The following morning, a uniformed attendant informs you that Lady Silvane would like to speak with you concerning urgent matters. You can guess what this may be about. The 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.
As the party is led upstairs, Merrick looks around at all of the grandeur with a mix of awe and confusion. Sure, he thought, these are very nice objects all together in one place. Definitely more extravagant than what he was used to. However, the clashes of style for each of the furnishings from one artisan to another gave the whole stronghold a sense of discord. There was no rhyme or reason in the selection of each piece, and he felt the ascetic suffer for it. Back in the monastery, there was a feel and form across all of its design that the monks had mostly crafted by their own hands, from the motifs of the largest brass bells, to the tapestries along the walls, and down to the lowest cushion. Different hands but same vision throughout the Monastery of the Yellow Rose. Unlike here, where certainly money had bought such lavish items, but without a coherent vision to see them all together.
It would be good to be home again, he thought wistfully.
Both Remallia and Syndra are present, seated in overstuffed chairs near the fire. Syndra's head emerges from under a heavy blanket draped over the chair, and an embroidered hood and silver mask still conceal her face. “Help yourselves to wine, and seat yourselves, friends.”
His cheeks flushed at the mention of wine, yet another reminder of home, as he quickly scurried over to the side table holding the decanter. He took out the glass stopper, held the spout to his nostrils, and breathed in deep. Notes of strawberries filled his senses and he could quickly tell this had been a significant harvest. He quickly poured himself a cup, sloshed it about, and took a deep sip. Warmth enveloped his cheeks and lit fire to his parched throat. Though supremely pleasant and sweet, it could not compare to the tastes of the blueberry vintages deep in the cellars beneath the halls of his home. Bottled each year by hand, the blueberries lent themselves to a bitter yet powerful taste, one that demanded respect and persistence to fully enjoy its subtle depths of flavor and taste. He thought of the many glasses he shared with Master Rhurker following his training, the intensity of the practice they shared heightening the crisp taste evermore so. A taste he wished he could experience again even if for just a brief moment.
Remallia, recovered from her battle wounds, smiles warmly. "It is excellent to see you all again. Of course, I have your reward. It is more than we agreed to, by a hefty margin." She presents you with a sack bulging with gold coins (1,200gp). "And, in light of your exceptional work, a further gift for each of you from the Harper vaults." And kneels and opens a large chest located near her seat.
Trying hard to suppress his thoughts of home and friends, Merrick put on a brave smile to Remallia and Syndra. The thought of a reward proved an instant distraction from his homesickness. He recalled how the disciples from the Order of the Rose would bring home wondrous gifts from their travels, bringing honor and exotic artifacts to the monastery as a result of their heroics. Rarely did he see any contributions from his own Order of the Chisel. His brothers and sisters worked tirelessly to produce the goods, crafts, and wines enjoyed by the others. This included his own specialty, that of a stonemason, responsible for the creation of the many statues and carvings throughout the halls.
As his turn came up, Merrick approached the box and was instantly beset by many a flashy object. Weapons! Armaments! Baubles and devices of eccentric shapes and sizes! Such nice things, he thought, but which one to pick? That is when he saw something peculiar that caught his eye.
Deep in the corner of the box, he saw two cylindrical rolls of finely woven fabric wrapped about itself. They were a faded yellow, much like the yellow rose motif of his patron saint. He picked both up and let them fall to the ground. Staring oddly at what these might be, he suddenly realized that they resembled the hand wraps he would use when hauling stone to be carved. He quickly bound them up around his wrists all the way up to his knuckles, and found the length to be oddly perfect for this application. He squeezed his hands, as in doing so, felt a vigor about himself unlike anything he had ever experienced.
Yes, I like these.
(Note: Re-flavoring Gauntlets of Ogre Power to Handwraps. I shall call them: Might of the Masons)
Merrick supported the decision of Oranir and Ashtear, and tried his best to hold his grin out of respect when Syndra mentioned teleportation as the form of travel. He realized that he hadn't much to say about the mission or the challenges they faced. Still new to this whole adventuring concept, he felt it would be best to let the experts ask the questions that surpassed his previous experiences. But, maybe there is one item he can ask to be of help.
He waits until the others finish and asks shyly of Syndra, "Erm... You mentioned Port Nyanzaru? Is it... ummm... nice this time of year? What can you tell us about it?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Holding post.So it does not slip my mind while we RP this section.
Ashtear will spend the afternoon prior to our travels shopping. She will buy various parts (spending 250g) to craft herself a new weapon behind the scenes.
She will also be trying to sell the Chain Shirt and may look into selling the +1 bolts. We have 5 (I found the rule that states they can't be magically recovered~ )
If possible she in fact would like to see if she can trade 5 magical +1 Bolts for a Pearl of 100g. She'd like it for her project, but also for use in Identify spells, etc. If she needs to roll something for that: 18+3 (Persuasion =+0; Perception +2; investigation +5)
Vladimirscoffs at the notion of reward. Putting an end to evil is reward enough, he reasons. However, many good deeds can be done with the money offered. He will send it back to the order unless his companions have need of it to prepare themselves.
When offered the chance to look through the chest, he once again feels like he shouldn't accept this generosity. But then, he sees something shining, poking out above the other materials in the box. It is a cuirass of ring mail, much like his own, but he has never seen one so clean! Usually there is some sign of rust or wear on any suit of armor, even polishing produces effects over time. But this is pristine. Further, it is made of some metal he has never encountered. Testing it in his hands, the alloy is hard, but not brittle. It would likely stand up to the most serious of blows. He turns to Syndra, "Lady Silvane, surely there must have been an error. Equipment like this armor," he holds up the cuirass, "is powerful indeed. Do you really offer it to us freely?"
"Yes," Syndra wheezes at Oranir. "Seven merchant princes rule Port Nyanzaru, each one with an equal vote in matters of state. All are Chultan. Their single qualification is that they’re the seven richest people in the city. Their seat of governance is Goldenthrone, an old, regal Amnian palace overlooking the bay."
He waits until the others finish and asks shyly of Syndra, "Erm... You mentioned Port Nyanzaru? Is it... ummm... nice this time of year? What can you tell us about it?"
Syndra's eyes gleam behind her mask. "Port Nyanzaru hugs the coastline at the south end of the Bay of Chult. No other city exists in Chult, along the coast or anywhere else, except in ruins or overrun by danger. Until recently, Port Nyanzaru was under the firm control of Amn, a foreign nation. Nine years ago, Amn was forced to relinquish the city to a wealthy and powerful consortium of Chultan traders backed by the Ytepka Society (pronounced yeh-TEP-kah), or risk a bloody conflict that probably would have ended with the city winning its independence anyway. Seven Chultan traders have since grown into influential merchant princes, enticing folk from up and down the Sword Coast with their wares.
"The port city is a bastion of civilization and commerce in a terrifying land. The amount of business that unfolds here and the cash that moves through its counting houses would make any merchant of Baldur’s Gate or Waterdeep jealous. It’s also a colorful, musical, aroma-filled, vibrant city in its own right. Other than trade, the biggest attractions are the weekly dinosaur races through the streets. Locals and visitors alike wager princely sums on the races’ outcomes. The city also boasts grand bazaars, glorious mansions and temples, circuses, and gladiatorial contests.
Yet, there is great danger. Enemies surround Port Nyanzaru on all sides. The jungle teems with ferocious reptiles and murderous undead, pirates prowl the surrounding sea, and the mouth of the bay is home to a greedy dragon turtle."
Vladimirturns to Syndra, "Lady Silvane, surely there must have been an error. Equipment like this armor," he holds up the cuirass, "is powerful indeed. Do you really offer it to us freely?"
