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Story Hour
DM Brainiac's Prison of the Firebringer (Updated 12/21/05)
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<blockquote data-quote="ltclnlbrain" data-source="post: 1485436" data-attributes="member: 12882"><p><strong>Chapter 1</strong></p><p></p><p>Chapter 1</p><p></p><p>Silverymoon, the Gem of the North, is a legendary city skirting the Savage Frontier; a beacon of culture and civilization shining forth from some of Faerun's most dangerous and uncivilized lands. Its beautiful architecture, ranging from the vaulted steeples of the city's many temples to the gilded domes of the palace itself, draws comparisons to some of the greatest living cities of Faerun, and even to cities long since passed into dust and ruin. But Allanon Harpell was not interested in the fancy construction work this day. He was late. </p><p></p><p>Allanon hurried through the city toward the offices of the Three Shields Coster merchant company, holding the hem of his robe up so as not to trip on it. The call had gone out for adventurers to investigate the disappearance of one of the company’s caravans, and the promised excitement and reward had appealed to the mage’s wanderlust and desire for adventure. Unfortunately, he had slept in late today, head still buzzing from the previous night’s drink and his dalliance with his lover, Deirdriel Elethneril. Now he hoped to Mystra that he hadn’t missed the meeting.</p><p></p><p>After a few more minutes, the mage breathed a sigh of relief as he finally came upon the offices of the merchant company. Pausing momentarily to catch his breath, he stepped inside and asked the clerk to direct him to the office of Merik Thornridge, the owner of the Three Shields Coster. Knocking softly on the door, a tall man in fancy clothes and with a modestly large paunch of a gut greeted him.</p><p></p><p>“You made it just in time,” said the man, Thornridge. “I was just about to explain the situation. Come in.”</p><p></p><p>Smiling sheepishly, Allanon entered the office and looked around at the other occupants. They were all adventurers by the look of them, quietly sipping on water or reclining on couches. The first was a human man in brown robes, also a mage of some sort judging by the pouches of spell components on his belt and the intelligent gleam in his eyes. The second was a tall elf, dressed in fine clothes and sporting a single rapier by his side and a large bow on his back. The third was a man in fine clothing with a green hooded cloak, though there seemed to be something otherworldly about him. His eyes were steel gray touched with gold, and his black hair shoulder length, with a streak of gold in it. He carried a strange staff shaped in the likeness of a gold dragon, and a holy symbol of Torm rested on his neck. The final person was a small Halfling woman clad in normal clothing with a wicked-looking spiked chain coiled at her belt and a fierce purpose and determination in her eyes.</p><p></p><p>Taking a seat on one of the couches, Allanon listened as Thornridge began his tale of woe.</p><p></p><p>“The latest caravan from Nesme is three days late now, and I fear the worst. It was carrying bolts of Tethyrian brocade and casks of Tashalan wine and was bound to Silverymoon along the Surbrin Way. There have been numerous reports of bandit activity in the vicinity; why, not more then a tenday ago, a pair of wagons belonging to the Silver Blade Coster disappeared as well! We had hired some adventurers as added protection for our shipment, but apparently they weren't enough.”</p><p></p><p>"I will pay you each 5,000 gold pieces if you find out what happened to the caravan and eliminate these dangerous bandits from the area. If you follow the Surbrin Way west from town, hopefully you will come across some evidence of the fate of the caravan.”</p><p></p><p>Frowning in thought, the brown-robed mage spoke. “That seems an extravagant reward for some errant wine. Before sending out some of the best people in their field to investigate, I would have guessed that other information gathering parties had been sent. Has this been done? Why kill a fly with a catapult?"</p><p></p><p>It was now Merik’s turn to frown. "Yes, well, that is the problem, you see. We have hired wizards to cast scrying spells on the caravan, but all of them have met with failure. This has lead us to believe that some sort of greater power is blocking their attempts. We fear that the one powerful enough to do this may be behind the bandit menace, which is why the danger level on this mission is higher then normal. Indeed, the wine is not of much value compared to the payment we are offering. But if these attacks continue unhindered, the revenue we will be losing will be much more than the reward. Thus, the increased pay.”</p><p></p><p>"But I'm sure it will not be too dangerous for such august personages as yourselves," Thornridge added, smiling.</p><p></p><p>The mage nodded with a knowing smile. “Fine, fine. I will need a map of the trade route used and where the attacks occurred. Were any of the bodies recovered from the attacks?"</p><p></p><p>Merik handed Terenon a map of the Surbrin Way, a farily direct road that followed the River Surbrin and connects Nesme in the west to Silverymoon at its eastern end. Towards the center of the route, another road branched northward, passing between the Lurkwood and the Frost Hills.