Baldur's Gate. The largest metropolis on the Sword Coast, the Western Coast of the continent of Faerûn. Ordinarily a thriving city of commerce and opportunity; now, all that seems to be on anyone's mind is the death curse. It has been a span of nearly two full tendays, and everyone who has ever been raised from the dead has been slowly growing thinner and weaker. No one seems to know what to do, and everyone, from nobles to merchants to priests to Flaming Fist mercenaries, is worried.
The four of you have each independently received a letter from one Syndra Silvane, a retired adventurer and merchant, inviting you to her home and requesting aid. In the letter, she says she has learned of the source of the curse and wants you four to journey to find it. Arriving at her residence, you see it is a lavish and well-maintained three-story dwelling, with a terrace up on the third floor. One by one, you are admitted into the house by a uniformed attendant, who leads you into a comfortably adorned sitting room and bids you wait for his employer and the rest of the respondees. There are chairs, a pair of sofas, and a prominently placed circular glass table with four glasses and an arrangement of several choice beverages.
Thus, our story begins, with four hitherto unacquainted adventurers gathered in wait for the start of their quest.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
Jorvik enters the room wearing his usual outfit of a large red-brown cloak of a similar hue to his graying hair, a well-worn chain shirt, trousers, and boots that look to have seen better days. Looking around the room, he notices and makes his way towards the glass table. Though a half-elf, Jorvik is neither slight nor graceful, standing well over 6 feet tall with broad shoulders to match and a solid thud audible as he puts one foot in front of another. "Don't mind if I do" Jorvik mumbles to himself as he inspects his current beverage options.
First to arrive is the tall greying half-elf, whom the attendant views warily as he makes his broad-bodied way past the expensive looking furniture. You settle in to the sitting room and see it adorned with the sort of decorations you'd expect from a retired adventurer; maps and tapestries of all sort cover the walls, with multiple display cases containing a few particularly showy pieces of treasure. Looking at the glass bar, you see that it is set up to encourage the four of you to pour yourself a drink. There are several bottles of liquors and liqueurs, as well as meads, ales, wines, and a collection of fizzy popular drinks. Essentially, if your drink of choice isn't particularly exotic it's there.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
Minutes later the door to the room opens and if the tall half-elf were to look up he would see the one-eyed human veteran Tulock wearing his exhausted, knee-high, riding boots of alligator leather and armed with a spear made of ash wood that dangles on a strap swung over his right shoulder and a mace tucked into his leather belt with a well-worn handle hanging towards the ground. Weathered studded armor clings to Tulock's thick body frame and indentation marks along his forehead reveal he was wearing a helmet earlier today, but sans one now. Tulock's left eye is covered by an eye patch, and he keeps his honey-colored hair short, a holdover from his days in his majesty's service, but grew out his salt and pepper beard after taking his leave and hasn't shaved since, some saying to hide his scars, others to hide the branding of an elite unit that would mark him a member, but only Tulock knows why. Upon entering the room his one good grey eye scans around and quickly assesses the half-elf in the room. He gives the tall brute a nod and then nonchalantly walks over to the closest window and peers out to see what he can and talking over his shoulder says to the half-elf, "the name's Tulock, stranger. What say you?"
The street outside is a bustle of activity. The normally residential neighborhood has more people out on the street than normal; huddled in groups presumably sharing rumors and whispers. You can see Sylvane's attendant out of the corner of the window, scouring the people outside and sizing all newcomers up. He pulls out a pocketwatch and checks it. Behind you, you hear the clink of glass and the slosh of pouring liquid.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
The next to arrive is a robed half-elf who seems to resemble his human parent more than his elven. Though his ears are pointed, his black hair is curly, his eyes are a deep brown, and he has a long beard. "My name is Dughening," he announces with a nod to Tulock and Jorvik. He surveys the room. "Where is Sylvane?" he asks. "My thirst is more for knowledge than for drink." That said, he sits at the table and pours himself a glass of red wine. "I suppose you're all here for the same reason that I am," he says. "Have either of you any knowledge of the 'death curse' of which Sylvane spoke? I'm not much of a necromancer myself, but in my experiments I did attempt to bring a small bird back to life, and it lost its feathers and withered away within a day. A dreadul thing, this. Though of course in my experiences most magic can be inverted, and if I could find the inverse of this... Well." He trails off, seemingly lost in private thoughts.