"Ah, but this is not my gift," says Syndra, turning to Remallia. The elf chimes in. "It is payment from the Harpers for your hard work and keen adventuring skills. Hardly free, I should say, especially since you came face to face, quite literally, with the Duchess of Rot herself!"
(Actions? Other matters before we are ready to depart for Chult?)
Vladimir looks at Remallia, "Lady Remalia, it is with gratitude I accept this honor. I know that I have been, on occasion, curt with you, but I do greatly respect the goals of your organization. May this exchange symbolize a mutual commitment to...um...our fight against...um...evil things..."
Vladimir blushes, takes the adamantine ring mail of gleaming, mumbles something like, "I'll meet you at the appointed time," and with a last look at Remallia, he beats a hasty retreat.
Callbrax and other mages attend to the teleportation of the Harper forces out of the Cloakwood and back to Baldur's Gate. You're invited to stay, rest, and recover at the estate of Syndra Silvane, the retired adventurer and merchant whom you met, alongside Remallia, at Urgon's funeral.
Laderan settles into the accommodation offered, feeling the weight of the day and especially his pack that is once more laden with his things from the Diviner. He sits on his bed, full pack over his shoulder, crosses his ears and rubs the strangest looking of his earrings - a silver loop that intertwines with a locket like ornamentation. The loop and locket seem to be a single object, no apparent extra linksattach the two yetthe locket hangs in such a way that is has limited movement along the loop rather than being held rigidly in place. As his ear run the strange piece of jewellery between them Laderan vanishes from sight, the earring dropping harmlessly onto the mattress. About an hour later, Laderan simply re-appears in his bed, his pack a little less full, he attaches the earring back in place then settles down to catch a much needed sleep.
Both Remallia and Syndra are present, seated in overstuffed chairs near the fire. Syndra's head emerges from under a heavy blanket draped over the chair, and an embroidered hood and silver mask still conceal her face. “Help yourselves to wine, and seat yourselves, friends.”
Remallia, recovered from her battle wounds, smiles warmly. "It is excellent to see you all again. Of course, I have your reward. It is more than we agreed to, by a hefty margin." She presents you with a sack bulging with gold coins (1,200gp). "And, in light of your exceptional work, a further gift for each of you from the Harper vaults." And kneels and opens a large chest located near her seat.
Laderan politely accepts some wine, not used to such finery and civilised company. He had certainly spent time amongst such fine trappings and expensive luxuries as these, those times though were usually when he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be and usually without permission to be there. there had certainly been times when he was in the employ of such people, yet more often than not he had dealt with agents and highly placed servants of the household. To be in the presence of such well-respected and wealthy people and have them actually want to engage with him made Laderan feel almost as nervous as the entire endeavour of the day before. At least there it was clear what the bad decisions were. Amongst powerful people, their words carried as much danger as their weapons.
The extra reward smacked of something more. Ashtear and Vladimir had been entirely correct in their tirade to Remalia, whereas Laderan was just happy to be alive and hoped his debt paid; the recompense of extra coin for his actions told him otherwise. The proffered magical items further sank the boat on which his hope had set sail. He understod that this death curse was a problem for many and a terrible blight on the world, he just didn't see that it affected him all that much. He had barely given thought to the concept of people being brought back from death, let alone whether he knew anyone that it might have actually happened to. Plus there was the issue of whether this was affecting his home, or just here... He listened on.
Syndra wheezes. "And now, dear friends, I hope you will consider further investigations in this matter, on behalf of a private investor? You see, I am quite interested in the death curse because, well, it is killing me. I may have told you already, I can't remember. This old brain isn't what it used to be! I was an adventurer many years ago, and was brought back from the dead. The curse is draining my life force. I've no idea how much longer I'll last. Clerics are stymied by it, of course. It is why I was keen to work with the Harpers on this mission. Thanks to you, we know now that the death curse is being caused by something called the Soulmonger, and that this artifact is located somewhere in Chult. It is imperative that we locate and destroy this device."
Her masked eyes pass over the many maps hanging on the walls. “Chult is a peninsula ringed with mountains and choked with rainforests. Enormous reptiles, savage goblins, and an army of undead prowl 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.”
“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 it to you if you undertake my mission. As a reward, I can offer you an advance stipend of 50gp to cover expenses, and, once you have completed the task, your choice of a rare magical item from my collection.” She pauses, allowing the gravity of the moment to sink in. "If you accept, I will teleport us all to Port Nyanzaru, the only major settlement in Chult. I’ve been there several times before, so there’s little chance of mishap. Once there, I’ll stay with a friend named Wakanga O’tamu. He’s one of seven merchant princes who rule the city. What do you say?”
Letting Syndra finish her sales pitch, Laderan scratches his ear absently, the hope to return to places he as familiar with, back to the Feywild, warred insidehis mind with the chance to see new places. It was strange though, mosttimes when he moved on to new places and adventures it was because he felt a pull, a yearning to do so,likehehad outgrown his current situation. There was none of that this time, his appearance with the bandits, his capture, conscription into this crew, everything had been forced upon him. Yet here he was, finally with a choice to say 'No thankyou very much, I'll take my riches and return to the city.' He just didn't want to do that. For some reason the idea of rushing into unknown dangers in a far off land actually excited him, now that he had the choice.
At the first break in the dialog, he spoke up. His cocksure bravado that his companions had seem in the dungeon forced to the forefront, his discomfort and nervousness at the situation hidden entirely, or so Laderan hoped. "Now, I might be talking out of my tufty white tail here, and these shinies that Remalia has given us are certainly wonderful but if this death curse is such a risk to your survival Miss Syndra, wouldn't sharing tyour items with us before we undertake this mission make more sense? I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the promise of rewards, it just strikes me that if you're dead then those items are no good to you anyway. The more help you can give us the better chance we all have of things working out and none of us ending up dead. I like not being dead, and I'm sure the same is true for everyone here."
Listening to Syndra rattle off both the dangers and wonders of Chult, Merrick could feel himself shrink under the realization of what his mandate truly encompassed. He thought back to the council of Masters passing judgement on his wishes to support the effort to stop the Death Curse.
Being from the Order of the Chisel and not knowing of his clandestine trainings, the elder monks were in polite opposition to his requests. It would be too dangerous for someone of Merrick's rank and status within the monastery, with Master Iem asking the question that rested on most every other Master's mind, "But, Disciple Merrick, would you not much rather continue your work in your stonecraft." He paused as other Masters nodded solemnly, gesturing to the handcrafted and hard-earned grandeur of the temple's interior, "After all, your labors have produced quite exceptional results and speak to your potential."
Master Rhurker, whom had trained Merrick personally in secret, took a small puff of his pipe and audibly cleared his throat at that last question. The other Masters looked his way as Rhurker spoke his wisdom in deep, reverent tones "Hmmm... Potential, yes... Perhaps we should weigh more heavily the hand that our world takes in crafting its inhabitants, than that of the artisan in crafting its goods. Merrick is much like the stone he works, untapped potential." He puffed his pipe once more and winked slyly to his student, "And I, for one, wish to see what lay beneath."
Master Rhurker's wisdom sealed the agreement from the other Masters that evening. There would be no turning back now, no matter the dangers, the challenges, or even the dragon turtles that would oppose him on this path. His commitment to this Mandate meant more than just fulfilling his duty to the Disciples of St. Sollars the Twice-Martyred or even Ilmater himself. It meant fulfilling that unspoken vow that Master Rhuker had given him that night in front of the council to unearth what he truly could become.
