's in the barrel next to it." He leans on the rudder and keeps his eyes on the far off shore. "We'll talk details in a bit."
On the evening of the third day at sea, Calabrax finally speaks in earnest again; up until now he's evaded all attempts at further conversation with monosyllabic grunts or just outright muteness. The four travellers have noticed the shore growing closer, which has become a cliffside some 100 feet in height, over which the edge of the Cloakwood hangs.
The tip of a dark tower can be seen over the line of trees. A dark spot in the cliff face appears, and grows larger until it's evident that it's a cave, and the keelboat is headed for it.
Calabrax scans the horizon, looking for the descending height of the sun.
"We'll reach the entrance soon," he nods at the cave. "Once we're there, we wait for Remailia's horn; that signals the advance on the tower," he looks at each of the travelers. "That's your signal. You move quick. Every moment you're in there, Harpers like myself are dying, clear?" He lets that sink in; some of the travelers glare at the obvious condescension. "You're looking for a book bound in humanoid skin; it'll stick out. That's all the detail we have on that. You get the book, you come back here fast as you can. I'll teleport us all up to Remalia where we'll start a parley with the Lich."
The keelboat scrapes over some large rocks and bumps gently to a stop just inside the cave; the echo travels down into the darkness beyond.
Joining the howling note of wind across the cave entrance, a mournful warhorn sounds in the distance.
"Off you go. Best of luck," grunts Calabrax.
The travelers scramble out of the boat and onto the cave floor, moving in a few feet as their eyes adjust to the darkness. The cave mouth becomes a tunnel, about five feet wide and eight feet in height. There is no light apparent in the tunnel. Cimeri and Flynn, able to see through darkvision, communicate to the others that the tunnel seems to go in about 50 feet before either turning or opening onto a larger area. Sensing no immediate danger, Flynn and Cimeri creep to the end of the tunnel, take a look, and return to the tunnel mouth where Scoria and Taman wait.
Flynn/Cimeri perceive:
Drip. Drip. Drip. That hollow sound pierces the silence in this cave as water slowly falls from stalactites. Stale air fills the lungs as they take in the cave, whose height has grown to 20 feet. Flynn and Cimeri find themselves at the south-eastern end of the area. Some 25 feet to the west is a large, unworked stone column that appears to hold up the ceiling. Stout stairs leading 5 feet up hug the column's southern side while a 5 foot high ledge that leads into the darkenss appears along the north, eventually rejoining the cave wall. Further back and to the north, a second set of stairs leads up to a stone door carved with a skull.
[It is 7PM and the assault is underway. I will let you know as time passes at the bottom of my posts. I need marching order for moving through tunnels/doors and information regarding whether the last person in line is looking back, forward, etc.; you can discuss and post in the OOC email. Once that's resolved, please post with your actions; also let me know if you're stealthing and include any roll results in your post]
In a quiet and subdued voice, Taman says... "I can cast a spell of light if that is wanted, or can just prepare to cast it for when it is needed. I cannot see inside the darkness, so will require light if we end up needing to fight. I can cast it on a stone now and either put it away, or keep it out and we will not be as stealthy." When the group is ready to start out Taman will put in. "For those leading the way, I can cast a blessing on you, to hone your skills to a small extent."
Taman will stay second to last, his lack of darkvision making him not a good choice for scout or rear guard. He will cast light on a rock and put it in his pocket, or keep it out, depending on what the group decides. he will also cast guidance on whomever is most in need of it.
Rain spits from the sky onto the onlookers gathered at a massive oak tree on a remote hill; orange and brown leaves cover the yellowing grass of mid-autumn. The tree is bare of leaves, seeming to have caught the emotions and thoughts of those of Faerun at the moment. A curse has been felt across the land, but no more so than here among the numbers gathered for this morose occasion.
Master Augustus Ziman, an elder of the monks of the nearby village nestled near the farms and orchards outside the Outer City, has been slain. Authorities are still investigating the motive and finding suspects; it appears a bandit raid, not uncommon, fell upon the settlement, but whispers of foul play lace the villagers' conversations. It's rumored that Ziman's body was found in his abode; that he'd been slain before he could mount a defense to the raid. No details have been forthcoming as to the cause of death.
