"I am not sure. But it is related to the tale that I owe you. I was raised in Mezro, by a Mazewalker called Izifo. But I have come to find out during this last leg of our journey that Mezro is no more, as you have confirmed for me just now. I worry about the source of these memories and of my power now as a sorceress. Surely it could be Ubtao who provided both to me, but what of the chance that it was orchestrated by Sseth or the villain who wields this Soul Monger? It will come to light for me eventually, I suppose. For now, I will let you return to your work. Thank you for sharing words with me, O'tamu."

Sthara returns to her companions.

Nenne shrugs at Allister's question, linking her arms behind her as they walk toward the temple. "They both had ample opportunities to injure me and chose not to. I see good in them. I want to nurture that, and the trust they've extended to me personally. Someone did something similar for me, when I first arrived in this land, and it helped me become who I am today. Is it deserved?" A sweet smile appears on her face, accompanied by a subtle flush of peach on her cheeks. "Of course not; that's the point of grace. Kelemvor willing, they'll realize that the only reasonable response to grace is obedience, and we'll have two more men of honor in this world."

She seems less burdened after this exchange. The pewter in her hair, which had covered nearly every strand since her brush with the Death Curse, fades to a lighter shade of silver. She continues in silence with a nostalgic smile lingering on her lips.

At Jezzine's greeting in the temple of Tymora, Nenne inclines her head gracefully, sober once more. "We have some new information, including a potential connection with someone whose initials are V.S. They wrote a letter to a pirate we encountered, saying our own lady mage would be the key to overcoming this curse. None of us is acquainted with this individual as far as we are aware. Do you know anyone who might have divining powers, or connections with the powerful on Chult, who bears a name or pseudonym with those initials?"

"Also," she adds, grim, "I have staved off the curse with my own magic. It was a grueling task. Do you know if other clerics or mages have had any success in suspending the effects of the curse, or delaying them? What methods or magic might have been used?"

Jezzine is taken aback by Nenne's statement. She comes forward in a rush saying, "You did what!? What spell did you use!? Kelemvor you say? Where did you cast this? Where is the recipient of the spell now? Have you studied them further? My own spells of Raise Dead and Revivify have failed every time I have tried to use them." She is elated by the strings of hope going through her mind.

Nenne's complexion deepens with hints of purple. "The Fair Judge grants me the power to spare those in the clutches of death such that they do not pass from the realm of the living but instead remain in a state of suspension. I used this ability on a man afflicted with the curse in the moment his soul was to leave his body. I have cast this spell many times in my service to Kelemvor. It is usually a moment of peace and stasis. This was..." She trails off, shaking her head. Her crossed arms tighten around her until her armor creaks, and her eyes lose their focus for a minute as her breathing slowly quickens.

She winces, squeezing her eyes shut until she forces her breaths to return to normal. When she opens her eyes again, they seem duller. "Please do not think me disrespectful for suggesting, but I wonder if you were unsuccessful in part because of the nature of the gracious lady you serve. This malady is much more subject to my deity's natural influence than yours. Tymora's power, though unimpeachable in its own domain, may not have the same effect. Tell me, sister priestess, has anyone from your order attempted to remove the curse from the still-living?"

“Hold on for a second.“ Allister is clearly confused. „From what we have been told I figured that Malar´s Throat is full of people who suffer from the curse. That is not the best neighborhood. People are poor and usually don’t have enough gold to afford more powerful magic. Asking a god for a resurrection isn’t something a cleric does for free. So how were these poor wretches brought back to life? Is Kelemvor the only god able to bring people back from the brink of death?“

"I was wondering that, myself," Nenne agrees. "Especially without anyone from my order stationed here."

"Kelemvor is not the only god who oversees the domain of death," she adds. "There are some far less...impartial, and far more cruel. I also wonder if this again has any connection with Sseth and his worshippers."