</p><p></p><p>"We have not sent any parties out to search for the caravans yet, for we fear to risk our own people against the bandits. You should find evidence of their passage somewhere along the Surbrin Way. The northern road leads to an abandoned vale where the Dungeon of the Ruins sits. It is an old wizard's college that was destroyed centuries ago. Many adventurers have met their fate in those ruins, but none have ventured there for nearly twenty years now.”</p><p></p><p>The mage examined the map, with the others looking on. “This will do fine sir,” he said. “I shall go investigate.” With that, he stood up and left the office. The other assembled adventurers looked on in surprise as he walked out. There will still some questions they wished to ask, and they had assumed they would be working together, and were quite startled by the man’s seeming disregard for them.</p><p></p><p>“Poor guy,” the elf remarked. “He's probably going to get himself killed when he walks right into the bandit camp.”</p><p></p><p>The cleric merely shrugged and turned his attention to Thornridge. “Why are you asking for our help and not the local officials?” he asked. “I understand your desire to replace your losses but it does tend to make it look a bit unofficial, does it not? Also, what do you know about that wizard’s college?”</p><p></p><p>"Well, this is only the first caravan that we have lost contact with,” replied Thornridge. “And the Silver Blade Coster hasn't lost any of their shipments since the first one a tenday ago, so the officials don't believe it is much of a threat as of yet. But I fear that the attacks will only escalate if we do nothing, which is why I have come to you.”</p><p></p><p>"I'm afraid I don't know too much about the old college. Most of the adventurers didn't find too much of interest in the ruins, besides the usual monsters and squatters that inhabit such places. Nobody has been there recently, though, so I don't know the current state of affairs.”</p><p></p><p>The halfling lass, who had been sitting quietly up until this point, suddenly spoke up. “And what protection have you offered the halfling communities in the area”, she demanded crossly. “I’ve heard tell of at least three incidents of bandits harassing my people within the last week, and what has been done about it, I ask you? I don’t care about your money, but something has to be done or many innocents will suffer”, she concluded, settling back in a huff.</p><p></p><p>Thornridge held out his hands to appease her. "I am sorry, lass, but we have enough problems looking after and running our own company to be worried about the halflings. No offense meant, of course. I will say, though, that the Rivermoot and the other halfling settlements in the area are along the Surbrin Way, so it seems that our problem and your problem is the same. You do not have to accept the reward, if you wish; it is merely an offer."</p><p></p><p>The blonde elf had been sitting casually, listening to the caravan master's problem, but now he sat up.</p><p></p><p>"5,000 is not really up to my usual fees, but I’ll make an exception this time--as long as we get to keep whatever we find on this mission as well,” he said with a smile. Seeing the caravan master’s answering nod, he then turned to the others in the room.</p><p></p><p>“Since we are going to be paid the same, might as well band together and try to solve this problem without draining too much of our own resources. My name is Grundar, and you can count on me in a fight as well as my trusty rapier, Wynona."</p><p></p><p>Grundar gently stroked the handle of his rapier, a finely crafted weapon with small crystals lining the handle, an intricate gold cage and quillons design topped off with a large ruby pommel.</p><p></p><p>The halfling just shrugged at Grundar’s suggestion. “It makes more sense than striking out on your own, you can’t collect the reward if you’re dead”, she said to him with a grin.</p><p></p><p> “Well met, Grundar,” replied the cleric, rising from his seat. “I'm Rhys Thurn, priest of Torm. No offense to Wynona, but I'd rather trust in you,” he said, pointing at Grundar's chest. </p><p></p><p>Grundar smiled. “Don’t you worry, priest. Nothing separates Wynona and me.”</p><p></p><p>“You misunderstand, Grundar,” replied Rhys. “It's not your passion for Wynona that I doubt, but your heart. That is the most important element of a man when it's wielded.” Turning toward the halfling, Rhys continued, "Greetings to you as well, madame halfling. I will help eliminate the bandits and help your community, but I urge you not to ignore the money. It can be used to help those who have suffered from the raids.”</p><p></p><p>The halfling frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose you’re right at that; I shouldn’t turn down anything that could help them”, she admitted, nodding in agreement.</p><p></p><p>Gauging the value of joining this expedition, Allanon finally spoke up. "You can't expect merchants to help anybody for free, dear,” he said, smiling at the halfling. “If it is this important to you, I'm sure we can sidetrack a bit and check up on the villages on the way to defeat the bandits."</p><p></p><p>"As for joining forces, it's the only way to travel. New friends are the finest reward of any adventure. Anyhow, I'm Allanon Harpell, a member of Longsaddle's famous Harpell family. Nice to meet all of you."</p><p></p><p>The halfling smiled at Allanon’s suggestion, moving up to shake hands with him. “I’m Gillian Lightfoot, though my friends call me Gil,” she introduced herself. “I’m not sure if we’re friends yet, but at least you boys show some sense,” she added with a laugh.</p><p></p><p>“I’m in,” she told Merik, turning back to face him. “Do you have another map, or should we just follow the carrion birds that will be circling about yon madman’s head?” she asked, gesturing towards the door the brown-robed mage just walked out of.