Before the lid was nailed shut upon his coffin, he'd been wrapped in linen by summoned monks of his order; his face was viewable only to a select few, and it bore no trauma. Ziman appeared at peace, or perhaps that was just what the onlookers felt, knowing that his soul seemed to be irrecoverable.
For that is the nature of the fell curse upon the land: the Death Curse. None can be raised, be they king or beggar. It's been three days since rumors first came from Baldur's Gate of astonished clerics working together to attempt resurrections, to no avail. Master Ziman is the first of the village to bring the curse to the fore.
Folk from Baldur's Gate and even some from beyond have appeared to pay their respects to the elder monk. The visitors range from nobility in their finery and robes, to commonfolk, dressed in leathers and burlap. Beggars, clergy, even a Genasi barbarian line the hilltop.
Bouquets of flowers line the sides of the coffin set before the grave dug at the roots of the giant oak. Folk press forward as a cleric participating in the proceedings, one Taman Landon, calls everyone to order and explains that he will now say a few words about Master Ziman, followed by some of those who knew him. He nods in the direction of a young Tiefling and a High Elf nearby.
Once he has gathered the onlookers attention, Taman will nod his head in reverence to his fallen friend. Taman is a lanky man wearing clerical robes over ring mail armor. His raven black hair makes the stormy gray of his eyes look even darker as he stands before you.
"Master Augustus Ziman, was a friend to most of us here, and more like a father to some." His eyes flit to Cimeri once again. "Azuth bless his soul as it passes from this world to his next..." Taman touches the symbol of Azuth on his vestments as he then intones the ritual of burial for the dead. He would keep the religious platitudes short though, in deference to the old monk's wishes. "Cimeri would you like to say a few words?" Taman will ask towards the end of the ritual.
Cimeri's black eyes were dry - she spent all the tears that were given to her in that life two days ago. At least, that is what she though now. But she could talk and she tried to do just that:
"I never called Master Ziman father, and he never called me daughter, yet, he was the only parent I ever knew. My heart demands vengeance upon those who took his life away from me, from us. But you knew him, and I know as well it would not be his wish to smear the soul of those he cared about - all of us! - with hatred and revenge. There is one promise I can give, though, the one I am sure he would never object - if there is a cure to that curse, plaguing our land and denying us return of our loved ones - I will find it! This I swear by the name of my Master."
She bowed and stepped back.
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
"Well spoken." Taman says as the Tiefling stepped back. Looking around the gathered, he gives a solem nod. "I too will give the same oath. The dark curse that is barring use of magic that could have saved my old friend needs to be removed from blighting this land any longer. I will go forth with Cimeri, and atempt to find the source of this plague and do what ever it takes to eliminate it."
Scoria doesn’t speak - among these people who knew the Master well, what right did she have to speak his memory? But he’d been kind and thoughtful and helpful where others had sneered. His death, this curse, is an injustice.
She holds a perfect sphere of polished obsidian, incised with runes - the Clan holds that it protects the dead, reflecting abuses of the soul back on the perpetrator. At an appropriate time, she’ll place it in the gravedirt over his head, and when the crowds have dispersed, speak to these three and offer her aid with their quest.
Flynn walks up from behind Cimeri, placing a hand on the back of her neck and shoulder gently before passing and stepping in front of the crowd.
