In the city of Baldur's Gate...

For the past several days, the talk of the streets and taverns has all been about the so-called death curse: a wasting disease afflicting everyone who’s ever been raised from the dead. Victims grow thinner and weaker each day, slowly but steadily sliding toward the death they once denied. When they finally succumb, they can’t be raised — and neither can anyone else, regardless of whether they’ve ever received that miracle in the past. Temples and scholars of divine magic are at a loss to explain a curse that has affected the entire region, and possibly the entire world.

All of his senses were offended at once in this.. city... humans raised up. He longed for the cool comfort of twilight in his forest home. He'd been to cities of the high elves, didn't particularly like them, but they were nothing like this. He had a job to do here, though, a mission of great import. The reincarnation cycle, a precious mystery of the elven people, had been compromised and he was among many elves charged with finding out why and by whom. That last part was the simple one, he thought, it was naturally a human mage of some sort who was behind it. Even the loathed dark elves were not considered a likely suspect - it wasn't their style. His quest for information led him here.

He followed the usher upstairs and offered the traditional greeting of his people to their masked host. He sat, but made no move to take them up on their offer for wine. Humans brewed concoctions far too strong for his people, and anyway he generally avoided anything that might impair his senses and his judgement. This policy has served him well this far. "Thank you for your invitation. I hope we may be of help to each other in these trying times."

A reddish bronze Dragonborn in leather armor takes the stairs two at a time up to the third floor, looking all around the room in amazement.  He turns, startled by the voice initially, but then his attention is drawn back to the maps and charts that adorn the wall.   He pulls a magnifying glass out of his pocket, he starts to look to get his bearings, making many mental notes.  After a good 10-15 minutes have passed as he goes from chart to map around the room, he finally puts away his magnifying glass and straightens up, heading for a glass of wine.  He moves with an easy grace, greenish cloak gathered around him, with a shirt and pants that fit the occasion, but clearly covering muscle underneath.  He lifts his glass in a toasting manner, meeting each of the faces around the room with a smile, saying “Hear, hear.  Thank you, Syndra for your invitation.  Most intriguing.  I would be honored to consider you a friend.  You have piqued my curiosity.  I love your collection of maps, one can’t have too many.”  He looks around the room, watching as the others come in, nodding to everyone, saying “My name is Morax, Morax Grimblehist, a pleasure to meet you.  I can’t wait to hear what comes next.”

Dirtbrain had been a little confused when she'd got the invitation from Syndra Silvane. 'Maybe she has a ship that needs a crew,' she thought. She'd been looking for work and that would be great!  The uniformed attendant had given her pause. 'Am I being arrested?' was her first thought, as that had usually been her experience with folks dressed up like this. But no, this was just a stroll up a grand staircase to an ornate room.  As she surveyed the room, she wondered if maybe they'd invited the wrong person. 

"Whoa! Wine!" she exclaims in her girlish voice as she spots the table with the goblets and bottles of wine. Forgetting her concerns, she strides purposefully towards the table, reaches up, and grabs one of the bottles.  Given her stature of just barely over 3 feet, she gives the appearance of a small child that has somehow gotten ahold of something she shouldn't have.  Although her well-toned arms, the studded leather armor, longsword at her side, and shield at her back suggest that maybe she isn't just some little kid.  

She pops open the bottle wine and is about to just take a drink out of it when she notices how the dragonborn has a glass and is motioning like making a toast. 'Maybe I should grab one of these goblets,' she thinks. But then she shrugs and takes a swig from the bottle.  Still carrying it, she steps over to Morax, who had just introduced himself. "Good to meet you sir! I'm Dirtbrain."  She gives him a broad smile and reaches up, offering her hand for a handshake. 

Afterward she continues on to the elf who had already sat down. "Good to meet you as well! Umm, you know there's wine over there? I can grab you a bottle?"  She slips into one of the nearest seats before he can respond.  She finally really takes a look at the mysterious masked woman that had welcomed them. "Are you Syndra?" she asks bluntly. "I was quite happy to be invited here."  Swinging her feet a bit since they don't quite reach the floor, she takes another sip of wine while she waits for whatever is next.