"Erm..."He coughed and mustered a brave tone as the others gave their agreement to Syndra's mission, "Yes, I understand and accept these risks. Let us see this through," He looked around at the ragtag crew, "Together."
"Now, I might be talking out of my tufty white tail here, and these shinies that Remalia has given us are certainly wonderful but if this death curse is such a risk to your survival Miss Syndra, wouldn't sharing tyour items with us before we undertake this mission make more sense? I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the promise of rewards, it just strikes me that if you're dead then those items are no good to you anyway. The more help you can give us the better chance we all have of things working out and none of us ending up dead. I like not being dead, and I'm sure the same is true for everyone here."
Syndra chuckles, a dry, wheezing sound. "Ah, my eager friend, I am glad to know you are at least interested the job, and in the payment. But no employer pays for the job before it is done. Trust that you shall receive your reward in due course. But also consider that, in the mean time, you will no doubt discover riches beyond measure in the wilderness of Chult. And whatever you find shall be yours."
Looking at the others and letting them speak, Oranir nods and the sheer size of the quest laid out ahead of them hits him. The elf spends a few moments looking at the floor in introspection, but then that same sheer size hits him about Syndra's struggle, of all that sits between her and survival, and not only her but undoubtedly countless others across the Realms. Uncharacteristically the wizard approaches Syndra's chair and kneels by her side, his hands seeking hers in a soft and empathetic touch, he attempts one of his creepy smiles and nods reafirmingly at her "Rest assured we'll do our best. We will find a way." then he looks at the others and nods seeking some reassuring in that.
(Fast forwarding to the next day. Feel free to insert any RP during this time.)
---------------------
The next morning, Syndra is up early, ready to depart. Once everything is in order, she gathers you round close within the library ("Not to worry, dears, the curse isn't contagious!"), and speaks a word of power. A flash of light and a gust of air, carrying the smell of old parchment, consume your senses, quickly replaced by a heavy, humid air and the smells of salt air mingled with things quite unfamiliar.
As the flash of light fades, you appear in a tropical city under the blazing sun. The familiar sounds of a harbor — creaking ropes, slapping waves, heavy barrels rolling across cobblestones — mingle with voices shouting and cursing in an unfamiliar language filled with clicks, inhalations, and singsongy words that make it sound almost musical. The aroma of unfamiliar spices and tropical fruit mixes with the wharfside smells of fish, tar, and canvas.
Beyond all that, Port Nyanzaru is an explosion of color. Buildings are painted in bright shades of blue, green, orange, and salmon pink, or their walls are adorned with murals portraying giant reptiles and mythical heroes. Every building sports baskets and clay urns of colorful flowers or is draped in leafy, flowering vines. Minstrels in bright clothing adorned with feathers and shells perform on street corners. Multicolored pennants and sun awnings flutter atop the city walls. A crowd of children dressed in feathered hats and capes races past you, squealing in delighted terror as a street performer costumed as a big-toothed lizard stomps and roars behind them. The whole city seems to be bustling, sweating, laughing, swearing, and singing.
"Age hasn’t claimed everything," Syndra remarks with a grin. "If you're looking for your own lodgings, I recommend that you secure rooms for yourselves at either the Thundering Lizard, for a raucous time, or Kaya’s House of Repose if you instead want a good night’s sleep. Both inns are located near the Red Bazaar. Meanwhile, I'm heading to the villa of the merchant prince Wakanga O’tamu. I intend to stay there while you're out in the jungle. Of course, if you're interested in accompanying me, I'm more than happy to introduce you to Wakanga. What shall it be?"
Vladimirasks Syndra, "Lady Silvane, I would be happy to accompany you to the villa of Prince O'tamu, if only to act as protection in this...er...colorful place. But first, I must ask, do you know if my order, or another branch of Bahamut worshippers, has an outpost here? I should check in, if possible."
{Prior to leaving retcon} Vladimir finds Oranir and asks, "Hello my friend. I don't...um...want to seem pushy, but that red shield you found? Is it safe to use? Because if no-one else is interested, I would like to use it. If it's...ah...safe to use."
Over the day's shopping excursion Laderan takes note of the wares and some of the nuances in the markets of Baldurs Gate that he had not previously been able to appreciate, his time in the city being limited to his frog march through the streets by the city guard and his short spell in the dank and dingy jail cells, which had the barest slits for windows. Now he was actually getting to see the city and guage the populous, he realised that this realm was not entirely alien, that the commerce and trade was much the same as in the cities and bazaars of the Feywild. There was a certain reassurance in that feeling, for the first time since his poorly conceived wish he allowed his guard to drop just a little and breathe in the experience of this new place... Of course it helped that his life wasn't in immediate danger for the first time in weeks.
No matter where you travel in life, there are some things that never change and some universal truths; as sure as the sun rising, anywhere there are centres of trade, there are pits of corruption, exploitation, and larceny. It hadn't taken long for his practised eyes to spot urchins and beggars that would be working for whatever thieving establishment existed in the city. He did his best to keep their group safe from the lurking pickpockets, and avoid getting into more trouble than they needed, they were after all carrying around a small fortune in their collective purses.
Come the evening, he offers to take in any wares for his companions which they wish him to keep safe, explaining briefly the magic of his earring, and how he can but access it once per day, so items required for ready access should be kept handy on their travels rather than in his care. Camp supplies and rations though, to a point, were all fair game and it would help to lighten their collective load should any others wish to do so. Once everything was gathered, Laderan piled all the items up in front of him, looped straps around his arms and grabbed sack and pouch necks before vanishing from site again, the earring dropping to the floor with a small bounce before coming to a rest. A couple of hours later, Laderan once more appears, gathers up the ornament and settles into his pallet for a rest.
(OoC - Ping me a list of any items we want to keep in my genie vessel. Obviously if your character would have concerns / questions, happy to RP that out too)
The morning dawns and The gaudy colourings and the ostentatious pageantry, in immediate contrast to the quiet and muted library they strike Laderan's senses like a warhorse in full charge. It immediately brings back memories of the Witchlight Carnival and a sense of familiarity washes over him. Though it is clearly different, the array of differences, the haphazard and scattered colours used in artwork across myriad styles remind him of the flamboyant attractions and magical advertisements across the fairground. The bustle of people, hustle of children, the sounds of enjoyment and awe, the repetitive blows to his senses all bring Laderan to a strange calmness. Now, even more than the day trapsing around Baldurs Gate, he was somewhere that he felt comfortable, like he could close his eyes and just undo the chaos and estrangements of recent and drift back to simpler memories.
"Ahhh, now this is somewhere I can get behind. Personally, I'm all about the Thunder Lizard from your description Syndra. Though if we are to be here for any time it would make sense for us to meet this merchant prince at the very least."
Merrick blinks rapidly to adjust his eyes to the wonderous sight of Port Nyanzaru in all its glory. His senses are almost immediately overwhelmed by the shock of smells, sights, and sounds, not to mention the sweltering heat. He loosens his tunic slightly, letting the crisp salty air find purchase throughout his clothes, closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and gives a loud guffaw at this vibrant outpouring of life. This was such a sensory juxtaposition to the hallowed and subdued halls of the Monastery of the Yellow Rose. Not even the likes of Baldurs Gate nor the other townships he visited in his pilgrimage from the monastery could prepare him for this.
Breaking off from the group, Merrick began to walk around in wonder as his legs unconsciously led him about. He laughed with the children pointing at the street performer, gave a triumphant gesture towards the various ships in port knowing he made it here without their help, and quickly began to count the colors that he did and did not recognize from the pendants and banners waving in the sea breeze.