”We weep and grieve for the man we cherish and love. I didn’t use the past tense, because he will always stay with us. I remember a man who greeted each day with a smile. The heart of the town. I remember a confidant that would listen quietly to the troubles of the people. I remember a wise counselor, leading those that same to him, through their troubles. I remember a man who was quite fond of tapioca pudding.” Flynn breaks for a light chuckle. “I remember a man, standing over a pot of boiling water to warm milk in a bottle for a little girl he raised to be a fine young woman. I remember a man, that encompassed the compassion, courage, love, and sincerity that brings all life together for good. So while I follow these two to look after them as my friend once did. I know within my heart that Augustus would want you, the town, to look after each other. Be the one who greets with a smile, listen to your neighbor, counsel your brothers and sister,..... and provide for the ones that can’t provide for themselves.” Flynn steps back to look at Cemli and Taman
"Thank you Flynn." Taman nods his head in respect. He concludes the funeral ritual, speaking to the gathering and offering up Azuth's blessing on the deceased. Once the body is laid to rest, Taman will move over to the Tiefling and Flynn.
"I have moved things around, at the temple, with Acolyte Saralyssa taking over my work there." Taman informs them both with a grim look in his eyes. "I think we need to move on seeking out this curse, and have freed myself of my other responsibilities to attend to this with you."
Cimeri was grateful to everyone - she did gave the oath and had all the intention to fulfill it, but the truth was - she did not know where to begin and help of her Master's friends meant a lot now.
When the ceremony was over, and all four of them were sitting in the humble house she called home for so many years, Cimeri admitted her ignorance: "Mr. Landon, thank you for your promise to help. I have to say, I do not know where to begin my search. There has to be something or someone in Baldur's Gate, pointing to the possible source of the curse. It can not be that we are the only one who cares. Sure, priests of Azuth where looking? Or may be libraries of Oghma Temples hold some knowledge?"
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
"If not here in Baldur's Gate, then we will travel to Candlekeep and try there." Taman assures the girl as he sits at the table with the group. Looking around at each of them he nods. "I personally will leave no stone unturned in trying to find out what is causing this."
As the three stand huddled, accepting kind words from onlookers and shaking hands over tight smiles and nods, the crowd begins to disperse. The stranger, a female Genasi dressed in odd garb, creeps closer quietly, moving past weeping mourners. Two others approach the three as well.
"Baldur's Gate, Candlekeep, Libraries of the Temples... these will not help you," states an imposing sun elf, female, older, with a large scar upon her face and wearing the finery of a northener over the frame of a warrior. An aura of authority seems to emanate naturally from her. "But it is possible we can help you...and in turn, you may help us all."
The sun elf's companion, a figure shrouded in a multitude of the finest robes and sashes and covered in a deep hood obscuring their face, places a hand on the sun elf's arm and steps forward. A great frailty of build is apparent by the palsied movement.
The voice that issues forth from the hood is startling in its reedy raspiness. "Beautiful ceremony. It is clear that Master Ziman meant much to all of you," the hood turns to Cimeri with meaning. Beneath the hood, the scant light of the drizzly day catches silver, denoting a mask of some kind. "Our sincerest condolences to you all. Ziman meant much to us as well. My companion here," gesturing to the sun elf, "is called Remalia Haventree. My name is Syndra Silvane; I will be brief. We represent a group of associates who wish to do good in this world. Master Ziman was a member of our order. Our current undertaking is the resolution..."
Syndra Silvane's body is wracked with spasms as a horrid cough issues from her hood; the cough gurgles and stutters, and her body shakes with the sound of sinews or joints popping.
Remalia Haventree stoops to hold her companion, a stoic concern clear upon her face. Her head turns to the three as she supports Silvane. "The resolution of this damnable Death Curse. Our order has considerable resources and already we have found all possible leads, I can assure you. Our only next step to resolving this curse, in our opinion, is before us. But we need help. The order is stretched thin and this endeavor will test all our resources..."
Silvane clears her throat. "First, an explanation for those of you unschooled in the arcane. Our scholars believe that this Death Curse is has a mechanism of action similar to a Lich's phylactery; you are familiar with the concept of the Lich, yes?" She glances at the three, who nod blankly, as the female Genasi draws nearer.
"The phylactery holds a Lich's souls and lifeforces, such that if the Lich is destroyed, it can (and will) reanimate at the phylactery, drawing the stored souls, power and essences from it."
"Essentially, a reserve life kept in safety," adds Haventree, relaxing her support of Silvane.