Having arrived shortly before the servant led everyone up, Yabo didn't get much time for niceties among the assembled others, which is fine by him. He steps carefully up the tread of the stairs, making sure not to scratch them too much as he lifts his feet from one to the next. 

Once in the room, he follows the goblin's example and lifts a bottle from the table in a clawed fist. He pops the cork and tips his head back, letting a stream of it pour past his beak into his mouth, swishing it over his tongue before swallowing.

"Very... winey. Good err... wetness. Tastes like old grapes."

He knows that people that like wine always have to say something about it, but he's never picked up leather or spicebox or any of the other fancy terms, so he figures he's playing it safe, and gives their host what passes for a winning smile.

With no fleshy lips to mush up against a goblet, he's more likely to spill and make a mess trying to use one, and if the fancy lady kicks him out for drinking from the bottle, hey, at least he got some free wine today.

He'll back up a bit so he's not blocking other folks, and making sure his tail is to the side, squats down, the end of his shell resting against the floor. Benches are about the only humanoid seating that works for him, and most aren't built to handle his size, so he's learned when people ask him to be seated, it's better off to use the floor than furniture they care about. He continues swilling from his bottle and waiting to see what this is all about.

Agaredhel's murmured his sympathies when she explained her predicament. Curses could be lifted by experienced magic users, but perhaps the curse had to do with the world itself, or the method by which souls departed it and returned to it. A simple Remove Curse cast on the afflicted would not work then. 

His eyebrows shot up at the information being offered. "You... don't mind if I share this with my people, do you? It's not a secret?" Would that his mission to this awful city could end so quickly! "The high mages will surely be able to deal with this artifact once they know where it is." If Chult was such a perilous place, what could relatively inexperienced people like them do about it? And even if they survived the wild, with the goddess' help, such a device would be well protected. "These Harpers... can we count on their aid?"

Dirtbrain listens to the woman talk, feeling kind of sad that she's dying from this curse thing. When Agaredhel speaks up about 'his people' and then mentions 'the Harpers', she figures those people will surely take care of this Soulmonger thing.  She takes another drink from her wine bottle as she imagines this lady just needs a crew to sail these heroes off to Chult.  She'd heard of it, seems like it was pretty far.  But she was up for whatever voyage was planned. 

She'd seen the tortle come in and heard him mention how the wine tasted like old grapes. 'Hmm, it does have a sorta grape flavor,' she mused as she puzzled over just what Syndra might have in mind. Then realization suddenly hits her, "Yabo! Hey, it's me. Dirtbrain! Looks like maybe we'll be crewing a ship together!" 

Petra had been sitting quietly in a corner of the room, jotting down notes in her bradel-bound tome about all she had seen and heard. Within its most recent pages were quick sketches of the faces of each of the other invitees and the masked face of their host, Syndra Silvane. 

Why so obscured? Has this Death Curse ravaged them so that they dare not show their face? Is this a power play, that they may know our faces while we do not know theirs? Harper involvement - secretive bunch of do-gooders, figures they would have their hands in this. Chult. Maloraen involved? Necromantic artifact - Soulmonger. To what end does this Death Curse operate? Simple malicious intent? Revenge against those who have evaded death? Souls = Power for something? If so, what? 

Petra shuts the book and takes a sip of the wine - solid stuff, certainly better than the swill they serve at Candlekeep's taverns. The fabled repository of knowledge and wisdom was perhaps unsurprisingly lacking in the category of alcoholic beverages. She casts a look around the room - nobody else in the room appeared to be much of a scholar. In fact, they all looked rather rugged, even the dressed-up dragonborn with the green cloak. But then again, if this venture would take them to Chult, a land rife with dangerous wilderness, then it would make sense why these people were summoned. At the very least, Petra knew who to hide behind to avoid getting struck by any of the horrible things Syndra mentioned in her pitch.