It was in an errant seabreeze that his olfactory senses began to tingle. A scent like none other triggered a primal sensation as his mouth began to water. Again, his legs began moving without command and brought him to a small booth between two vessels. Behind the counter sat a blazing hot grill upon which skewers of fish and fruit lay sizzling. The fish has perfectly crossed charred marks and were covered in a sticky yellow syrup while the fruit had begun to burst through its red skin, revealing its lush and meaty yellow pulp. Merrick wiped away his drool and pointed towards the skewers as his hand produced a silver from his pocket. The peddler smiled and passed him a serving, to which Merrick dug right into.
An explosion of flavors rippled through his palate and his eyes watered at the savory, yet spicy, yet sweet sauce perfectly marrying with the deep undertones of the fish flesh and juicy grit of the fruit. He had known of several Masters in the Monastery speaking to that of reaching enlightenment through long-practiced meditation, describing it as being able to walk of the clouds. Merrick, at this very moment, could relate as he spun and swaddled through the crowds, flushing all five senses with energy.
He wasn't sure how he made it back to the group, but was fortunate to see more than half the skewer still remained. He quickly tried to pick back up on the conversation and agreed with Vladimir and Laderan. "Mmm...*gulp*...mmm..." he quickly swallowed as he saw a chance to join the discussion, "Erm... Yes, it would be good for you, uhhh.. to accompany us to the Prince."
He looked to the skewer and back to the group, thinking of what other delights await in Port Nyanzeru, "and it would be... erm... good to get afeel for the city and its markets before we retire."
Oranir brings up his hand to shade his eyes from the overwhelming sunlight as they arrive in Chult, blinking several times and shaking his head, seemingly unable to completely get used to it. Grimacing at the oppresive heat and humidity, the elf is barely aware of his companion's words as Vladimir approaches and addresses him, "Uh... Pardon?" he tries to focus and listen to his friend, "Oh! That shield, of course. Forgive me, I can't seem to get my bearings. Yes, I've made plenty of progress in the study the day before. Not something I imagine you'll entirely like, though." he kneels down to set his sidebag to the floor and open it, using pieces of torn fabric (similar to the pillow cases of Syndra's rooms, you notice) he picks up the shield from the bulging bag, unable to close its flap due to the bulk of the shield shoved inside, "Here it is, quite remarkable magic over it... You see, it is enchanted to attract projectiles like arrows, darts, maybe even spells. Like a lodestone, if you've ever seen one."Oranir flips the shield and continues explaining, "You see, the spellwork is intended to work according to the wielder's mental commands and instinct. However, it is also undeniably cursed, there is an unusually strong aura of necromancy underlying all of its weaving. There might be something in there that is beyond my current abilities to detect, so you should wield it carefully if you intend to." With that, Oranir hands the shield over to Vladimir, prompting the paladin to hold it on the same spots he is doing it, covered by the torn fabric.
Nodding at his paladin companion and approaching the others as they discuss directions, Oranir calmly listens, "I wouldn't mind either of the establishments. The peace and quiet would be appreciated at times, though the same could be said of the other." he smirks, "But yes, let's introduce ourselves to the authorities." the elf emphasizes in a slightly derisive way.
Vladimirasks Syndra, "Lady Silvane, I would be happy to accompany you to the villa of Prince O'tamu, if only to act as protection in this...er...colorful place. But first, I must ask, do you know if my order, or another branch of Bahamut worshippers, has an outpost here? I should check in, if possible."
Syndra nods her masked head. "Why, yes! The Order of the Gauntlet is one dedicated good and justice and all that, operating under the banner of numerous good-aligned deities. They came here to cleanse the jungle of undead. Last I heard, they were running their operations out of a base site in the jungle called Camp Righteous. Their emissaries should be seen from time to time, heading up the River Soshenstar in canoes to get more supplies and templars from Port Nyanzaru. It might be worth seeking them out."
She glances around, a bit nervous, before dropping her voice to a whisper. "Speaking of seeking, I have prepared a couple of maps for you. One is of Port Nyanzaru, to help you get your bearings. Any local would know the layout of the city, and visitors pick it up quick enough. The other map, though, you should guard jealously. It is a map of the known terrain of Chult itself, and there are those who would pay handsomely, or worse, to get their hands on it. Notice I say known terrain. The majority of the continent has not been fully explored and detailed. I'm afraid that you will be venturing into the unknown. But, there are many guides in the city who you may hire to assist you in your adventures." (See Player Handouts in Discord.)
"Very well, let us visit Wakanga O'tamu together! As we go, I'll fill you in on what I can remember." Syndra begins to lead you to the west, the ocean and docks to the north.
"The west side of the city is called the Market Ward both because it houses markets and because many of the Merchant Princes' villas are here. This market is one of three in the city, and it is called theRed Bazaar, the others being the Grand Souk and the jewel market. No one knows how it got that name. One story is that it comes from the huge slabs of dinosaur meat sold here and the resulting buckets of blood that stain the rain-washed gutters, and that’s probably as good an explanation as any. Unlike the Grand Souk, which deals heavily in durable goods and luxury items, the Red Bazaar deals in everyday needs: locally produced meat, vegetables, tropical fruit, tej, light tropical clothing, insect repellent, rain catchers, and other household goods. Oh, I see Merrick has already sampled some food!"
Walking behind Syndra, who chatters away, you're met with a barrage of exciting, new experiences. Medium and large dinosaurs are used as beasts of burden to haul two-wheeled carts, to hoist heavy loads on cranes, and to tow boats along the canals. Flowers, green plants, and vines grow everywhere, seeming to spring out of the building stones themselves. The profusion of greenery needs constant tending to prevent roots and shoots from damaging buildings or tile roofs. The city’s defensive walls and towers are topped with colorful awnings to shield guards from the sun and rain. All streets within the city walls are paved with cobblestones or flagstones, and they have deep rain gutters as much as 2 feet wide. Tabaxi minstrels wander the streets, performing for anyone who tosses them a few coins. Walls divide the city into districts, and the open archways above the streets are painted with murals of dinosaurs, mountains, and mythic heroes. Crumbling ancient buildings covered with vines and lichens indicate the city’s great age.
"The Grand Souk." Syndra gestures to her right, where the seemingly endless display of brightly-colored tents and canvas continues as far as the eye can see.
"And... The home of Merchant Prince Wakanga O'tamu," she says proudly, now breathing heavily and visibly sweating in the intense heat. Before you stands a lavish villa, an airy, opulent mansion patrolled by professionally trained guards. The villa is lit, even in the morning, with continual flame spells, and soft music plays throughout, emanating out into the street. Ornate ceremonial swords are mounted on the walls.
A guard meets you at the street. His attitude is non-aggressive, but assertive. Once Syndra offers a brief introduction, he nods and two more guards escort you inside to the front hall. The space is decorated with an impressive collection of elaborate paintings, statues, murals, frescoes, tapestries, and oil lamps. Incense burns in scones, perfuming the whole space with a deliciously exotic spice.
The pleasant, breezy, tiled courtyard includes a splashing fountain and green plants. The entry portico is guarded by an additional three guards. The courtyard is open to the sky. You notice the fountain is sunk into the floor and would serve as a drain for rainwater.
"Blessings, Syndra!"
A refined, Chultan man in elaborate garb approaches. His beard is braided and jeweled, as are his ears, neck, and fingers. "Wakanga!" She exclaims, using his first name. She turns to the group. "Friends, I'd like you to meet Merchant Prin--"
"Call me Wakanga," he interjects. "And the pleasure is mine. Syndra has already informed me of your service to the Harpers. Quite an extraordinary story, really. Please, feel welcome to refresh yourselves in the washroom, just to the left there."