Tulock pulls back the window's curtain as Dughening introduces himself and introduces himself to the new member. He then walks over to where they are sitting and adjusting his mace and unslinging his spear he gently settles into one of the seats. "My thirst is for money and justice, whichever comes first. My plans are simple, to start my own guild of sellswords and so I come to serve Lady Sylvane for gold and reputation."
Slowly shambling his way into the room is a gaunt looking man that, depending on how you looked at him, seems middle aged or approaching his twilight years. His pale gray skin looks almost leathery in texture and as he begins to speak it almost seems like his movements and speech don't quite match up. Despite his morose atmosphere, he gives a limp grin as he says, "Zaryn Zarok, but my friends call me Zaza. I look forward to working with you fine gentlemen." Taking his time he saunters over to grab a drink, takes a seat, lifts his leg onto his other leg so that it is crossed, and lets out a relieved ghastly sigh. As he raises the glass to his mouth he stops short and says, "oh yeah and I hope this isn't too much trouble but I might be a little bit dead or a little bit alive, or undead don't like that one too much (laughs)" he puts the drink down and his face turns deathly serious. "Before you ask, half-elf, no despite my miraculous return I haven't the slightest clue what this death curse is about. Which is why I'm here. I follow any lead on subjects regarding death and resurrections, hopefully to uncover the truth of my own. And to be quite frank, the fact that this curse is afflicting those that have been brought back to life leaves me unnerved to say the least."
As the four of you introduce yourselves to each other, the uniformed attendant reappears in the room. "If you'll follow me gentlemen..." He 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 a single glass and room for four more. The darkly paneled walls are hung with maps and sea charts. Racks, shelves, and cabinets hold hundreds more rolled-up maps and charts.
A person is seated in an overstuffed chair near the fire. You can’t discern a gender, because only the person’s head emerges from under a heavy blanket draped over the chair, and an embroidered hood and silver mask conceal their face. Even the person’s dry, raspy voice provides no clue. “Help yourselves to a seat, friends — I hope I may call you that.”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
"I appreciate the four of you heeding my call," the figure continues in a dry, crackling voice. "I am Syndra Sylvane. I was an adventurer just like yourselves once, but then I took an arrow to the knee I closed the door on that long ago." A series of violent phlegmy coughs wrack Sylvane's body. "This death curse you have heard of, well it has struck me. I don't know how much longer I'll last and clerics have no more to offer."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
Tulock lingers over towards the maps and sea charts, quickly glancing at them to see if he recognizes any of the lands or oceans while he waits for his new comrades in arms to answer the raspy voice.
"Ah?" Zaza slowly raises a finger, "If you'll also indulge us with how you died and and were brought back. Apologies in advance if that hits a soft spot." says ZaZa, "There may be some connection that might be of some use to us if you have looked into the other deaths."
Tulock, looking over the sea charts you see most prominently displayed an intricate and artistic map of the Sea of Swords and the isles near to Baldur's gate. You see the Moonshae Isles due west, The Nelanthers to the southwest, and Baldur's Gate boldly displayed.
A map on an adjacent wall depicts a partially filled in mountain range, resplendent with fantastical drawings and decorations of giants and wyrms, labeled "Crown of the World".
Behind Sylvane's armchair is a large map entitled "Penninsula of Chult". It is much newer than the others, and an easel nearby indicate it's state of progress. You see only the edges are filled in, with a large black void covering the interior of the landmass.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
The raspy voice responds, the embroidered mask concealing any facial movements and giving the voice an eerily disembodied quality, though it is certainly human and coming from Sylvane. "Ah, no sore spots amount friends, and 'twas so long ago. Truly not the most interesting story, I fell in combat while adventuring, and was brought back right afterwards; it was normal clerical magic, revivification." A moments pause for another hacking cough and a shiver from the speaker's very bones. "As to my intel, I have the Harpers to thank for that*. My contacts have traced the curse back to some sort of necromantic artifact; they call it The Soulmonger. According to their sources, it's somewhere in Chult."
*You have all heard of the Harpers, though the details of your knowledge may vary. By most accounts they are a cabal of mages and spies who gather information and promote fairness and equality by covert means. They are as known for their network of spies as their reputation for toppling tyrants.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
"What can you tell us of the Soulmonger?" Dughening asks. "What are its origins? And what do you know of the Peninsula of Chult? I have a natural curiosity for such things and am eager to explore them for myself, but any background you can offer beforehand would be welcome." Then, as if in afterthought, "And what interest do the Harpers have in this artifact?"
