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Journal of the Souls of Legend (completed)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 7513300" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p><strong>...to a Blexburgh</strong></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">…to a Blexburgh</p> <p style="text-align: center"></p><p><em>First impressions sometimes get to the heart of things, before you start wasting time trying to rationalize why you disagree with your gut. But everyone makes a bad call here and there. It’s when you are in total denial and not listening to anything, ever, is where you need to stop thinking about it so hard.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p></p><p>That’s it. No hyenas running through the camp. No marauding packs of gnolls. No excitement. </p><p>Staring into the darkness and listening to hyenas wasn’t exciting. By the time that my watch ended, the noises from the hyenas had faded away to nothing, and only the sounds of insects and pops from the fire remained. Which was a surprise to me, as the one thing I was dreading, was listening to “Beeepooo” all night.</p><p></p><p>But the owl was quiet the entire time. It wasn’t asleep at all, as its head turned often, but it didn’t utter a sound. This was different than during the day, where it always was making noise. I knew it was a familiar, but I didn’t know how you went about and got one or how they work. So maybe it’s noises meant something, and at night it had no reason to make any. </p><p></p><p>So, the only time it did make that noise, “Beeppoo” it just pivoted its head looking at me, and then towards the two humans. Considering that there wasn’t a clock anywhere, this was very helpful. I moved back into the circle where the others slept, reached down and touched the Knight. He was a light sleeper and woke with a start. He turned his head trying to locate me in the darkness.</p><p></p><p>“Shhh. Nothing is going on…but it’s your turn,” I whispered.</p><p></p><p>He blinked and following the sound of my voice looked in my direction and nodded. “Quiet and dark, guess I can’t ask for more than that. Daneath up yet?”</p><p></p><p>“No, started with you,” I said, moving towards the Tinman. “Been quiet and dark for a while; no howling anymore.”</p><p></p><p>“Great…could use more light now though. Can’t even see the wood we had stacked up.”</p><p></p><p>“I can help with that,” I pulled out a greenie out of my pouch, and with a quick flexing of my mind, no more effort than blinking my eyes I felt the rush up my back, and a golden light burst from the coin. I then held it out to the Knight.</p><p></p><p>He was blinking looking at me, “What the…was that real?”</p><p></p><p>“The light? As real as the next hour is.”</p><p></p><p>“No…the wings…wait they’re gone. I did see them…right?”</p><p></p><p>I shrug, “Ghostly, not quite there wings. I know they appear when I make a light, but not other times. I guess it’s a hidden gift from my father.”</p><p></p><p>“Beepu said you were related to angels…I thought it was his idea of pulling one over my eyes.”</p><p>I chuckle, “No…I don’t think that’s in his spellbook. He and I talked earlier. I’m an Aasimar…so yeah part angel. You can…cover that coin with a cloth or bag to hide the light if you need. I’ll let you wake him up,” pointing at the Tinman.</p><p></p><p>I then moved over to where my bedroll was and laid down and covered myself with the wool. I put my head down, and I could feel the exhaustion catching up with me.</p><p></p><p>“Wait, who’s your father?”</p><p></p><p>“Heaven knows,” I mutter sleepily, and I drift off into sleep.</p><p></p><p>---</p><p></p><p>I awoke in terror sitting upright with my hand at my throat. My breathing was labored once again. Familiar territory. Familiar fear. And just as familiar, no memory.</p><p></p><p>Actually, I’m not sure I want to remember. Considering I’ve had nightmares for years now. </p><p></p><p>I just want them to stop.</p><p></p><p>“Well I guess I do not need to wake you up,” the overly cheery voice of the Fingerpainter quipped.</p><p>I sigh, trying to pull myself together, “No. I’m quite awake. Now.” I stretched and pulled myself out of the bedroll.</p><p></p><p>“Well as a nice surprise nothing happened. And as I told you before, Foggle could have easily done all the watches for us.”</p><p></p><p>I looked at the owl and then at the Fingerpainter, “You’ve got a Tanar’ri’s chance in Nessus of that happening.”</p><p></p><p>The gnome’s brow furrowed, and his eyes darted back and forth, his mouth silently mouthing words. Finally, he turned his head to look at me. </p><p></p><p>“So…no then?”</p><p></p><p>---</p><p></p><p>For the next day and a half, it was marching. My calves and hamstrings burned the entire way. We didn’t talk much as I recall. I don’t remember much about the road or the hills or anything. The intervening night was as uneventful and as was the morning.