"I will gladly lend my expertise to this venture - this Death Curse is the talk of all the Coast, and it seems like even your well-informed Harpers don't know much beyond the basics. I'm sure I - we - can get to the bottom of how and why this is all happening. But where are my manners? I don't know if I've met any of you fine folk before. Petraneela Pebblefoot of Candlekeep at your service, but since we're all friends you may call me Petra," the deep gnome says, giving a bit of a curtsy to the group. "Of course, and I hate to sound mercenary, there is the question of payment for such a task. Hunting for this Soulmonger with the only clue being 'somewhere in Chult'... well, needles and haystacks come to mind. Not to mention the dangers you so expertly listed, as well as expenses we will no doubt accrue in preparing for this investigation... I would like to hear your offer." 

Visham was, at first, rather suspicious to receive such a fine formal invitation at flea-ridden traveler's inn where he was staying...

He'd just come from touring The Shrine of the Suffering in the Lower City to catch a glimpse of The Gate's most destitute individuals as they received alms and aid from the Clerics of Ilmater... Walking through the halls, he observed their suffering and ill health without judgement, tasted the mortality in the air with a flick of his serpentine tongue... and witnessed the care the downtrodden received at the hands of Ilmater's faithful.

As he ended his visit, a new meditation came to mind... Can there be death without suffering?

He returned to the traveler's inn with that question in mind and the scent of the wretched sharp on his tongue.

That was the state he was in when he was greeted with the fine invitation. It reeked of wealth... and wealth should always be regarded with suspicion... But his concerns abated when he learned about the nature of the invitation. The monastery must have sent word to this Syndra Silvane... told them of his interest in the so-called "Death Curse". That is why he was summoned. It must be. Right?

Vasham arrives at Silvane's home without fanfare and follows the attendants up the the chamber in silence. He is the last of the gathered adventurers to arrive. He dutifully passes his eyes over the maps and decor. Seeing all these riches stirs a deep sense of inadequacy and bitterness inside his gut... emotions he identifies and regards without judgement before centering his focus once more on The Long Death ...and releasing those emotions to go wherever they must go.

He greets the others with a silent, gracious nod of the head, carefully studying their reactions to his black scaly skin, serpentine eyes and forked tongue. People tend to have a range of responses to having a Yuan-ti in their midst... So, Visham is ever-vigilant to assess where he might stand with each new person he meets.

He listens to Silvane's words with great interest...

His serpentine tongue flaps out involuntarily to taste the air at the mention of "Soulmonger"... What enlightenment might be achieved by studying such a powerful necromatic artifact... He hardly has a chance to contemplate it when he hears mention of Chult.

At the sound of that word, his heart skips a beat.

That place. Homeland of his people... yet as foreign to him as it is to any of these fellow adventurers. Why does his path lead him there? What will he find? Why is he afraid?

His nerves buzz. He doesn't like it. He wants to leave. He wants to turn his focus away from Chult... away from the Death Curse... away from The Long Death... all of it... He thinks, if only he could calm himself by sinking a blade into living flesh right now... That would calm his buzzing nerves, he tells himself...

But that is not the way... And he knows it.

The moment of panic subsides.

He takes a breath. Centers himself. Releases the impulse. Focuses on his breath. His environment. His companions. And the remarkable journey they're about to undertake.

The big tortle peers down, his eyes widening in delight.

"Oh, hey... Dirtbrain! Mebbe? Don't think the rest of these look like much of a crew..."

He extends his bottle to clink with the scrappy little goblin.

Yabo is a bit surprised when the gnome calls them all friends, but shrugs. If she wants to be friends, that's fine by him. Most folk would rather be his friend, he's found.

"Hullo Petra. I'm Yabo."

He's a bit thrown by her extensive dialogue and manners, and half starts to stand up to bow, before sitting back down and settling on an awkward bob of the head in her direction.

"Everyone is now here, wonderful," says Silvane as Visham enters the room. To Agaredhel she replies, "No. This is not a secret all. In fact, the more people who are able to help the better. There are Harpers operating in Chult, but their numbers are few and spread out. I have gathered you all here because I believe in the tenacity of adventurers, having been one myself. It is true that you all may not be as experienced as a Harper, but I believe grit and determination are even more important, and those are two qualities all of you here possess."

