Dragon of Icespire Peak ***CLOSED***

Fibblestib blinks in astonishment as Vaxis presents the map for inspection. The gnome glances back and forth between the map and Vaxis, puzzled and slightly unnerved. "I have seen this map before...recently, in fact. Barely a month ago, a young male human enlisted our services in determining where on the face of Toril it was meant to depict..."

Turning the map over in his hands several times, writing can be seen on one side and rudimentary pictures representing landmarks on the other, but with no context such as city names or political boundaries that would inform the reference location. The gnome looks suspiciously around at the other party members as he asks: "If you don't mind me asking, how did you come to possess this...item?"

Vaxis nods to Fibblestib.

"A pair of hungry ogres had killed a man, which I can only be having assuming is the man you mention. We found it in his possessions. What is significance of map?"

Vadernul is also rubbing his head curiously at the map.  

" So if I understand thee correctly, thou meanst to tell us that yon gentleman, which remains we found to be part of the ogres' victuals, was the one who brought thee yon map and asked for thy help to translate it ? Did he happen to tell thee where he'd found said-item ? Was he a scholarly type or a simple trader ? anyone you saw in the region previously or a complete stranger ?" Tabesha'l asks the gnome.

" More importantly, did he give you his name ? Maybe his relatives would like to know of his tragic demise. Although we would obviously spare them the more... gruesome details."

"His name was Gunther Lowell, but I know not his city of origin. He claimed to have purchased the map in Yartar, quite a ways east of here where the Surbrin and Dessarin Rivers intersect. It is a crossroads trading town highly regarded as a place for merchants, smugglers, mercenaries, and spies from all over the North to meet and conduct business. A sage there, Esklindrar is his name, operates a dusty old book shop that boasts an impressive collection of treasure maps. Judging by his youth and naivety, I suspected Lowell saved up just enough money to buy the map, then set out on his own to seek his fame and fortune...it sounds as though he failed to find it."

Connak nods, "Striking out alone looking for adventure is not a healthy lifestyle.  What did you tell him about the map?"

Barric begins listening intently to the gnome as he talks of the crossroads, his face deep in thought.

Yartar. I'll have to remember that. Another place to disappear if Halia sends word that I am here.

“Thirty-five miles west of Phandalin, in a deserted area of the coast of the Sea of Swords, is an old stone lighthouse that emits a sickly green light. Ships are drawn to this tower like moths to a flame, until they crash upon the rocks that lie just below the surface of the waves. The shallow depths are likely littered with treasure both magical and mundane. I warn you though - much like the light draws ships into their doom, so does the legend draw in adventurers to theirs...the Tower of Storms is no place for the casual treasure hunter. If you intent to take up where poor Lowell left off, go well supplied...and well armed."

"I shall stay here to attend the needs of my kings, when you have finished in the treasury, follow the tunnel on the east wall of my lab to the sleeping quarters, which lets out onto a ledge 30 feet above the ground. Repel down and may you find safe travels on your journey," the gnome turns to assist King Gnerkli with getting dressed.

 Connak looks at Fibblestib, "I keep hearing about this lighthouse.  I was told I could find valuable information here about it.  I mean, more than what you just told us.  That seemed to be common knowledge.  What kind of supplies would adventurers's need if they go there?"

“Any idea in what lurks in wait to attack.  If ships flock to the light, why doesn’t someone extinguish it?”

Vaxis frowns.

"We may need to take care of this...lighthouse. Perhaps there will be more things we can use to help the town."

Tabesha'l's azure eyes shine with a strange light as she listens the the gnome's tale. She smiles faintly and whispers, almost to herself:

" Tis the crux of the problem we face, methinks: are we ready to brave the dangers of yon lighthouse, or shall we face the young white wyrm first ? I reckon a visit to the treasure room may reveal some useful items, and maybe these in turn will clue us in as to our next endeavour. One thing is for sure: if no-one could or would extinguish said-green light, tis a vast challenge that awaits us, most likely a matter of the arcane, and we should consider our options with the utmost circumspection... One does not triffle with the works of evil magic: we shall need to be protected and well-armed, with steel and spellcraft both !"

"Just reaching the lighthouse is a heroic task in itself...legend says the ghost of murdered sea elf guards the causeway. Beyond that, who knows what further peril stands between you and the source of the lighthouse's beacon. All I can divine is that there is that there are no living individuals who've been all the way to the lighthouse and returned. As far as what to bring with you...perhaps something to parley with a ghost? But who could guess what would sate it without asking it oneself? Outside of that, I would take with you the means to make camp on the road...there are no inns to stay at anywhere near that dreadful place. Expect rather nasty weather too as a name like 'The Tower of Storms' is sure to imply..."

“I wonder who murdered the sea elf....” Vadernul ponders on the way to the vault.

The party moves through the narrow halls of Gnomengarde in silence, pondering what part a bloodstained map (and the mysterious lighthouse it points to) has to play in the unwelcome presence of a white dragon in the skies over Phandalin...if any. The the southwestern corner of the gnomish wizard commune, the party arrives at a large iron door, firmly locked.

Vadernul will use the key to open the door.

The room contains a jumble of nonfunctional gnomish gizmos, as well as loose gears, twisted bits of metal, and other scraps that the gnomes use to cobble together new inventions. Standing out amid the clutter, the party finds a clockwork amulet, a pole of collapsing, a hat of wizardry and a wand of pyrotechnics.

 Tabesha'l walks over to the gaudy-looking, pointy hat with the star-like designs clumsily sewn all over it, her lips pursed in a half-interested, half-ironic grin.

" How quaint ! I did know of the existence of these, I just never would have dared to believe they were actually looking this way: a singularly unoriginal design, yet I heard it say that some of their gifts are powerful indeed, albeit a tad... shall we say capricious  in their trustworthiness ?"

 As the elven mage says this, she picks up a small wand and looks at the others. " This, on the contrary, should have been a powerful weapon. Unfortunately, from my extensive readings - and perhaps most of anyone's common sense - it seems dragons are thoroughly immune to fireworks. Still, it could come in handy for a diversion if the need should arise..." after which she adds under her breath " ...but most definitely not for a discrete entrance. These gnomes remain true to their fame and appear to gather the most heteroclitous and somewhat comical array of haphazard magical items. One should have expected something of the sort, of course."

Connak looks disappointed that Tabesha'l didn't seem keen on the wizard hat.  It would have pleased him to see her wear it.  Looking at the items, Connak says, "There are plenty of things I wouldn't touch even with a 10 foot pole.  But there are still some that I would only touch with a 10 foot pole.  This may prove useful, or valuable..."

Connak takes the pole of collpasing.

Vadernul looks over the remaining equipment.  Picking up amulet, tiny between his fingers.  As he puts it to his ear.  “Ah, that’s relaxing.  I’ll take this bobble.” As he takes the clockwork amulet.