She rocks back on her heels as she thinks. "I am curious to see if I attempted my intervention on another dying soul whether I would have similar success. I would like to visit Malar's Throat to administer rites to the afflicted. It is my duty, as Kelemvor's hand. I also would like to attempt to communicate across the veil with the departed. Perhaps they can offer enlightenment from their side of the mortal gate." She turns to the party. "I would appreciate company. This task could render us with more information, but it could also be of some peril to me. I would be grateful to have your support as I undertake my sacred mission. Will any of you join me?"

Before you go Jezzine interjects, "You misunderstand. Malar's Throat is full of poor people. To prevent worry from majority of higher class citizens the merchant princes ruled that the handful of people afflicted by the Death Curse remain housed in the throat if they intend to stay in this port. From what I gather, nearly all of them used to be adventurers or some sort of wealthy person fallen down on their luck now."

Allister says to Nenne “Just to be clear, you are not gonna roast any of them in order to bring them back? How do you wanna do this? Go from house to house and ask if someone afflicted by the curse is dying again? If we do this, not all of us should be involved. We need to find out who this VS is, and Sthara will surely visit this destroyed city. If you want to I can offer protection in Malar´s Throat but we should also prepare for our next journey. Either the destroyed city or one of those Flaming Fist camps. That’s a lead we haven’t followed yet.“

Listening to the conversation between the three, Funderburk quietly gets up. He knows that when it comes to deities, he shouldn't be involved. Instead, he decided to walk to the Harbormaster, where they send letters, and requested to send a short one. The note, going to the Fort, was requesting that they send his friend and steed, Dunk, back to the port so that they may have her along their journey.

It was a short letter, but afterwards from sending it, he thought to ask if he had any letters. If figured not though, his people- stuck in a library all day- would never send him anything. "Is there anything perhaps to me? My name is Funderburk, I come from a great library controlled by Vedalken. Is there anything? If not, I shall head towards the market."

"Allister is right, we should also plan ahead. You had struggled trying to hold Worlo's spirit in his body–would it not be better to find the source to snuff the Curse out than to drain yourself?"

At being reminded of what she did to Worlo, Nenne practically implodes. Her shoulders slump, her head lowers, her gaze refuses to leave her shoes, and her voice becomes so quiet, ears strain to catch her words. 

"It should not be difficult to locate the dying and the dead," she mumbles. "Gossip travels faster than plague. One afternoon of interviews is all I request. Since I am here, I might as well do something worthy of my vocation. And my name." Her last words are whispered. 

"Thank you for your time, sister priestess. Peace to you," she bows, and swiftly takes her leave before anyone can see her reddening eyes. 

Asking the locals for direction, she finds her way to Malar's Throat, where she proceeds to identify herself as an itinerant cleric of Kelemvor on mission to serve last rites to the dying. She asks for information about the former adventurers who have taken residence there who are suffering from the Death Curse and sets out immediately to call on them.

Nenne is directed to a bundle of hillside shacks where the afflicted live. As the cleric approaches, two male humans and a female half-elf give her their attention. The woman sighs and asks more than states, "Hello?" All three appear to be afflicted by the Death Curse.

"Greetings," she inclines her head, "I am Nenne Amharat, servant of Kelemvor. I heard you have fallen under the curse. You have my deepest sympathies. I and my compatriots are endeavoring to put an end to the curse and the suffering it causes, and we have uncovered some information in these past weeks that has put us closer to understanding its origin. I myself have even wrestled a soul from its clutches, once."

She shifts a little in the doorway, aware of how she might come across to such beleaguered people. Taking a fortifying breath, she continues. "I was wondering if you would allow me to sit with you a while and hear your stories of how you came to be afflicted? I also freely offer my services as a priest. I have no desire for coin, only insight - and perhaps a chance to try my hand at helping you. Though, I understand if you despair of hope..." She bows her head and waits for their reply.

Funderburk, deciding that it was best not to send the letter, never hands it to the Harbormaster. Since it would be a l9ng journey on their own, he would rather not risk her getting hurt. "I'll come back to get you Dunk. I promise."

With that, Funderburk set out to the markets. Hoping to find and buy anything that will be of use to him or his allies.