Jorvik, carrying his mostly empty mug of ale from downstairs, takes a seat with a large thud and listens to the conversation. As the conversation turns to more specifics, Jorvik wonders about the specifics of acquiring more ale. Looking longingly at his now empty mug, he begins debating if it would be rude to go get more.
After a few moments he comes to the realization that it unfortunately would indeed be rude to largely ignore the entire reason he was brought here for more drink, Jorvik resumes halfheartedly paying attention to the conversation. A few minutes later, it dawns on Jorvik that he hasn't actually said anything to anyone at this point. Needing to feign interest, he follows up Dughening's question, by asking "Don't think I've heard of Choolt, or Chult. Where exactly is that?".
A subtle shift in posture left to right is all that indicates Sylvane looking back and forth between Dughening and Jorvik. "What background I have of this place will serve more than just intrigue; it may save your life." A clearing of the throat, and Sylvane gestures to a map on the wall, placed between the maps of Sea of Swords and Chult ((the two above)), and depicting the Continent of Faerun.
"Look, there, the tip of the curved peninsula in the far southwest. I am not surprised you've never heard of the land; 'tis quite large but largely unexplored, with good reason. Chult is a peninsula ringed with mountains and choked with rainforests, as dangerous as it it wonderous. There are savage goblins, birdfolk, enormous reptiles called Saurids (the locals call them dinos) and an army of undead that prowls its jungles and ruins. Mapping the place has always been nigh impossible, and nothing is known about the region’s current geography beyond a few miles from the coast. There is but on large settlement, Port Nyanzaru. Working from dozens of sea charts, log books, and explorers’ journals, I assembled everything known about the current state of Chult into one map. I’ll provide a copy to if you undertake my mission."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
Baldur's Gate. The largest metropolis on the Sword Coast, the Western Coast of the continent of Faerûn. Ordinarily a thriving city of commerce and opportunity; now, all that seems to be on anyone's mind is the death curse. It has been a span of nearly two full tendays, and everyone who has ever been raised from the dead has been slowly growing thinner and weaker. No one seems to know what to do, and everyone, from nobles to merchants to priests to Flaming Fist mercenaries, is worried.
The four of you have each independently received a letter from one Syndra Silvane, a retired adventurer and merchant, inviting you to her home and requesting aid. In the letter, she says she has learned of the source of the curse and wants you four to journey to find it. Arriving at her residence, you see it is a lavish and well-maintained three-story dwelling, with a terrace up on the third floor. One by one, you are admitted into the house by a uniformed attendant, who leads you into a comfortably adorned sitting room and bids you wait for his employer and the rest of the respondees. There are chairs, a pair of sofas, and a prominently placed circular glass table with four glasses and an arrangement of several choice beverages.
Thus, our story begins, with four hitherto unacquainted adventurers gathered in wait for the start of their quest.
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
Jorvik enters the room wearing his usual outfit of a large red-brown cloak of a similar hue to his graying hair, a well-worn chain shirt, trousers, and boots that look to have seen better days. Looking around the room, he notices and makes his way towards the glass table. Though a half-elf, Jorvik is neither slight nor graceful, standing well over 6 feet tall with broad shoulders to match and a solid thud audible as he puts one foot in front of another. "Don't mind if I do" Jorvik mumbles to himself as he inspects his current beverage options.
First to arrive is the tall greying half-elf, whom the attendant views warily as he makes his broad-bodied way past the expensive looking furniture. You settle in to the sitting room and see it adorned with the sort of decorations you'd expect from a retired adventurer; maps and tapestries of all sort cover the walls, with multiple display cases containing a few particularly showy pieces of treasure. Looking at the glass bar, you see that it is set up to encourage the four of you to pour yourself a drink. There are several bottles of liquors and liqueurs, as well as meads, ales, wines, and a collection of fizzy popular drinks. Essentially, if your drink of choice isn't particularly exotic it's there.