"I would not expect you to take on such a dangerous mission without promise of a reward," continues Silvane. "From my many journeys as an adventurer, I have assembled quite the collection of magical items. I will gift a magical item to each of you as payment for seeing this job through. As far as other treasures and riches go, the jungles of Chult are known to hold quite a many treasures, and it is likely you will encounter such riches that will keep you amply supplied with gold."

Syndra Silvane retrieves a furled scroll from the desk and holds it up. "If everyone is ready, I have acquired this scroll that will Teleport us to Port Nyanzaru in the blink of an eye."

With the tortle's response, Dirtbrain does another scan of the room, looking at the others.  'Huh. Yea, I'm not sure if any of the others could be sailors,' she thinks. With the last newcomer, she looks him over with interest. She can't help but find the scales, eyes, and forked tongue intriguing.  She finds herself moving her own tongue around inside her mouth, contemplating what it would be like to have a forked tongue. 

A bit distracted, it takes her a moment to catch on to what all Silvane had to say. "So, no ship?" Dirtbrain says first. It's less an actual question, and more just her processing her thoughts outloud. "You mean for me to go find this Soul... thing? Us, I mean."  She pauses, again looking around at the others. "I mean, I don't mind. it'd be fun to get to know all of you. But all we get is some magic things? I mean, you're not even saying what sort of magic thing."  Dirtbrain had never really had much use for magic things. 

Visham, observing Syndra's withered state once again returns to his meditation... Can there be death without suffering? 

He will wait patiently, watching the others and searching for an opportunity to speak privately to Silvane. If the opportunity presents itself, he will ask her what it felt like to cross through the veil of death before... and what she expects to experience upon her inevitable return.

...but, of course, if the opportunity doesn't present itself, the yuan-ti will simply follow the others in accommodating silence, tasting the air, trying to take his read on the other members.

Agaredhel strikes him as haughty but competent... With allegiances that extend beyond this mission. That's a liability... but only if those allegiances conflict with the task at hand. Whether they do remains to be seen...

Dirtbrain makes the yuan-ti smile in spite of himself. That is good. She seems to relish life. That is also good. She'll be a fine, if unpredictable, traveling companion.

Visham also senses the potential for kinship in Yabo. He finds himself endeared to the tortle's simple manner and familiar discomfort around the finery that surrounds them. Visham makes mental not to learn more about this fellow.

Petra strikes Visham as a useful ally. Dealing with her verbosity seems a small price to pay for her deep well of knowledge. He, himself, has never been to Candlekeep, but he understands its reputation. He wonders if the deep gnome's knowledge extends to the philosophical and metaphysical. He's interested to know what insights she might hold about the nature of death in her keen mind.

He seems pleased with each of these traveling companions, but his eyes keep returning to Morax... There's something about the dragonborn. A "professional" familiarity. Visham wonders if their paths have crossed before... because if they have, they were almost certainly on opposite sides of the law. Visham hopes it won't be an issue.

Whenever the others are ready, Visham will join them in teleporting to the destiny that lies ahead...

Petra smiles at Yabo. "A pleasure, Yabo. All of you. I look forward to working with you."

Her eyebrow raises at mention of a magic item. "Oh? Well, in that case, color me intrigued. I'm sure someone with your reputation has collected quite the menagerie of trinkets. If - Dirtbrain, was it? - If Dirtbrain does not want their magic item, I will gladly take it," Petra half-jokes. "I've settled all my accounts here on the Coast, so I am ready to leave right away. And worry not, comrades. Though a diminutive scholar I may be, I also bring my arcane prowess to this metaphorical table. I'm also no stranger to overland travel. I won't be a burden."

Agaredhel began to rise when given permission to share the information, and continued doing so while that option was foreclosed with the Teleport scroll. How was he to send word to the High Mages, if they intended to teleport all of them there at this moment? "Can I... can I ask you to send a message on my behalf, then? I was sent here to find information, and report back if and when I have it." Why were they in such a hurry? Sending unprepared and inexperienced adventurers into the heart of danger was unwise, and would likely not result in the curse being lifted sooner. It made more sense to contact the elven high mages - preeminent arcanists on this world - and then simply provide what support was needed. Were they just young and impatient? He reminded himself that he was probably the oldest in the room. "I have no magical way of contacting Evermeet. If you do, simply tell them what you just told us. I'm sure they'll handle the rest."