</p><p></p><p>Finally, we arrived. The road came around a hill and I could finally see the destination. Yartar was a bit larger than Triboar. It was situated on a hill where a pair of rivers blended into a third. The town had a wall surrounding it, and it appeared to be tiered. The top tier had some sort of estate at the top, and there was a broad second tier with stone buildings. This overlooked a broad third tier of wooden buildings visible above the surrounding wall. This was my second impression. The first impression hit me hard and my eyes widened, as the breeze blew from the town and towards us. </p><p></p><p>The smell was overpowering. It was a mixture of rotten fish, oils, urine and fouled water. The only thing I didn’t smell was brimstone, which was in the background of all the smells in Sigil. The sources of the smells were clusters of buildings along the banks of the river, downstream from the city. Docks were anchored just outside the walls, and large number of barges were docked, and even then, the docks were only a third full.</p><p></p><p>It was a Blexburgh. I was underwhelmed at the site and smell. I only hoped that this plane had more to offer than this city. </p><p></p><p>The smell wasn’t lost on the others as well. </p><p></p><p>“Wow…I thought that the docks in Waterdeep smelled bad.” The Knight remarked, pulling a cloth over his nose.</p><p></p><p>“Ah, that smell is from the tanneries downstream from Yartar. Making leather is a nasty business, best out of sight and out of nasal distance.” The Fingerpainter said matter of factly.</p><p></p><p>“I just hope its downwind.” Our Knight replied.</p><p></p><p>“Well we can hope. But, where are we going now that we are here?” I asked.</p><p></p><p>“I can find us a place once we get in the gates,” the Knight said.</p><p></p><p>“You’ve been here before?” the Tinman turned and looked at him.</p><p></p><p>“No, but I can find my way around.”</p><p></p><p>I put up my cowl of my cloak and tucked in my hair again. Soon we found ourselves crossing the Surbrin river bridge and were walking towards the gate. Unlike Triboar, there were actually guards standing around the gate. Or rather, leaning near it. They seemed uninterested in us, or in anything in particular. As we were approaching, a heavily loaded wagon had pulled in front of us from a road leading north, with an armed escort. Leading it was a man dressed in leathers, and a pair of swords hanging from belts. The guards, where they were bored before, stood more alert and watched as the wagon entered the gates. But they didn’t stop or question the man, or the drovers. In fact, they seemed almost apprehensive. But as soon as the wagon entered the gate, they resumed their relaxed postures and ignored our small band, as well as the other people wandering in.</p><p></p><p>The main thoroughfare wandered into the city and between the walls and the fact that the tanners were downstream the noxious smell became much more tolerable. But what caught my eye, was that there were dark sailcloth banners overhead, stretching across the road. Many of the smaller shops on either side, also had a mixture of dark and white toned cloth. It certainly felt that the town was getting ready to celebrate the strange holiday they called the Hate Night.</p><p></p><p>We finally reached an open market. Here among the customary goods of fish and leather were specialty vendors offering something for the occasion. Everyone seemed to have feathered masks for sale. Several were offering cheaply dyed cloth for decoration. Street urchins were hawking flowers dipped into dark paints, creating what looked to almost macabre bouquets. Everyone had something to sell for the occasion, as long as it was generally dark, and framed with light colors.</p><p></p><p>The market sat roughly in the middle of the lowest of the three tiers of the city. Most of the folk that had entered the town with us at the gate now started to separate and conduct business. But the wagon that we followed did not stop. In fact, several of the caravan guards were actively pushing commoners away from…whatever they were carrying. The wagon continued through and started to move upwards toward another gate leading to the next tier.</p><p></p><p>At this point the Fingerpainter spoke up, “Well the assault on my nose has been stopped. So,” and he turned to look at the Knight, “Where is it you propose we stay and plan out our next steps. That, and food. Yes food is in order, after those trail rations almost anything would be welcome.”</p><p></p><p>“Almost,” I said absently as I looked around at the stalls and goods. “Probably should see when the party is too.”</p><p></p><p>“Party? Is that terribly important compared to our journey?” the gnome asked archly.</p><p></p><p>“Only if you want to buy supplies from a hung-over merchant; might get better deals from someone nursing a headache.” I remarked.</p><p></p><p>“Hang around a moment, I’ll be right back,” the Knight said as he dove into the throng of merchants and shoppers.</p><p></p><p>“…and I guess we wait here.” I said.</p><p></p><p>The Tinman shrugged and was then quickly mobbed by several merchants trying to sell him cloth wraps for his scabbard for the coming occasion. Since we were on the edge of the marketplace, I just moved to find a nearby wall and waited. I really wanted to shop and look around. But the amount of jink in my pouch was only getting lower and I didn’t want to give in to temptation. Fortunately, the other two were getting the most attention from the merchants, and for the moment they didn’t give me a second glance.