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
Minutes later the door to the room opens and if the tall half-elf were to look up he would see the one-eyed human veteran Tulock wearing his exhausted, knee-high, riding boots of alligator leather and armed with a spear made of ash wood that dangles on a strap swung over his right shoulder and a mace tucked into his leather belt with a well-worn handle hanging towards the ground. Weathered studded armor clings to Tulock's thick body frame and indentation marks along his forehead reveal he was wearing a helmet earlier today, but sans one now. Tulock's left eye is covered by an eye patch, and he keeps his honey-colored hair short, a holdover from his days in his majesty's service, but grew out his salt and pepper beard after taking his leave and hasn't shaved since, some saying to hide his scars, others to hide the branding of an elite unit that would mark him a member, but only Tulock knows why. Upon entering the room his one good grey eye scans around and quickly assesses the half-elf in the room. He gives the tall brute a nod and then nonchalantly walks over to the closest window and peers out to see what he can and talking over his shoulder says to the half-elf, "the name's Tulock, stranger. What say you?"
The street outside is a bustle of activity. The normally residential neighborhood has more people out on the street than normal; huddled in groups presumably sharing rumors and whispers. You can see Sylvane's attendant out of the corner of the window, scouring the people outside and sizing all newcomers up. He pulls out a pocketwatch and checks it. Behind you, you hear the clink of glass and the slosh of pouring liquid.
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
The next to arrive is a robed half-elf who seems to resemble his human parent more than his elven. Though his ears are pointed, his black hair is curly, his eyes are a deep brown, and he has a long beard. "My name is Dughening," he announces with a nod to Tulock and Jorvik. He surveys the room. "Where is Sylvane?" he asks. "My thirst is more for knowledge than for drink." That said, he sits at the table and pours himself a glass of red wine. "I suppose you're all here for the same reason that I am," he says. "Have either of you any knowledge of the 'death curse' of which Sylvane spoke? I'm not much of a necromancer myself, but in my experiments I did attempt to bring a small bird back to life, and it lost its feathers and withered away within a day. A dreadul thing, this. Though of course in my experiences most magic can be inverted, and if I could find the inverse of this... Well." He trails off, seemingly lost in private thoughts.
Tulock pulls back the window's curtain as Dughening introduces himself and introduces himself to the new member. He then walks over to where they are sitting and adjusting his mace and unslinging his spear he gently settles into one of the seats. "My thirst is for money and justice, whichever comes first. My plans are simple, to start my own guild of sellswords and so I come to serve Lady Sylvane for gold and reputation."
Slowly shambling his way into the room is a gaunt looking man that, depending on how you looked at him, seems middle aged or approaching his twilight years. His pale gray skin looks almost leathery in texture and as he begins to speak it almost seems like his movements and speech don't quite match up. Despite his morose atmosphere, he gives a limp grin as he says, "Zaryn Zarok, but my friends call me Zaza. I look forward to working with you fine gentlemen." Taking his time he saunters over to grab a drink, takes a seat, lifts his leg onto his other leg so that it is crossed, and lets out a relieved ghastly sigh. As he raises the glass to his mouth he stops short and says, "oh yeah and I hope this isn't too much trouble but I might be a little bit dead or a little bit alive, or undead don't like that one too much (laughs)" he puts the drink down and his face turns deathly serious. "Before you ask, half-elf, no despite my miraculous return I haven't the slightest clue what this death curse is about. Which is why I'm here. I follow any lead on subjects regarding death and resurrections, hopefully to uncover the truth of my own. And to be quite frank, the fact that this curse is afflicting those that have been brought back to life leaves me unnerved to say the least."
As the four of you introduce yourselves to each other, the uniformed attendant reappears in the room. "If you'll follow me gentlemen..." He 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 a single glass and room for four more. The darkly paneled walls are hung with maps and sea charts. Racks, shelves, and cabinets hold hundreds more rolled-up maps and charts.
A person is seated in an overstuffed chair near the fire. You can’t discern a gender, because only the person’s head emerges from under a heavy blanket draped over the chair, and an embroidered hood and silver mask conceal their face. Even the person’s dry, raspy voice provides no clue. “Help yourselves to a seat, friends — I hope I may call you that.”
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
"I appreciate the four of you heeding my call," the figure continues in a dry, crackling voice. "I am Syndra Sylvane. I was an adventurer just like yourselves once, but
then I took an arrow to the kneeI closed the door on that long ago." A series of violent phlegmy coughs wrack Sylvane's body. "This death curse you have heard of, well it has struck me. I don't know how much longer I'll last and clerics have no more to offer."Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
Tulock lingers over towards the maps and sea charts, quickly glancing at them to see if he recognizes any of the lands or oceans while he waits for his new comrades in arms to answer the raspy voice.
