The voyage had been challenging even for the most seasoned sky sailor. Leaving in the early winter and traveling west to hotter climes should have proven an easy passage but the journey seemed cursed from its beginnings. Your only solace during the treacherous crossing was the promise the Kingdom of Anjara held ahead. From the many stories told by your benefactor, S. E. Maitland, the mysterious masked figure who had paid for your passage had accompanied you and the hand-selected party traveling west. The only other person to whom the party had been introduced was Matiland’s private security, a monk of minimal conversation, Ardus Zydus. The monk, an air genasi who shadowed Maitland at all times, was stoic and commanded the elements. During the month-long journey, Maitland had wiled away the bumpy passage with stories that challenged belief. Still, the masked adventurer spoke with such knowledge and intense feeling you dare not question its truth.  

During the last week of the journey west, however, the masked adventurer retreated to their cabin on the ship. They took no visitors from the party and only communicated with you through the aid of Zydus. The monk was not the friendliest host but nevertheless instructed the party to continue their studies of the maps, journals, and art Matiland themself had either composed, collected, or commissioned. The party spent the last night together dining with the other passengers in the mess hall. Left again on your own while Zydus and Maitland were in Matiland’s cabin. Seated around a large table, eating communally with other passengers making the journey to Anjara, the party left less like strangers and more like acquaintances with a preserved common goal. Journey to the supposed location of a lost tomb to recover whatever they could from its ruins, Maitland's call to adventure.

None of them had pored over Maitland’s maps more than Ophelia. Ever since she was young she’d been enthralled by books. She’d been on a few expeditions with the university, usually exploring relatively well known parts of the world. This was farther than she’d ever been. She was one of the few university scholars who even knew of Anjara, and she’d read nearly every book the library had to offer. She was excited to explore a new land. More importantly, however, she was desperate to finally find a relief from the curse that tormented her.

She sat at one corner of the table, a glass of wine in one hand, one of Maitland’s journals in the other. She closed the book at last and set it aside. “Quite a month it’s been,” she said to her companions. “I can’t believe we’re nearly there. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ll be glad to set foot on land once more.” She smiled behind her spectacles. “You know, it occurs to me that we’ve been traveling for almost a month, and yet I feel we’ve spent little time getting to know one another.” She sipped at her wine. “I believe I’ve already made mention of my archaeological background, but what of the rest of you? What compelled you to this place?”

Appearance In Spoiler

 Jada nurses a mug of ale as unbidden memories rise to the forefront of his mind. Memories of his home in Limbo and Namir his companion. He puts down the mug a bit harshly as if trying to banish what was on his mind. At the moment he did not care where he was going, but years of training as a Mercenary kicked in and he began his routine of checking his gear with his weapon leanings against the wall. There was some small comfort in the familiar heft of his Halberd and  the sure fit of his armor.

He looks at Ophelia and pauses for a moment. "I'm Jada. I came because it was a job that would be far away. I am of use to Maitland as a mercenary and that is enough for me for now"

"Yes, yes, of course! Well, I'm here at Maitland's request. Naturally, I'm sure they've heard of my deeds. I think they've mentioned my books, and it's possible they spoke of my travels into the Underdark, but I can't quite recall," Glyph said, a suspect twinkle in his eye.

"Odd that we haven't seen them in a while though, isn't it?" he trailed off. "Say! Speaking of not seeing, have I told you about the time I bested a clowder--that's a technical term of course--of gelatinous cubes?"

He failed to wait for a response. "No!? Well, well, well! Prepare yourselves for a tale of daring, deceit, and amazement! You see, there was this village, full of halflings, it was . . ."

Glyph waved his hand through the air dramatically, and plowed on with his story, dusting a few crumbs from the sleeve of his robe. As ostentatious as the half-elf himself, the robe was certainly peculiar. It di not appear to be made of fabric, but seemed to be comprised of interlocking, crisscrossed wide bands of solid gold. The metallic quality was so pure that it shone in the galley's lighting. The half-elf clapped his hands and the cloak fell open slightly, revealing such a black, inky inner lining that it seemed to absorb light, as if a void. 