Vargach had been out of his comfort zone traveling with this group. It was not as much the people as the surroundings. His domain were the forests, swamps, and coastlines of Chult not the sea or the cities. He disliked being among the sailors on the ship, but that was nothing compared to arriving in the big city. 
He got along fine with the group so far, though he had not developed any relationships with the other members and neither had had any deeper conversations. He was longing for the wild and his usual surroundings and was debating if joining up with the group had been a good idea. If they had to go to a city again, he considered at least temporarily parting ways to stay in his more familiar terrain.

He had followed Funderburk as it seemed he was approachable and he had wanted to get a chance for a one-on-one conversation. He had enjoyed the other’s humor.

”What bring you to Chult? Vargach like you. You seem know way around the world.”

The half elf, Allyssa, identifies herself as a one time adventurer. After spending some time near Cormyr, she travelled as a mercenary farther and farther south. She admits to dying during a night time caravan raid. Her fellow mercenaries paid for her resurrection and, after a few years of travelling with them, she moved even farther south to Chult. Then a couple months ago sores appeared on her body that only got bigger and more numerous with time. She finishes with, "...and now I sit here wrapped like a bloody mummy waiting for the end."

The other two humans have similar stories with different places and different events, but they all end the same. There are two more afflicted inside one of the shacks that they introduce Nenne to. One claims to have been a wealthy silk merchant that had traded for a ring of regeneration at some point in his career. After losing everything including his life to a band of roving orcs, he woke up later as a human. He says that he was a dwarf before that. The ring he had thought was a ring of regeneration had become a tattoo around his finger, which he shows off. The band circles around his finger and a phoenix is visible on the top of that band. His health is in critical condition and he can no longer leave his bed.

The other man is introduced as Merric and when Allyssa tries to wake him, she discovers that he is dead. She says a quick prayer to Tymora as she backs away from his body with tears in her eyes.

"Well," he began, scratching his head in embarrassment, "I'm here because I want to write a story. All my life I've been contained in a single library. Imagine friend, not being able to be in your jungle- or where you want to be- for 40 years. Now I am here and realize how much... imprefect I am with my perfections." He looked at the ranger, a being he would have least expected to meet, especially under such circumstances back then and said, "I'm not one much to talk to. No values or wise teaching. Just a Vedalken looking to write a book."

"I have another purpose for being present in this land. But I would rather not say what that is for my own accord."

"Let's look for somethings that may help along our long journey. We'll need it."

"Oh, Vargach no like. Jungle is life. But maybe yous and Is sticks together. Me help yous survive jungle and yous helps me survive city."

The lizardfolk does not understand why someone would not share information but thinks there must be something he is missing. He decides not to pry, as he is not looking for unnecessary conflict. Words are not his strong suit as it is, so he leaves that to others.

"Book? Lot of work. Tell our tale?"

He looks around, as if trying to spot something useful. He Is unsure what the other refers to, as his tools and implements are simple.

"What need? Maybe armor to protect soft body? Vargach has what needs."

The instant Nenne sees Allyssa's tears, she extends her hand toward the poor man and says, "Lend me your grace, Fair Judge, on behalf of this soul!" (Spare the Dying). If nothing happens, she will gently attend to Allyssa and begin immediate preparations for a death ritual. She will retrieve three sticks of incense from her pack, light them, and recite a dirge over Merric, interspersing her song with readings from her prayer book and weaving signs over his body. Ten minutes later, she will invoke Kelemvor's name to seal the ritual casting of Gentle Repose.

@DM

"Soft body, soft mind." Funderburk brings a finger to his head and taps on it. "I am well friend. However, with the book, I would like to include you in it. You are a friend and companion of mine. What job occupied your time with your tribe hunter? Was it chief? Helper? Guard? Or maybe a hunter." The VVedalke's head begins to tilt in the common understanding of curiosity. Funderburk, not one to take off his hood much at all in the city- do to his race contradicting the other races here at the port whom were common- let the hood slip just a bit.

However, both his hands resumed to fixing the creases from his cloak. Before meeting any merchant, he should look presentable and perfect as possible.