Dughening asks, "Your letter claimed you had knowledge of the source of this curse; how did you come by such knowledge?"
"Ah?" Zaza slowly raises a finger, "If you'll also indulge us with how you died and and were brought back. Apologies in advance if that hits a soft spot." says ZaZa, "There may be some connection that might be of some use to us if you have looked into the other deaths."
Tulock's ears perk up for the raspy's answer to Dughening's question, his eyes still scanning the maps and charts.
Tulock, looking over the sea charts you see most prominently displayed an intricate and artistic map of the Sea of Swords and the isles near to Baldur's gate. You see the Moonshae Isles due west, The Nelanthers to the southwest, and Baldur's Gate boldly displayed.
A map on an adjacent wall depicts a partially filled in mountain range, resplendent with fantastical drawings and decorations of giants and wyrms, labeled "Crown of the World".
Behind Sylvane's armchair is a large map entitled "Penninsula of Chult". It is much newer than the others, and an easel nearby indicate it's state of progress. You see only the edges are filled in, with a large black void covering the interior of the landmass.
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
The raspy voice responds, the embroidered mask concealing any facial movements and giving the voice an eerily disembodied quality, though it is certainly human and coming from Sylvane. "Ah, no sore spots amount friends, and 'twas so long ago. Truly not the most interesting story, I fell in combat while adventuring, and was brought back right afterwards; it was normal clerical magic, revivification." A moments pause for another hacking cough and a shiver from the speaker's very bones. "As to my intel, I have the Harpers to thank for that*. My contacts have traced the curse back to some sort of necromantic artifact; they call it The Soulmonger. According to their sources, it's somewhere in Chult."
*You have all heard of the Harpers, though the details of your knowledge may vary. By most accounts they are a cabal of mages and spies who gather information and promote fairness and equality by covert means. They are as known for their network of spies as their reputation for toppling tyrants.
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
"What can you tell us of the Soulmonger?" Dughening asks. "What are its origins? And what do you know of the Peninsula of Chult? I have a natural curiosity for such things and am eager to explore them for myself, but any background you can offer beforehand would be welcome." Then, as if in afterthought, "And what interest do the Harpers have in this artifact?"
Jorvik, carrying his mostly empty mug of ale from downstairs, takes a seat with a large thud and listens to the conversation. As the conversation turns to more specifics, Jorvik wonders about the specifics of acquiring more ale. Looking longingly at his now empty mug, he begins debating if it would be rude to go get more.
After a few moments he comes to the realization that it unfortunately would indeed be rude to largely ignore the entire reason he was brought here for more drink, Jorvik resumes halfheartedly paying attention to the conversation. A few minutes later, it dawns on Jorvik that he hasn't actually said anything to anyone at this point. Needing to feign interest, he follows up Dughening's question, by asking "Don't think I've heard of Choolt, or Chult. Where exactly is that?".
A subtle shift in posture left to right is all that indicates Sylvane looking back and forth between Dughening and Jorvik. "What background I have of this place will serve more than just intrigue; it may save your life." A clearing of the throat, and Sylvane gestures to a map on the wall, placed between the maps of Sea of Swords and Chult ((the two above)), and depicting the Continent of Faerun.
"Look, there, the tip of the curved peninsula in the far southwest. I am not surprised you've never heard of the land; 'tis quite large but largely unexplored, with good reason. Chult is a peninsula ringed with mountains and choked with rainforests, as dangerous as it it wonderous. There are savage goblins, birdfolk, enormous reptiles called Saurids (the locals call them dinos) and an army of undead that prowls its jungles and ruins. Mapping the place has always been nigh impossible, and nothing is known about the region’s current geography beyond a few miles from the coast. There is but on large settlement, Port Nyanzaru. Working from dozens of sea charts, log books, and explorers’ journals, I assembled everything known about the current state of Chult into one map. I’ll provide a copy to if you undertake my mission."
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3
"As to The Soulmonger, unfortunately at this point my contacts don't have much more than a name and general whereabouts."
Incantis, half-elf warlock (great old one) 4/bard 1 ● Thorok Earthhand, hill dwarf mountain druid 6/grave cleric 2
Cragmyre Ironseed, earth genasi ancestral barbarian 3 ● Cyrus Natriallae, aquatic half-elf warlock of the deep 3