"The Death Curse," rasps Silvane, "seems to be like a phylactery but that draws escaped souls to it, like filings to a lodestone, or flotsam into the heart of a maelstrom. And its power is affecting all of Toril, as best we can tell." She pauses. "We have not seen power the likes of this ever before."
Haventree continues. "Because of the nature of the magic, we hypothesize that a Lich could give us more information about the Death Curse, perhaps even finding a direction of origin or location." She pulls her cloak more tightly about her body as a wind adds to the drizzle. "So we must find a Lich and... 'convince' it to help us. We need a small force to infiltrate the Lich's lair and find its phylactery, while the rest of our order applies its might in a frontal attack as a diversion. Phylactery in hand, we will extort what we need from the fiend."
She looks at the ground for a moment and takes a heavy breath, crossing her arms. "These are desperate times. We would never judge your answer and I realize we are manipulating your emotions by coming here. But we are out of resources." She swallows, licks her lips. "We... are begging you. The souls of the dead, including Master Ziman, are begging you. Can you help us?"
"I myself have found nothing in all of my research at the temple." Taman says with a sigh. "I was hoping that something therin would help us, but, having found nothing myself, I will defer to you in this matter." He nods to the two speakers. "I will pledge myself to aid in this, if it means getting us closer to learning what is causing this curse." He places a hand over his symbol of Azuth as he speaks.
So, people did search! Of course they did, how could they not? And as far fetched as it sounded, it was much better than complete nothing Cimeri had a moment before. "You do not have to beg me - you heard my oath and I meant every word I said. Point me to that lich and I will do anything in my power to convince him." If Cimeri knew a bit more about liches, she probably would be less eager to meet one. But she did not and was ready to go anywhere for the sake of the cure.
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
“Er, hi?” Scoria steps up from where she had knelt at the side of the grave. She looks odd, her elemental nature obvious. She looms, skirting 7ft tall, and broad across the shoulders, with grey skin like labradorite, shot through with black and occasional flashes of iridescence, and her hair looks like broken flint.
“I don’t mean to butt in, but I heard what you were saying - can I help? The Master was helping me find out more about my ancestors - I want to help him find peace with his.”
"You will need all the help you can get," whispers Syndra Silvane.
"Time is of the essence, of course. You will need to move quickly," Haventree states. "We know of a Lich, Zaldara Cordress, the Duchess of Rot, who makes her lair to the south in the Cloakwood, roughly three days travel by boat. I can arrange to have you taken there tomorrow morning; be at the docks tomorrow morning at dawn. Ask for the ship Diviner, and our agent named Calibrax. He will pilot the ship and arrange for food and lodging on board; he'll also have the finer details of your mission. I would tell you more now but need to arrange our forces and logistics and don't have the information at the moment."
Syndra Silvane speaks from beneath the mask. "These may prove helpful," she hisses as she produces four, stoppered vials full of viscous, red fluid and hands one to each of you. "Our organization will, of course, reward your bravery handsomely upon completion, should you require more motivation for the task; I imagine you do not, but gold is always useful. Five Hundred pieces should compensate the four of you. It will await at my mansion in Baldur's Gate."
She pauses a moment, sharing a glance with Remalia Haventree, the sun elf. "To be transparent, I must tell you that I am personally involved in this matter. We have not mentioned another effect of the Death Curse; not only are those who die unable to be raised, but those of us who have been previously raised," she utters, gesturing to her amorphous, robed self with both finely-gloved hands, "are wasting away. I do not know how much time we have, but each moment I feel more of my restored life slip away. This tells me that Master Ziman's soul, and every lost person's soul, has a limited amount of time to be saved."
"Are we agreed then? Tomorrow, the docks, the Diviner, Calibrax? I suggest you get what rest you can; events will move quickly starting tomorrow morning."
[Please let me know if you have any specific things you'd like to do before the morning or if you'd like to proceed to the docks.]
"What is in this?" Taman asks, holding up the container of red liquid he was just given.