" . . . so there he was, dangling from a tree branch over the gelatinous cube, decked out in the most wonderful armor, a flaming sword in hand . . ."

He gave a wry smile and continued with his story, winking a leaf-green eye. He blathered on and brushed a clump of golden blonde hair out of his eye. He was a bit tall for a half-elf, and perhaps a touch on the lean side. The term scrawny would not be out of line, though his lack of physical prowess was no match for the sheer force of his personality.

" . . . face twisted in a silent scream until I ripped his limp body from the cube and challenged the creature myself . . ."

Glyph had managed to give every last set of books to various passengers of the airship--most taking them just to shut him up--and he'd handed out signed illustrations of himself performing wondrous tasks to all of the passengers, recounting each drawing's tale as he pressed it into the unfortunate listener's hand.

" . . . and there he was, no armor, no weapons, stuck in one of my nightshirts. Night Jade, I think, his name was, but we called him Nightie after that. Ha ha ha! Good sport, that one. Good sport! Gave him an extra spot of gold to cover his lost goods . . ."

Absent from the dinner was Beatrix, Glyph's rapier, which he often talked about, though the weapon was uncharacteristically thin, and appeared more like a saber than a rapier. Perhaps he decided to stop wearing it after his disastrous boarding mishap. Upon climbing the airship's gangplank, Glyph attempted to give the watching crowd below a show, and so leapt into the air and rolled while unsheathing Beatrix. It resulted in the half-elf flat on his face with the blade skittering across the deck.

" . . .unfortunately thieves stole the artifacts that we re recovered from the Duke's vaults. Sad, really. For the cultural significance, of course, not the monetary value! Gold is such a curse, yes? Vulgar money and wealth! Can't live with it, can't live without it, am I right?" He dusted another crumb off of his pristine, golden robe sleeve.

The half-elf winked and thrust his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his open hand and flashing a blinding, white, winning smile. "Now let's hear a good one! Why did you come, Firebrand?"

Firebrand was only partly listening to Glyph's story, as he was rather invested in his medium-rare steak and mug of ale. But he's pretty sure he got the gist of it, that the half-elf took down an army of gelatinous cubes. Perhaps the story is true, but the dragonborn really doesn't know or particularly care. When Glyph addresses him, Firebrand puts down his mug and glances across the table.

"Well," he says, not entirely sure how much he should tell the others. "As you all know, I come from a very wealthy family, so I have little need for money. What I seek in the tombs is knowledge. Knowledge and..."

He pauses, looking around at the eager faces surrounding him. Damn it, he might as well say it. He's going to be hanging out with this lot for quite a while, and they would have no reason to oppose him.

"...and perhaps something that I can use to kill a dragon. For many generations my family has served a hateful beast, an ancient red dragon. While most of us have accept it for what it is, an exchange of occasional favors to this sadistic and vile beast for a seemingly endless fortune, I cannot allow such evil to continue. I pledged my sword to the service of Bahamut some years ago in the hopes of finding divine aid in my mission, and since then I have spent my time honing my skills in preparation for the fated battle, doing the work of the temple in the meantime to push back against evil wherever it should rear its ugly head."

As the party speaks more on their past the sky ship lurches slightly as you know meaning it's running against the winds again.  Captain Nyhus and the crew have made the troubling passage as comfortable as possible even if Melora didn't seem to want the party to continue!

"Any thing else for you dears," a stout, blonde female dwarf asks who's been your regular attendant for the passage.  

Moira Deepdelver, as she's introduced herself,  is a hill dwarf with tanned skin, traditional braids that encircle her head, and nice robes matching the same navy that all of the below deck attendants wear.  They always look immaculate apart from the crew who wear slightly weathered grey and green uniform tunics and knee high boots with soft soles to allow them to climb in the ship's rigging.