Morax bends down and gives Dirtbrain a good, strong handshake.  “Well met.  A pleasure.”  He lifts his glass in a toast.  Then he turns to listen about the Death Curse, and the Soulmonger.  His eyebrow goes up when he sees the others arrive, taking silent note of their names, nodding to each, listening to each and making notes to himself.  “Yabo and Dirtbrain, crewing a ship together again?  Hmmmm…”.  He nods as Petra speaks, having the very same thoughts.   “Chult is rather a large place, look at the sheer amount of territory to be covered on the map.” he says, slipping out of his mouth.  Then he hears of the teleport spell, just saying as he blinks, “Oh my….” 

He is pleased to meet everyone and he looks forward to this upcoming adventure of a lifetime, there is only one thing that keeps tickling the back of his brain.  His eyes keep glancing over to Visham, thinking to himself, “Yuan-ti, what was that bounty I heard of, a murder series that a Yuan-ti was the suspect… am I wrong?  Why can’t I remember the details of that…”. It will keep bugging him for sure.  But in the meantime, he smiles and raises his glass to him in convivial manner, meeting his eyes and holding them for a moment or two longer..

Before they are spirited away, Morax asks their gracious host, “Might I, perhaps, have one of these maps of Chult, if we are headed there?  It could provide a help to us… and a magical item!  Oho!  Why yes, please!”  

Silvane turns to Agaredhel. "I will be accompanying you to Chult but will remain in Port Nyanzaru as I am now too frail to be of much help in the field I'm afraid. However, I will have my butler send word immediately to Evermeet. If the High Mages are able to assist, I would gladly welcome their aid. However, time is short, and many have already tried and failed to find the source of the death curse. I fear it eludes even the shrewdest of wizards. That is why I have called upon you all. You may believe this is a quest only the high and mighty, someone like Elminster Aumar, could complete. Perhaps that is true, but I am not above trying everything in my power to end this curse."

Silvane regards each of you, but her mask makes it impossible to read the expression on her face. "Each of you is imbued with different gifts, different powers. You come from a variety of backgrounds, a variety of races. This is no coincidence. It is this breadth of knowledge and experience that I believe may be the key to solving the death curse."

After this short speech, Silvane summons the butler back to the room and relays instructions to him to send a message to Evermeet with all haste. Then she unfurls the scroll. "Prepare yourselves. This can be a little disorienting," she warns.

Suddenly, you feel magic surge into the room. It buzzes along your skin or scales, and then there is a flash of blinding light. For a moment you feel as if you are falling, but your feet remain on solid ground. When your eyes adjust, you are no longer in Silvane's study but somewhere entirely different...

Welcome to Port Nyanzaru!

Visham takes a few steps back, steadying himself after the disorienting teleportation.

Without the slightest hint of self-consciousness, his eyes grow wide and his mouth falls slightly open at all that he sees. The contrast is stark as a slight, almost childlike innocence passes over his face. Occasionally his tongue flicks out, tasting the air around him, but he says and does nothing, just takes it all in.

'If she doesn't want...'  The words from Petra had been rolling through her head. 'If it's my magic item, then I'm going to get it!' she thinks.  'How could she just take my magic item!?'  And thus, Dirtbrain was perhaps a bit distracted when the conversation had concluded.  All she knew was that something was happening.  She tried to look about but was blinded, then felt the buzzing along her skin - 'that's an interesting sensation' she thought, wondering if she liked it or not.  Then the floor seemed to vanish, but it hadn't. 

Her eyes widened as she took in the sights. The sounds of a harbor came to her first. "Ah! We are going to find a ship!" she exclaimed.  But then she saw the colors and people, took in the smells, and heard the sounds.  "This place is great!"  She was almost jumping, taking one step in one direction, then turning and taking three steps in another direction. "We've gotta check this out! Where are we going to go first?"  

She excitedly looks about at the group that has arrived with her. "Yabo! Do you see this place?"  For a moment the task at hand was forgotten. But she soon remembered. "Ok. What'd we need to do?"