At length, Wakanga leads you off to the right to a lavish sitting area. Decorative columns support the arched doorway from the entry hall. Rugs and comfortable pillows in shades of blue and purple are arranged on the floor. Narrow windows look into the garden. Immediately, two servants appear to help you to claim a seat and offer you tropical fruit, water, and an amber-colored, fermented drink made from honey. Syndra takes an especially long time to get situated. Wakanga claims a seat at the head of the room, patiently waiting for everyone to get settled. He continues. "As I am already aware of the general nature of this honored visit, won't you please tell me a little something about yourselves? How may I be of service to you during your stay in the city?"
The following morning, a uniformed attendant informs you that Lady Silvane would like to speak with you concerning urgent matters. You can guess what this may be about. The 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.
As the party is led upstairs, Merrick looks around at all of the grandeur with a mix of awe and confusion. Sure, he thought, these are very nice objects all together in one place. Definitely more extravagant than what he was used to. However, the clashes of style for each of the furnishings from one artisan to another gave the whole stronghold a sense of discord. There was no rhyme or reason in the selection of each piece, and he felt the ascetic suffer for it. Back in the monastery, there was a feel and form across all of its design that the monks had mostly crafted by their own hands, from the motifs of the largest brass bells, to the tapestries along the walls, and down to the lowest cushion. Different hands but same vision throughout the Monastery of the Yellow Rose. Unlike here, where certainly money had bought such lavish items, but without a coherent vision to see them all together.
It would be good to be home again, he thought wistfully.
Both Remallia and Syndra are present, seated in overstuffed chairs near the fire. Syndra's head emerges from under a heavy blanket draped over the chair, and an embroidered hood and silver mask still conceal her face. “Help yourselves to wine, and seat yourselves, friends.”
His cheeks flushed at the mention of wine, yet another reminder of home, as he quickly scurried over to the side table holding the decanter. He took out the glass stopper, held the spout to his nostrils, and breathed in deep. Notes of strawberries filled his senses and he could quickly tell this had been a significant harvest. He quickly poured himself a cup, sloshed it about, and took a deep sip. Warmth enveloped his cheeks and lit fire to his parched throat. Though supremely pleasant and sweet, it could not compare to the tastes of the blueberry vintages deep in the cellars beneath the halls of his home. Bottled each year by hand, the blueberries lent themselves to a bitter yet powerful taste, one that demanded respect and persistence to fully enjoy its subtle depths of flavor and taste. He thought of the many glasses he shared with Master Rhurker following his training, the intensity of the practice they shared heightening the crisp taste evermore so. A taste he wished he could experience again even if for just a brief moment.
Remallia, recovered from her battle wounds, smiles warmly. "It is excellent to see you all again. Of course, I have your reward. It is more than we agreed to, by a hefty margin." She presents you with a sack bulging with gold coins (1,200gp). "And, in light of your exceptional work, a further gift for each of you from the Harper vaults." And kneels and opens a large chest located near her seat.
Trying hard to suppress his thoughts of home and friends, Merrick put on a brave smile to Remallia and Syndra. The thought of a reward proved an instant distraction from his homesickness. He recalled how the disciples from the Order of the Rose would bring home wondrous gifts from their travels, bringing honor and exotic artifacts to the monastery as a result of their heroics. Rarely did he see any contributions from his own Order of the Chisel. His brothers and sisters worked tirelessly to produce the goods, crafts, and wines enjoyed by the others. This included his own specialty, that of a stonemason, responsible for the creation of the many statues and carvings throughout the halls.
As his turn came up, Merrick approached the box and was instantly beset by many a flashy object. Weapons! Armaments! Baubles and devices of eccentric shapes and sizes! Such nice things, he thought, but which one to pick? That is when he saw something peculiar that caught his eye.
Deep in the corner of the box, he saw two cylindrical rolls of finely woven fabric wrapped about itself. They were a faded yellow, much like the yellow rose motif of his patron saint. He picked both up and let them fall to the ground. Staring oddly at what these might be, he suddenly realized that they resembled the hand wraps he would use when hauling stone to be carved. He quickly bound them up around his wrists all the way up to his knuckles, and found the length to be oddly perfect for this application. He squeezed his hands, as in doing so, felt a vigor about himself unlike anything he had ever experienced.
Yes, I like these.
(Note: Re-flavoring Gauntlets of Ogre Power to Handwraps. I shall call them: Might of the Masons)
Merrick supported the decision of Oranir and Ashtear, and tried his best to hold his grin out of respect when Syndra mentioned teleportation as the form of travel. He realized that he hadn't much to say about the mission or the challenges they faced. Still new to this whole adventuring concept, he felt it would be best to let the experts ask the questions that surpassed his previous experiences. But, maybe there is one item he can ask to be of help.
He waits until the others finish and asks shyly of Syndra, "Erm... You mentioned Port Nyanzaru? Is it... ummm... nice this time of year? What can you tell us about it?"
Holding post.So it does not slip my mind while we RP this section.
Ashtear will spend the afternoon prior to our travels shopping. She will buy various parts (spending 250g) to craft herself a new weapon behind the scenes.
She will also be trying to sell the Chain Shirt and may look into selling the +1 bolts. We have 5 (I found the rule that states they can't be magically recovered~ )
If possible she in fact would like to see if she can trade 5 magical +1 Bolts for a Pearl of 100g. She'd like it for her project, but also for use in Identify spells, etc. If she needs to roll something for that: 18+3 (Persuasion =+0; Perception +2; investigation +5)
Vladimir scoffs at the notion of reward. Putting an end to evil is reward enough, he reasons. However, many good deeds can be done with the money offered. He will send it back to the order unless his companions have need of it to prepare themselves.
When offered the chance to look through the chest, he once again feels like he shouldn't accept this generosity. But then, he sees something shining, poking out above the other materials in the box. It is a cuirass of ring mail, much like his own, but he has never seen one so clean! Usually there is some sign of rust or wear on any suit of armor, even polishing produces effects over time. But this is pristine. Further, it is made of some metal he has never encountered. Testing it in his hands, the alloy is hard, but not brittle. It would likely stand up to the most serious of blows. He turns to Syndra, "Lady Silvane, surely there must have been an error. Equipment like this armor," he holds up the cuirass, "is powerful indeed. Do you really offer it to us freely?"
Tamryn - lvl 4 Wood Elf Rogue - Circle of Light Campaign || Drusilla - lvl 1 Half-Elf Ranger - Sleeping Gods || Grrzark - lvl 1 Goblin Barbarian - Danger at Darkshelf Quarry || DM - LTG - Curse of Strahd
"Yes," Syndra wheezes at Oranir. "Seven merchant princes rule Port Nyanzaru, each one with an equal vote in matters of state. All are Chultan. Their single qualification is that they’re the seven richest people in the city. Their seat of governance is Goldenthrone, an old, regal Amnian palace overlooking the bay."
Syndra's eyes gleam behind her mask. "Port Nyanzaru hugs the coastline at the south end of the Bay of Chult. No other city exists in Chult, along the coast or anywhere else, except in ruins or overrun by danger. Until recently, Port Nyanzaru was under the firm control of Amn, a foreign nation. Nine years ago, Amn was forced to relinquish the city to a wealthy and powerful consortium of Chultan traders backed by the Ytepka Society (pronounced yeh-TEP-kah), or risk a bloody conflict that probably would have ended with the city winning its independence anyway. Seven Chultan traders have since grown into influential merchant princes, enticing folk from up and down the Sword Coast with their wares.