After being asked if the plan was good... "Yes, I will meet at the docks in the morning." Taman confirms as he tucks the potion into his pack. "I need to get my gear together and pack some provisions, but should have no issues being there at the appointed time."
"The reward will be appreciated." Taman says at the mention of the gold. "As you say we would do it regardless, but our funds may not be all that great and there will be costs as we move onward to end this curse once and for all."
There was a moment when Cimeri honestly expected Lady Syndra Silvane to drop the mask and reveal herself as a lich. But Death Curse - as horrible as it was - also eased things a bit: it explained the rush, all the sudden happenings, unexpected meetings and vortex of events.
Of course, Scoria was welcomed and if it was just short polite "Master Ziman's friends are my friends" - it was only because they were still listening instructions from Lady Silvane. Now was the time for that last quiet evening before the journey, when now four of them could remember Master one last time, or just sir in a sad but uniting silence.
Cimeri could not help it but to keep cast glances at Scoria. Cimeri was no stranger to side looks and open staring - with her dark purple skin, black eyes with no visible sclera or pupil, curling horns and a tail. But Scoria was a whole new level of unusual. Strangely enough, her presence was comforting, and - though Cimeri would never admit it - gave a feeling of being protected.
There was nothing much to prepare for the journey - a weapon (old short sword used for exercises), come change of clothes,a few coins ... Cimeri's life was never luxurious to contemplate on what's to take to the road.
Meili Liang Lvl 5 Monk
Dice
(Scoria is carrying everything she owns and will follow the group's plans without much in the way of comment)
Flynn ponders for a moment, while raising an eyebrow during the time he is listening. “This plan goes under the assumption that once we have the phylactery, that we are able to pose enough of a threat to a Lich that it wouldn’t just whisk us away into the afterlife. Bound to its servitude as shells of our former lives.... zombies helping our new master in its necromantic endeavors. It’s highly likely we could perish even with health potions you gave us. I hope to find that you value life more than 125 pieces of gold. Especially when you follow up your offer to “return to your mansion.” . I am not bargaining for a higher price because it’s not about the money, but if we make it out alive; You need to do better.” Flynn looks at the group discomforted at the idea of being used like pawns in a chess match.
(ready to go!)
Remalia steps forward, raising a hand to placate Flynn.
"The Harpers, for that is our organization, are not in the habit of sending 'pawns' to their doom. You will not be part of the assault force, which will be the broadsword coming at Zaldara's head; you will be the stilleto in the off-hand that plunges into her breast."
"Remalia," hacks Silvane, "has a flair for the dramatic. With luck, you will not face the Lich or any of her greater servants; the assault force will be unexpected and strong enough that Zaldara will have to commit all her resources in defense of her keep. We aim for this to appear as a surprise coup; she will think, hopefully, that we've decided once and for all to extinguish the threat she poses. We will be throwing many of our forces to their doom. Those of us in this conversation are the only ones to know that there is more to this than an assault."
"Some in our force," Remalia continues, curling her fingers into a fist in front of Flynn, "will die for less than the gold you'll be given... happily. They'll throw their lives away, with no chance at resurrection, so that we might discover more about this curse. Does that not move you?"
Syndra interrupts before Flynn can respond. "There is likely to be treasure in the cellar of the Lich, and we can talk more about compensation upon completion of the task at hand." She gathers her robes about herself, crumpling as another bout of coughing strikes. "I must rest now. Gods be with you on this task," she nods at each member of the strike force, "and you, Remalia."
****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
The villagers cobble together a meal in gratitude for Taman's service and no small number of them stop in to the Master's abode with food and small gifts for Cimeri. Cimeri helps Ziman's former attendants prepare space for Taman, Scoria, and Flynn to stay overnight; Scoria's appearance draws more than a few looks from the servants and she spends a quiet night in contemplation as most are wary if not fearful of her. Flynn and Taman busy themselves putting some of Master Ziman's affairs in order and notifying the village elders of their ad-hoc 'guardianship' of Cimeri, laying the foundations for a story that they are taking Cimeri to Baldur's Gate for schooling with the Genasi warrior.