</p><p></p><p>Thornridge handed Gillian another copy of the map. Allanon shook Thornridge’s hand to close the deal, and then glanced around the room. “Well, I guess we’re off then?”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ltclnlbrain, post: 1485436, member: 12882"] [b]Chapter 1[/b] Chapter 1 Silverymoon, the Gem of the North, is a legendary city skirting the Savage Frontier; a beacon of culture and civilization shining forth from some of Faerun's most dangerous and uncivilized lands. Its beautiful architecture, ranging from the vaulted steeples of the city's many temples to the gilded domes of the palace itself, draws comparisons to some of the greatest living cities of Faerun, and even to cities long since passed into dust and ruin. But Allanon Harpell was not interested in the fancy construction work this day. He was late. Allanon hurried through the city toward the offices of the Three Shields Coster merchant company, holding the hem of his robe up so as not to trip on it. The call had gone out for adventurers to investigate the disappearance of one of the company’s caravans, and the promised excitement and reward had appealed to the mage’s wanderlust and desire for adventure. Unfortunately, he had slept in late today, head still buzzing from the previous night’s drink and his dalliance with his lover, Deirdriel Elethneril. Now he hoped to Mystra that he hadn’t missed the meeting. After a few more minutes, the mage breathed a sigh of relief as he finally came upon the offices of the merchant company. Pausing momentarily to catch his breath, he stepped inside and asked the clerk to direct him to the office of Merik Thornridge, the owner of the Three Shields Coster. Knocking softly on the door, a tall man in fancy clothes and with a modestly large paunch of a gut greeted him. “You made it just in time,” said the man, Thornridge. “I was just about to explain the situation. Come in.” Smiling sheepishly, Allanon entered the office and looked around at the other occupants. They were all adventurers by the look of them, quietly sipping on water or reclining on couches. The first was a human man in brown robes, also a mage of some sort judging by the pouches of spell components on his belt and the intelligent gleam in his eyes. The second was a tall elf, dressed in fine clothes and sporting a single rapier by his side and a large bow on his back. The third was a man in fine clothing with a green hooded cloak, though there seemed to be something otherworldly about him. His eyes were steel gray touched with gold, and his black hair shoulder length, with a streak of gold in it. He carried a strange staff shaped in the likeness of a gold dragon, and a holy symbol of Torm rested on his neck. The final person was a small Halfling woman clad in normal clothing with a wicked-looking spiked chain coiled at her belt and a fierce purpose and determination in her eyes. Taking a seat on one of the couches, Allanon listened as Thornridge began his tale of woe. “The latest caravan from Nesme is three days late now, and I fear the worst. It was carrying bolts of Tethyrian brocade and casks of Tashalan wine and was bound to Silverymoon along the Surbrin Way. There have been numerous reports of bandit activity in the vicinity; why, not more then a tenday ago, a pair of wagons belonging to the Silver Blade Coster disappeared as well! We had hired some adventurers as added protection for our shipment, but apparently they weren't enough.” "I will pay you each 5,000 gold pieces if you find out what happened to the caravan and eliminate these dangerous bandits from the area. If you follow the Surbrin Way west from town, hopefully you will come across some evidence of the fate of the caravan.” Frowning in thought, the brown-robed mage spoke. “That seems an extravagant reward for some errant wine. Before sending out some of the best people in their field to investigate, I would have guessed that other information gathering parties had been sent. Has this been done? Why kill a fly with a catapult?" It was now Merik’s turn to frown. "Yes, well, that is the problem, you see. We have hired wizards to cast scrying spells on the caravan, but all of them have met with failure. This has lead us to believe that some sort of greater power is blocking their attempts. We fear that the one powerful enough to do this may be behind the bandit menace, which is why the danger level on this mission is higher then normal. Indeed, the wine is not of much value compared to the payment we are offering. But if these attacks continue unhindered, the revenue we will be losing will be much more than the reward. Thus, the increased pay.” "But I'm sure it will not be too dangerous for such august personages as yourselves," Thornridge added, smiling. The mage nodded with a knowing smile. “Fine, fine. I will need a map of the trade route used and where the attacks occurred. Were any of the bodies recovered from the attacks?" Merik handed Terenon a map of the Surbrin Way, a farily direct road that followed the River Surbrin and connects Nesme in the west to Silverymoon at its eastern end. Towards the center of the route, another road branched northward, passing between the Lurkwood and the Frost Hills. "We have not sent any parties out to search for the caravans yet, for we fear to risk our own people against the bandits. You should find evidence of their passage somewhere along the Surbrin Way. The northern road leads to an abandoned vale where the Dungeon of the