"The port city is a bastion of civilization and commerce in a terrifying land. The amount of business that unfolds here and the cash that moves through its counting houses would make any merchant of Baldur’s Gate or Waterdeep jealous. It’s also a colorful, musical, aroma-filled, vibrant city in its own right. Other than trade, the biggest attractions are the weekly dinosaur races through the streets. Locals and visitors alike wager princely sums on the races’ outcomes. The city also boasts grand bazaars, glorious mansions and temples, circuses, and gladiatorial contests.
Yet, there is great danger. Enemies surround Port Nyanzaru on all sides. The jungle teems with ferocious reptiles and murderous undead, pirates prowl the surrounding sea, and the mouth of the bay is home to a greedy dragon turtle."
"Ah, but this is not my gift," says Syndra, turning to Remallia. The elf chimes in. "It is payment from the Harpers for your hard work and keen adventuring skills. Hardly free, I should say, especially since you came face to face, quite literally, with the Duchess of Rot herself!"
(Actions? Other matters before we are ready to depart for Chult?)
Vladimir looks at Remallia, "Lady Remalia, it is with gratitude I accept this honor. I know that I have been, on occasion, curt with you, but I do greatly respect the goals of your organization. May this exchange symbolize a mutual commitment to...um...our fight against...um...evil things..."
Vladimir blushes, takes the adamantine ring mail of gleaming, mumbles something like, "I'll meet you at the appointed time," and with a last look at Remallia, he beats a hasty retreat.
Tamryn - lvl 4 Wood Elf Rogue - Circle of Light Campaign || Drusilla - lvl 1 Half-Elf Ranger - Sleeping Gods || Grrzark - lvl 1 Goblin Barbarian - Danger at Darkshelf Quarry || DM - LTG - Curse of Strahd
Laderan settles into the accommodation offered, feeling the weight of the day and especially his pack that is once more laden with his things from the Diviner. He sits on his bed, full pack over his shoulder, crosses his ears and rubs the strangest looking of his earrings - a silver loop that intertwines with a locket like ornamentation. The loop and locket seem to be a single object, no apparent extra linksattach the two yetthe locket hangs in such a way that is has limited movement along the loop rather than being held rigidly in place. As his ear run the strange piece of jewellery between them Laderan vanishes from sight, the earring dropping harmlessly onto the mattress. About an hour later, Laderan simply re-appears in his bed, his pack a little less full, he attaches the earring back in place then settles down to catch a much needed sleep.
Laderan politely accepts some wine, not used to such finery and civilised company. He had certainly spent time amongst such fine trappings and expensive luxuries as these, those times though were usually when he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be and usually without permission to be there. there had certainly been times when he was in the employ of such people, yet more often than not he had dealt with agents and highly placed servants of the household. To be in the presence of such well-respected and wealthy people and have them actually want to engage with him made Laderan feel almost as nervous as the entire endeavour of the day before. At least there it was clear what the bad decisions were. Amongst powerful people, their words carried as much danger as their weapons.
The extra reward smacked of something more. Ashtear and Vladimir had been entirely correct in their tirade to Remalia, whereas Laderan was just happy to be alive and hoped his debt paid; the recompense of extra coin for his actions told him otherwise. The proffered magical items further sank the boat on which his hope had set sail. He understod that this death curse was a problem for many and a terrible blight on the world, he just didn't see that it affected him all that much. He had barely given thought to the concept of people being brought back from death, let alone whether he knew anyone that it might have actually happened to. Plus there was the issue of whether this was affecting his home, or just here... He listened on.
Letting Syndra finish her sales pitch, Laderan scratches his ear absently, the hope to return to places he as familiar with, back to the Feywild, warred insidehis mind with the chance to see new places. It was strange though, mosttimes when he moved on to new places and adventures it was because he felt a pull, a yearning to do so,likehehad outgrown his current situation. There was none of that this time, his appearance with the bandits, his capture, conscription into this crew, everything had been forced upon him. Yet here he was, finally with a choice to say 'No thankyou very much, I'll take my riches and return to the city.' He just didn't want to do that. For some reason the idea of rushing into unknown dangers in a far off land actually excited him, now that he had the choice.
At the first break in the dialog, he spoke up. His cocksure bravado that his companions had seem in the dungeon forced to the forefront, his discomfort and nervousness at the situation hidden entirely, or so Laderan hoped. "Now, I might be talking out of my tufty white tail here, and these shinies that Remalia has given us are certainly wonderful but if this death curse is such a risk to your survival Miss Syndra, wouldn't sharing tyour items with us before we undertake this mission make more sense? I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the promise of rewards, it just strikes me that if you're dead then those items are no good to you anyway. The more help you can give us the better chance we all have of things working out and none of us ending up dead. I like not being dead, and I'm sure the same is true for everyone here."
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
Listening to Syndra rattle off both the dangers and wonders of Chult, Merrick could feel himself shrink under the realization of what his mandate truly encompassed. He thought back to the council of Masters passing judgement on his wishes to support the effort to stop the Death Curse.
Being from the Order of the Chisel and not knowing of his clandestine trainings, the elder monks were in polite opposition to his requests. It would be too dangerous for someone of Merrick's rank and status within the monastery, with Master Iem asking the question that rested on most every other Master's mind, "But, Disciple Merrick, would you not much rather continue your work in your stonecraft." He paused as other Masters nodded solemnly, gesturing to the handcrafted and hard-earned grandeur of the temple's interior, "After all, your labors have produced quite exceptional results and speak to your potential."
Master Rhurker, whom had trained Merrick personally in secret, took a small puff of his pipe and audibly cleared his throat at that last question. The other Masters looked his way as Rhurker spoke his wisdom in deep, reverent tones "Hmmm... Potential, yes... Perhaps we should weigh more heavily the hand that our world takes in crafting its inhabitants, than that of the artisan in crafting its goods. Merrick is much like the stone he works, untapped potential." He puffed his pipe once more and winked slyly to his student, "And I, for one, wish to see what lay beneath."
Master Rhurker's wisdom sealed the agreement from the other Masters that evening. There would be no turning back now, no matter the dangers, the challenges, or even the dragon turtles that would oppose him on this path. His commitment to this Mandate meant more than just fulfilling his duty to the Disciples of St. Sollars the Twice-Martyred or even Ilmater himself. It meant fulfilling that unspoken vow that Master Rhuker had given him that night in front of the council to unearth what he truly could become.
"Erm..." He coughed and mustered a brave tone as the others gave their agreement to Syndra's mission, "Yes, I understand and accept these risks. Let us see this through," He looked around at the ragtag crew, "Together."
Syndra chuckles, a dry, wheezing sound. "Ah, my eager friend, I am glad to know you are at least interested the job, and in the payment. But no employer pays for the job before it is done. Trust that you shall receive your reward in due course. But also consider that, in the mean time, you will no doubt discover riches beyond measure in the wilderness of Chult. And whatever you find shall be yours."
Looking at the others and letting them speak, Oranir nods and the sheer size of the quest laid out ahead of them hits him. The elf spends a few moments looking at the floor in introspection, but then that same sheer size hits him about Syndra's struggle, of all that sits between her and survival, and not only her but undoubtedly countless others across the Realms. Uncharacteristically the wizard approaches Syndra's chair and kneels by her side, his hands seeking hers in a soft and empathetic touch, he attempts one of his creepy smiles and nods reafirmingly at her "Rest assured we'll do our best. We will find a way." then he looks at the others and nods seeking some reassuring in that.
Art Portfolio
(Fast forwarding to the next day. Feel free to insert any RP during this time.)