Jada shakes his head "No Moria um... thanks for attending to us" He finishes the rest of his ale and takes another crack at the information offered by Maitland. Enough wallowing you have a job do. He sits a bit straighter as he takes a look at the maps and art.

He looks to Ophelia "I am not as academic as you. Can you go over the finer points of this journal with me?"

“No, darling Moria, thank you so very much,” Glyph smiled at the dwarf, slightly raising an eyebrow. “Say have I ever told you’re the spitting image of Kera Dummaroff, one of the matriarchs of the Dummaroff clan? Very kind woman. Very wealthy, too.”

“There was this one time she tried to summon a unicorn and . . . well, I’m sure I must’ve mentioned it,” he trailed off. Turning his attention back to the group, the half-elf gave a weak smile and folded his hands on the table. His eyes briefly rested on the material about Anjara.

“Yes, do tell. What HAVE we gotten ourselves into here? I’ve been simply too busy to give my undivided attention to these maps and journals,” Glyph mentioned, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Thank you for the offer, but it would probably be best if I don't let myself get too drunk," Firebrand says to the dwarf as he pushes away his empty plate.

He suppresses a smirk as Glyph says he hasn't been giving the maps and journals his undivided attention, but the dragonborn decides not to say anything. The Paladin had looked over the materials more than once himself, but he's no cartographer nor is he a particularly knowledgeable historian. He'll have to rely on greater minds than his to take care of navigation when they get into the tomb.

Avris Maplecore is having the time of her life.

"Moira, I need you in my life always," she says happily to the dwarf. "When this job is over, I'm taking you home with me, love, if you like, but I don't need anything else at present. Thank you, ma'am."

Avris leans against the ships railing, eating heartily from a plate in her hands and watching the scenery drift by. She missed the military, but this! This was adventure. 

"Dehydration and heatstroke will be the biggest passive risks while we remain topside during the day," she contributes to the conversation about their task. "You can drink alcohol, but be sure to drink twice as much water. We'll soon acclimate to the climate, but if you feel dizzy, claustrophobic, nauseous, or have trouble thinking straight, I take a look at you. And eat up! A full belly may save your life."

Avris takes another bite and smiles. She is not a scholar, but she knows her craft.

She is dressed in heavy splint armor, the common sort soldiers have been wearing for years now. Her helmet is painted with the colors of the Pilgrim Crusaders: red over black to signify "courage over death" and a pair of white wings on either side to denote her as a medic. A yellow diamond on the helmet's brow denotes an honorable discharge from service. A pair of goggles have been grafted into the visors design and appear to be an aid for seeing in the dark.

A warhammer, a shield, and a backpack hang from her broad shoulders with similar markings as her helm. Her shield bears the holy emblem of the goddess Avandra, the Changebringer.

Moira blushes at the compliments from Avris and waves her hand still smiling. 

"Just be sure to send your compliments to the captain. I'm new to the crew and since the new regent has opened Anjara to the west I think this route will be a lucrative one," she adds with a curtsey before clearing away empty dishes. "Sleep well this evening and hopefully the winds won't batter the Gazer too much," she adds reminding the party of the nickname of the sky ship,  the Stargazer. 

“Thanks for the lovely advice, Avris. Dead helpful, that is, dead helpful. Never been to the desert before!” Glyph exclaimed, looking at the back of his hand. “Wonder how it’ll treat my skin. Very sensitive skin, you know. I think it must be the human. You know, my mother was the elf, over 500 years old and not a dry spot or crack to be found.”

“Still, I did get her ears,” he felt at the tips of his ears, which did seem a bit more elongated and perhaps pointier than most half-elf ears. “I think it’s all to do with the age of the mother . . .”