Sleep is not restful as each of the heroes thinks about the impending danger they're about to put themselves in, and it's with bleary, puffy eyes that each sees the first rays of the sun peek over the edge of Toril as they arrive at the docks of Baldur's Gate.
The Diviner is a small keelboat with little protection from the elements; the four travellers are greeted by a morose halfling, introducing himself as Calabrax as he fiddles with the dock ropes. He gestures them all aboard with a wave and doesn't speak again until an hour after they've set off through the slapping waves.
"Food," says the halfling, "is in that crate in the bow. Water's in the barrel next to it." He leans on the rudder and keeps his eyes on the far off shore. "We'll talk details in a bit."
******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
On the evening of the third day at sea, Calabrax finally speaks in earnest again; up until now he's evaded all attempts at further conversation with monosyllabic grunts or just outright muteness. The four travellers have noticed the shore growing closer, which has become a cliffside some 100 feet in height, over which the edge of the Cloakwood hangs.
The tip of a dark tower can be seen over the line of trees. A dark spot in the cliff face appears, and grows larger until it's evident that it's a cave, and the keelboat is headed for it.
Calabrax scans the horizon, looking for the descending height of the sun.
"We'll reach the entrance soon," he nods at the cave. "Once we're there, we wait for Remailia's horn; that signals the advance on the tower," he looks at each of the travelers. "That's your signal. You move quick. Every moment you're in there, Harpers like myself are dying, clear?" He lets that sink in; some of the travelers glare at the obvious condescension. "You're looking for a book bound in humanoid skin; it'll stick out. That's all the detail we have on that. You get the book, you come back here fast as you can. I'll teleport us all up to Remalia where we'll start a parley with the Lich."
The keelboat scrapes over some large rocks and bumps gently to a stop just inside the cave; the echo travels down into the darkness beyond.
Joining the howling note of wind across the cave entrance, a mournful warhorn sounds in the distance.
"Off you go. Best of luck," grunts Calabrax.
The travelers scramble out of the boat and onto the cave floor, moving in a few feet as their eyes adjust to the darkness. The cave mouth becomes a tunnel, about five feet wide and eight feet in height. There is no light apparent in the tunnel. Cimeri and Flynn, able to see through darkvision, communicate to the others that the tunnel seems to go in about 50 feet before either turning or opening onto a larger area. Sensing no immediate danger, Flynn and Cimeri creep to the end of the tunnel, take a look, and return to the tunnel mouth where Scoria and Taman wait.
Flynn/Cimeri perceive:
Drip. Drip. Drip. That hollow sound pierces the silence in this cave as water slowly falls from stalactites. Stale air fills the lungs as they take in the cave, whose height has grown to 20 feet. Flynn and Cimeri find themselves at the south-eastern end of the area. Some 25 feet to the west is a large, unworked stone column that appears to hold up the ceiling. Stout stairs leading 5 feet up hug the column's southern side while a 5 foot high ledge that leads into the darkenss appears along the north, eventually rejoining the cave wall. Further back and to the north, a second set of stairs leads up to a stone door carved with a skull.
[It is 7PM and the assault is underway. I will let you know as time passes at the bottom of my posts. I need marching order for moving through tunnels/doors and information regarding whether the last person in line is looking back, forward, etc.; you can discuss and post in the OOC email. Once that's resolved, please post with your actions; also let me know if you're stealthing and include any roll results in your post]
In a quiet and subdued voice, Taman says... "I can cast a spell of light if that is wanted, or can just prepare to cast it for when it is needed. I cannot see inside the darkness, so will require light if we end up needing to fight. I can cast it on a stone now and either put it away, or keep it out and we will not be as stealthy." When the group is ready to start out Taman will put in. "For those leading the way, I can cast a blessing on you, to hone your skills to a small extent."
Taman will stay second to last, his lack of darkvision making him not a good choice for scout or rear guard. He will cast light on a rock and put it in his pocket, or keep it out, depending on what the group decides. he will also cast guidance on whomever is most in need of it.