---------------------
The next morning, Syndra is up early, ready to depart. Once everything is in order, she gathers you round close within the library ("Not to worry, dears, the curse isn't contagious!"), and speaks a word of power. A flash of light and a gust of air, carrying the smell of old parchment, consume your senses, quickly replaced by a heavy, humid air and the smells of salt air mingled with things quite unfamiliar.
As the flash of light fades, you appear in a tropical city under the blazing sun. The familiar sounds of a harbor — creaking ropes, slapping waves, heavy barrels rolling across cobblestones — mingle with voices shouting and cursing in an unfamiliar language filled with clicks, inhalations, and singsongy words that make it sound almost musical. The aroma of unfamiliar spices and tropical fruit mixes with the wharfside smells of fish, tar, and canvas.
Beyond all that, Port Nyanzaru is an explosion of color. Buildings are painted in bright shades of blue, green, orange, and salmon pink, or their walls are adorned with murals portraying giant reptiles and mythical heroes. Every building sports baskets and clay urns of colorful flowers or is draped in leafy, flowering vines. Minstrels in bright clothing adorned with feathers and shells perform on street corners. Multicolored pennants and sun awnings flutter atop the city walls. A crowd of children dressed in feathered hats and capes races past you, squealing in delighted terror as a street performer costumed as a big-toothed lizard stomps and roars behind them. The whole city seems to be bustling, sweating, laughing, swearing, and singing.
"Age hasn’t claimed everything," Syndra remarks with a grin. "If you're looking for your own lodgings, I recommend that you secure rooms for yourselves at either the Thundering Lizard, for a raucous time, or Kaya’s House of Repose if you instead want a good night’s sleep. Both inns are located near the Red Bazaar. Meanwhile, I'm heading to the villa of the merchant prince Wakanga O’tamu. I intend to stay there while you're out in the jungle. Of course, if you're interested in accompanying me, I'm more than happy to introduce you to Wakanga. What shall it be?"
Vladimir asks Syndra, "Lady Silvane, I would be happy to accompany you to the villa of Prince O'tamu, if only to act as protection in this...er...colorful place. But first, I must ask, do you know if my order, or another branch of Bahamut worshippers, has an outpost here? I should check in, if possible."
Tamryn - lvl 4 Wood Elf Rogue - Circle of Light Campaign || Drusilla - lvl 1 Half-Elf Ranger - Sleeping Gods || Grrzark - lvl 1 Goblin Barbarian - Danger at Darkshelf Quarry || DM - LTG - Curse of Strahd
{Prior to leaving retcon}
Vladimir finds Oranir and asks, "Hello my friend. I don't...um...want to seem pushy, but that red shield you found? Is it safe to use? Because if no-one else is interested, I would like to use it. If it's...ah...safe to use."
Tamryn - lvl 4 Wood Elf Rogue - Circle of Light Campaign || Drusilla - lvl 1 Half-Elf Ranger - Sleeping Gods || Grrzark - lvl 1 Goblin Barbarian - Danger at Darkshelf Quarry || DM - LTG - Curse of Strahd
Over the day's shopping excursion Laderan takes note of the wares and some of the nuances in the markets of Baldurs Gate that he had not previously been able to appreciate, his time in the city being limited to his frog march through the streets by the city guard and his short spell in the dank and dingy jail cells, which had the barest slits for windows. Now he was actually getting to see the city and guage the populous, he realised that this realm was not entirely alien, that the commerce and trade was much the same as in the cities and bazaars of the Feywild. There was a certain reassurance in that feeling, for the first time since his poorly conceived wish he allowed his guard to drop just a little and breathe in the experience of this new place... Of course it helped that his life wasn't in immediate danger for the first time in weeks.
No matter where you travel in life, there are some things that never change and some universal truths; as sure as the sun rising, anywhere there are centres of trade, there are pits of corruption, exploitation, and larceny. It hadn't taken long for his practised eyes to spot urchins and beggars that would be working for whatever thieving establishment existed in the city. He did his best to keep their group safe from the lurking pickpockets, and avoid getting into more trouble than they needed, they were after all carrying around a small fortune in their collective purses.
Come the evening, he offers to take in any wares for his companions which they wish him to keep safe, explaining briefly the magic of his earring, and how he can but access it once per day, so items required for ready access should be kept handy on their travels rather than in his care. Camp supplies and rations though, to a point, were all fair game and it would help to lighten their collective load should any others wish to do so. Once everything was gathered, Laderan piled all the items up in front of him, looped straps around his arms and grabbed sack and pouch necks before vanishing from site again, the earring dropping to the floor with a small bounce before coming to a rest. A couple of hours later, Laderan once more appears, gathers up the ornament and settles into his pallet for a rest.
(OoC - Ping me a list of any items we want to keep in my genie vessel. Obviously if your character would have concerns / questions, happy to RP that out too)
The morning dawns and The gaudy colourings and the ostentatious pageantry, in immediate contrast to the quiet and muted library they strike Laderan's senses like a warhorse in full charge. It immediately brings back memories of the Witchlight Carnival and a sense of familiarity washes over him. Though it is clearly different, the array of differences, the haphazard and scattered colours used in artwork across myriad styles remind him of the flamboyant attractions and magical advertisements across the fairground. The bustle of people, hustle of children, the sounds of enjoyment and awe, the repetitive blows to his senses all bring Laderan to a strange calmness. Now, even more than the day trapsing around Baldurs Gate, he was somewhere that he felt comfortable, like he could close his eyes and just undo the chaos and estrangements of recent and drift back to simpler memories.
"Ahhh, now this is somewhere I can get behind. Personally, I'm all about the Thunder Lizard from your description Syndra. Though if we are to be here for any time it would make sense for us to meet this merchant prince at the very least."
Bring out your inner chatacter class...
Merrick blinks rapidly to adjust his eyes to the wonderous sight of Port Nyanzaru in all its glory. His senses are almost immediately overwhelmed by the shock of smells, sights, and sounds, not to mention the sweltering heat. He loosens his tunic slightly, letting the crisp salty air find purchase throughout his clothes, closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and gives a loud guffaw at this vibrant outpouring of life. This was such a sensory juxtaposition to the hallowed and subdued halls of the Monastery of the Yellow Rose. Not even the likes of Baldurs Gate nor the other townships he visited in his pilgrimage from the monastery could prepare him for this.
Breaking off from the group, Merrick began to walk around in wonder as his legs unconsciously led him about. He laughed with the children pointing at the street performer, gave a triumphant gesture towards the various ships in port knowing he made it here without their help, and quickly began to count the colors that he did and did not recognize from the pendants and banners waving in the sea breeze.
It was in an errant seabreeze that his olfactory senses began to tingle. A scent like none other triggered a primal sensation as his mouth began to water. Again, his legs began moving without command and brought him to a small booth between two vessels. Behind the counter sat a blazing hot grill upon which skewers of fish and fruit lay sizzling. The fish has perfectly crossed charred marks and were covered in a sticky yellow syrup while the fruit had begun to burst through its red skin, revealing its lush and meaty yellow pulp. Merrick wiped away his drool and pointed towards the skewers as his hand produced a silver from his pocket. The peddler smiled and passed him a serving, to which Merrick dug right into.
An explosion of flavors rippled through his palate and his eyes watered at the savory, yet spicy, yet sweet sauce perfectly marrying with the deep undertones of the fish flesh and juicy grit of the fruit. He had known of several Masters in the Monastery speaking to that of reaching enlightenment through long-practiced meditation, describing it as being able to walk of the clouds. Merrick, at this very moment, could relate as he spun and swaddled through the crowds, flushing all five senses with energy.