The half-elf plowed on, touching here and there on different aspects of vanity and his appearance. After commenting on his nose, he very noisily—and very dramatically—sneezed, nearly knocking over the full goblet of wine in front of him. He’d ordered and discussed wine with every meal, but, as anyone who paid attention would’ve noticed, he never drank any of it. After righting himself and apologizing repeatedly—in dramatic fashion equal to the drama of the sneeze—he snapped his fingers.

“Oh yes, where were we? Anjara! The Desert! Tombs and treasures and forgotten kingdoms! Oh my!” The glint returned to his eyes.

"I agree we should get extra water and I am thinking we should also purchase tents in the event we need shelter from the sun." says Jada. He looks at his calloused hands after Glyphs comment. "Glyph, perhaps you can buy clothing suitable for the desert. I am sure the people who live there must have ways to protect themselves from the heat"

Ophelia held up a hand. "No thank you, miss Deepdelver," she said with a slight smile. Turning back to her new companions she sighed. "It's certainly more than the university archives had to offer, but it's still maddeningly little. Only small islands of meaning amongst a sea of rumors. That said, there are some rather entertaining stories of the gods of this land." She patted the tome in front of her. "And as for treasures, best forget about it. It's been my experience that ancient relics are often more trouble than they're worth." She swirled her glass contemplatively.

"Practical advice, Avris. You seem to be a well traveled person. Have you been out in the desert much?"

"I have oils that may help with any damage from the sun, Master Glyph. And many climates (excluding arctic, of course) contain the remedies for their own shortcomings. I expect to gather more natural medicinal supplies when we get there."

Avris comes and sits near the others. She sets her helmet on the table and points out the various markings on it. 

"I was a medic in the 4th Pilgrim's Crusade against Dominus Lockjaw and his Viridian Horde, several years ago. My medical regiment was needed everywhere, so we went everywhere, but only within the theatre of war. I have never been to an honest desert like Anjara, but the bitter north has much in common with the burning south." 

She nods to Jada. "My commander used to say "Beans, barracks, and bandages are the backbone of any battalion". He liked talking fancy, but he was right, excepting that he didn't include water. I'd go with you when we make landfall. I may need a few things as well."

“Thanks, Avris, I appreciate your devotion to your craft!” Glyph said, still staring at the back of his hand. “Maybe a hat and some gloves would be prudent, Jada, and three cheers to more water and equipment. And, perhaps some new fashions, too! I wonder what the general color palette is of Anjaran fashion. I daresay drab--tans and earth tones most likely--but I’ll wager a guess we’ll find a little something special for everyone!”

"Small islands of meaning . . . " Glyph echoed, suddenly uncharacteristically reserved. "I wonder what there is to find in the remnant, that murky, vast water of the abyss. For are we not all, right now, explorers looking to pull back the graying curtain of the deep? Pushing to go further than any in living memory? And if not to reveal the unknown in its entirety, then to uncover those tantalizing bits and pieces that ask--no beg--us to dive deeper, dig farther? In that exploration of the depths, what truths may come?" 

With a glassy stare at the table, and never quite meeting Ophelia’s intuitive eyes, the half-elf paused for a moment. With a blink, he immediately resumed his normal pizzazz, wagging a finger. “I’d venture a guess we’ll find something of value! Have I told you the time about I recovered the Pail of Plenteous Plums? A cursed item if I’d ever seen one, wouldn’t stop multiplying . . . Oh, yes, you’ve all heard it already.”

“Well, dear comrades,” Glyph said, looking at each of them, “we’ll gather some supplies and familiarize ourselves with the locals. Anything else? I suppose we’ll have to wait for Maitland to give us any specific instructions, but perhaps we should come up with a plan of attack for our arrival?”

As the party relaxes on deck the winds again buffed the sides of the Gazer. The boat itself groans slightly and suddenly lists violently the right!

Everyone make a dexterity check!

Avris' Dexterity check (in game log): 13

Firebrand's Dex check (in game log): 19

Dexterity check: 19, check game log if confirmation needed.

If it's a dex save, 22