Ruins sits. It is an old wizard's college that was destroyed centuries ago. Many adventurers have met their fate in those ruins, but none have ventured there for nearly twenty years now.” The mage examined the map, with the others looking on. “This will do fine sir,” he said. “I shall go investigate.” With that, he stood up and left the office. The other assembled adventurers looked on in surprise as he walked out. There will still some questions they wished to ask, and they had assumed they would be working together, and were quite startled by the man’s seeming disregard for them. “Poor guy,” the elf remarked. “He's probably going to get himself killed when he walks right into the bandit camp.” The cleric merely shrugged and turned his attention to Thornridge. “Why are you asking for our help and not the local officials?” he asked. “I understand your desire to replace your losses but it does tend to make it look a bit unofficial, does it not? Also, what do you know about that wizard’s college?” "Well, this is only the first caravan that we have lost contact with,” replied Thornridge. “And the Silver Blade Coster hasn't lost any of their shipments since the first one a tenday ago, so the officials don't believe it is much of a threat as of yet. But I fear that the attacks will only escalate if we do nothing, which is why I have come to you.” "I'm afraid I don't know too much about the old college. Most of the adventurers didn't find too much of interest in the ruins, besides the usual monsters and squatters that inhabit such places. Nobody has been there recently, though, so I don't know the current state of affairs.” The halfling lass, who had been sitting quietly up until this point, suddenly spoke up. “And what protection have you offered the halfling communities in the area”, she demanded crossly. “I’ve heard tell of at least three incidents of bandits harassing my people within the last week, and what has been done about it, I ask you? I don’t care about your money, but something has to be done or many innocents will suffer”, she concluded, settling back in a huff. Thornridge held out his hands to appease her. "I am sorry, lass, but we have enough problems looking after and running our own company to be worried about the halflings. No offense meant, of course. I will say, though, that the Rivermoot and the other halfling settlements in the area are along the Surbrin Way, so it seems that our problem and your problem is the same. You do not have to accept the reward, if you wish; it is merely an offer." The blonde elf had been sitting casually, listening to the caravan master's problem, but now he sat up. "5,000 is not really up to my usual fees, but I’ll make an exception this time--as long as we get to keep whatever we find on this mission as well,” he said with a smile. Seeing the caravan master’s answering nod, he then turned to the others in the room. “Since we are going to be paid the same, might as well band together and try to solve this problem without draining too much of our own resources. My name is Grundar, and you can count on me in a fight as well as my trusty rapier, Wynona." Grundar gently stroked the handle of his rapier, a finely crafted weapon with small crystals lining the handle, an intricate gold cage and quillons design topped off with a large ruby pommel. The halfling just shrugged at Grundar’s suggestion. “It makes more sense than striking out on your own, you can’t collect the reward if you’re dead”, she said to him with a grin. “Well met, Grundar,” replied the cleric, rising from his seat. “I'm Rhys Thurn, priest of Torm. No offense to Wynona, but I'd rather trust in you,” he said, pointing at Grundar's chest. Grundar smiled. “Don’t you worry, priest. Nothing separates Wynona and me.” “You misunderstand, Grundar,” replied Rhys. “It's not your passion for Wynona that I doubt, but your heart. That is the most important element of a man when it's wielded.” Turning toward the halfling, Rhys continued, "Greetings to you as well, madame halfling. I will help eliminate the bandits and help your community, but I urge you not to ignore the money. It can be used to help those who have suffered from the raids.” The halfling frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose you’re right at that; I shouldn’t turn down anything that could help them”, she admitted, nodding in agreement. Gauging the value of joining this expedition, Allanon finally spoke up. "You can't expect merchants to help anybody for free, dear,” he said, smiling at the halfling. “If it is this important to you, I'm sure we can sidetrack a bit and check up on the villages on the way to defeat the bandits." "As for joining forces, it's the only way to travel. New friends are the finest reward of any adventure. Anyhow, I'm Allanon Harpell, a member of Longsaddle's famous Harpell family. Nice to meet all of you." The halfling smiled at Allanon’s suggestion, moving up to shake hands with him. “I’m Gillian Lightfoot, though my friends call me Gil,” she introduced herself. “I’m not sure if we’re friends yet, but at least you boys show some sense,” she added with a laugh. “I’m in,” she told Merik, turning back to face him. “Do you have another map, or should we just follow the carrion birds that will be circling about yon madman’s head?” she asked, gesturing towards the door the brown-robed mage just walked out of. Thornridge handed Gillian another copy of the map. Allanon shook Thornridge’s hand to close the deal, and then glanced around the room. “Well, I guess we’re off then?” [/QUOTE]
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