He wasn't sure how he made it back to the group, but was fortunate to see more than half the skewer still remained. He quickly tried to pick back up on the conversation and agreed with Vladimir and Laderan. "Mmm...*gulp*...mmm..." he quickly swallowed as he saw a chance to join the discussion, "Erm... Yes, it would be good for you, uhhh.. to accompany us to the Prince."
He looked to the skewer and back to the group, thinking of what other delights await in Port Nyanzeru, "and it would be... erm... good to get afeel for the city and its markets before we retire."
He could definitely get used to this.
Oranir brings up his hand to shade his eyes from the overwhelming sunlight as they arrive in Chult, blinking several times and shaking his head, seemingly unable to completely get used to it. Grimacing at the oppresive heat and humidity, the elf is barely aware of his companion's words as Vladimir approaches and addresses him, "Uh... Pardon?" he tries to focus and listen to his friend, "Oh! That shield, of course. Forgive me, I can't seem to get my bearings. Yes, I've made plenty of progress in the study the day before. Not something I imagine you'll entirely like, though." he kneels down to set his sidebag to the floor and open it, using pieces of torn fabric (similar to the pillow cases of Syndra's rooms, you notice) he picks up the shield from the bulging bag, unable to close its flap due to the bulk of the shield shoved inside, "Here it is, quite remarkable magic over it... You see, it is enchanted to attract projectiles like arrows, darts, maybe even spells. Like a lodestone, if you've ever seen one." Oranir flips the shield and continues explaining, "You see, the spellwork is intended to work according to the wielder's mental commands and instinct. However, it is also undeniably cursed, there is an unusually strong aura of necromancy underlying all of its weaving. There might be something in there that is beyond my current abilities to detect, so you should wield it carefully if you intend to." With that, Oranir hands the shield over to Vladimir, prompting the paladin to hold it on the same spots he is doing it, covered by the torn fabric.
Nodding at his paladin companion and approaching the others as they discuss directions, Oranir calmly listens, "I wouldn't mind either of the establishments. The peace and quiet would be appreciated at times, though the same could be said of the other." he smirks, "But yes, let's introduce ourselves to the authorities." the elf emphasizes in a slightly derisive way.
Art Portfolio
Vladimir
Arrow-Catching Shield
Art Portfolio
Vladimir asks, “Do you think it would be possible to remove the curse? I could take to some of my order to to learn what they know, if you like.”
Tamryn - lvl 4 Wood Elf Rogue - Circle of Light Campaign || Drusilla - lvl 1 Half-Elf Ranger - Sleeping Gods || Grrzark - lvl 1 Goblin Barbarian - Danger at Darkshelf Quarry || DM - LTG - Curse of Strahd
Syndra nods her masked head. "Why, yes! The Order of the Gauntlet is one dedicated good and justice and all that, operating under the banner of numerous good-aligned deities. They came here to cleanse the jungle of undead. Last I heard, they were running their operations out of a base site in the jungle called Camp Righteous. Their emissaries should be seen from time to time, heading up the River Soshenstar in canoes to get more supplies and templars from Port Nyanzaru. It might be worth seeking them out."
She glances around, a bit nervous, before dropping her voice to a whisper. "Speaking of seeking, I have prepared a couple of maps for you. One is of Port Nyanzaru, to help you get your bearings. Any local would know the layout of the city, and visitors pick it up quick enough. The other map, though, you should guard jealously. It is a map of the known terrain of Chult itself, and there are those who would pay handsomely, or worse, to get their hands on it. Notice I say known terrain. The majority of the continent has not been fully explored and detailed. I'm afraid that you will be venturing into the unknown. But, there are many guides in the city who you may hire to assist you in your adventures." (See Player Handouts in Discord.)
"Very well, let us visit Wakanga O'tamu together! As we go, I'll fill you in on what I can remember." Syndra begins to lead you to the west, the ocean and docks to the north.
"The west side of the city is called the Market Ward both because it houses markets and because many of the Merchant Princes' villas are here. This market is one of three in the city, and it is called the Red Bazaar, the others being the Grand Souk and the jewel market. No one knows how it got that name. One story is that it comes from the huge slabs of dinosaur meat sold here and the resulting buckets of blood that stain the rain-washed gutters, and that’s probably as good an explanation as any. Unlike the Grand Souk, which deals heavily in durable goods and luxury items, the Red Bazaar deals in everyday needs: locally produced meat, vegetables, tropical fruit, tej, light tropical clothing, insect repellent, rain catchers, and other household goods. Oh, I see Merrick has already sampled some food!"
Walking behind Syndra, who chatters away, you're met with a barrage of exciting, new experiences. Medium and large dinosaurs are used as beasts of burden to haul two-wheeled carts, to hoist heavy loads on cranes, and to tow boats along the canals. Flowers, green plants, and vines grow everywhere, seeming to spring out of the building stones themselves. The profusion of greenery needs constant tending to prevent roots and shoots from damaging buildings or tile roofs. The city’s defensive walls and towers are topped with colorful awnings to shield guards from the sun and rain. All streets within the city walls are paved with cobblestones or flagstones, and they have deep rain gutters as much as 2 feet wide. Tabaxi minstrels wander the streets, performing for anyone who tosses them a few coins. Walls divide the city into districts, and the open archways above the streets are painted with murals of dinosaurs, mountains, and mythic heroes. Crumbling ancient buildings covered with vines and lichens indicate the city’s great age.
"The Grand Souk." Syndra gestures to her right, where the seemingly endless display of brightly-colored tents and canvas continues as far as the eye can see.
"And... The home of Merchant Prince Wakanga O'tamu," she says proudly, now breathing heavily and visibly sweating in the intense heat. Before you stands a lavish villa, an airy, opulent mansion patrolled by professionally trained guards. The villa is lit, even in the morning, with continual flame spells, and soft music plays throughout, emanating out into the street. Ornate ceremonial swords are mounted on the walls.
A guard meets you at the street. His attitude is non-aggressive, but assertive. Once Syndra offers a brief introduction, he nods and two more guards escort you inside to the front hall. The space is decorated with an impressive collection of elaborate paintings, statues, murals, frescoes, tapestries, and oil lamps. Incense burns in scones, perfuming the whole space with a deliciously exotic spice.
The pleasant, breezy, tiled courtyard includes a splashing fountain and green plants. The entry portico is guarded by an additional three guards. The courtyard is open to the sky. You notice the fountain is sunk into the floor and would serve as a drain for rainwater.
"Blessings, Syndra!"
A refined, Chultan man in elaborate garb approaches. His beard is braided and jeweled, as are his ears, neck, and fingers. "Wakanga!" She exclaims, using his first name. She turns to the group. "Friends, I'd like you to meet Merchant Prin--"
"Call me Wakanga," he interjects. "And the pleasure is mine. Syndra has already informed me of your service to the Harpers. Quite an extraordinary story, really. Please, feel welcome to refresh yourselves in the washroom, just to the left there."
At length, Wakanga leads you off to the right to a lavish sitting area. Decorative columns support the arched doorway from the entry hall. Rugs and comfortable pillows in shades of blue and purple are arranged on the floor. Narrow windows look into the garden. Immediately, two servants appear to help you to claim a seat and offer you tropical fruit, water, and an amber-colored, fermented drink made from honey. Syndra takes an especially long time to get situated. Wakanga claims a seat at the head of the room, patiently waiting for everyone to get settled. He continues. "As I am already aware of the general nature of this honored visit, won't you please tell me a little something about yourselves? How may I be of service to you during your stay in the city?"