</p><p></p><p>It wasn’t long before the Knight returned and motioned us to follow him. We quickly cut through the center of the market and entered what looked to be a poorer neighborhood than the ones we had passed earlier. He quickly navigated us down some narrow streets, and then to even narrower alleys. I was beginning to believe he was either barmy or lost or perhaps both, when he came to a small set of stairs leading down to what appeared to be a cellar behind a building. On the wall on the building was a worn sign with dark letters:</p><p></p><p><strong><p style="text-align: center">‘The Lusty Bard’</p><p></strong></p><p>“Here?” the Fingerpainter exclaimed. “This is a bit off from the main streets and such. Why this particular place?”</p><p></p><p>“I’m with him on this,” I said, “I mean, I’m ok with cheap lodgings, but this smells like a den of cony catchers.”</p><p></p><p>The three look at me blankly.</p><p></p><p>“I mean a den of…spi…er, well knights of the p…um…”</p><p></p><p>The blank looks continued.</p><p></p><p>“Den of thieves.”</p><p></p><p>All three nod, and our Knight replies, “Exactly.”</p><p></p><p>The Tinman, the Fingerpainter and I, look at him and say, “Why?”</p><p></p><p>He shrugs and says, “Well, it’s a great place for local information, the drinks will be cheap. And besides, what could go wrong?”</p><p></p><p><strong>Session Notes:</strong></p><p></p><p>Funny thing is that after a year, the map that we used for Yartar has gone missing. Even stranger, is while there is an official map of Triboar, there isn’t one of Yartar from WoTC.</p><p></p><p>And as to the Hate Night; we were mystified too.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 7513300, member: 6971069"] [b]...to a Blexburgh[/b] [CENTER]…to a Blexburgh [/CENTER] [I]First impressions sometimes get to the heart of things, before you start wasting time trying to rationalize why you disagree with your gut. But everyone makes a bad call here and there. It’s when you are in total denial and not listening to anything, ever, is where you need to stop thinking about it so hard. [/I] Nothing happened. That’s it. No hyenas running through the camp. No marauding packs of gnolls. No excitement. Staring into the darkness and listening to hyenas wasn’t exciting. By the time that my watch ended, the noises from the hyenas had faded away to nothing, and only the sounds of insects and pops from the fire remained. Which was a surprise to me, as the one thing I was dreading, was listening to “Beeepooo” all night. But the owl was quiet the entire time. It wasn’t asleep at all, as its head turned often, but it didn’t utter a sound. This was different than during the day, where it always was making noise. I knew it was a familiar, but I didn’t know how you went about and got one or how they work. So maybe it’s noises meant something, and at night it had no reason to make any. So, the only time it did make that noise, “Beeppoo” it just pivoted its head looking at me, and then towards the two humans. Considering that there wasn’t a clock anywhere, this was very helpful. I moved back into the circle where the others slept, reached down and touched the Knight. He was a light sleeper and woke with a start. He turned his head trying to locate me in the darkness. “Shhh. Nothing is going on…but it’s your turn,” I whispered. He blinked and following the sound of my voice looked in my direction and nodded. “Quiet and dark, guess I can’t ask for more than that. Daneath up yet?” “No, started with you,” I said, moving towards the Tinman. “Been quiet and dark for a while; no howling anymore.” “Great…could use more light now though. Can’t even see the wood we had stacked up.” “I can help with that,” I pulled out a greenie out of my pouch, and with a quick flexing of my mind, no more effort than blinking my eyes I felt the rush up my back, and a golden light burst from the coin. I then held it out to the Knight. He was blinking looking at me, “What the…was that real?” “The light? As real as the next hour is.” “No…the wings…wait they’re gone. I did see them…right?” I shrug, “Ghostly, not quite there wings. I know they appear when I make a light, but not other times. I guess it’s a hidden gift from my father.” “Beepu said you were related to angels…I thought it was his idea of pulling one over my eyes.” I chuckle, “No…I don’t think that’s in his spellbook. He and I talked earlier. I’m an Aasimar…so yeah part angel. You can…cover that coin with a cloth or bag to hide the light if you need. I’ll let you wake him up,” pointing at the Tinman. I then moved over to where my bedroll was and laid down and covered myself with the wool. I put my head down, and I could feel the exhaustion catching up with me. “Wait, who’s your father?” “Heaven knows,” I mutter sleepily, and I drift off into sleep. --- I awoke in terror sitting upright with my hand at my throat. My breathing was labored once again. Familiar territory. Familiar fear. And just as familiar, no memory. Actually, I’m not sure I want to remember. Considering I’ve had nightmares for years now. I just want them to stop. “Well I guess I do not need to wake you up,” the overly cheery voice of the Fingerpainter quipped. I sigh, trying to pull myself together, “No. I’m quite awake. Now.” I stretched and pulled myself out of the bedroll. “Well as a nice surprise nothing happened. And as I told you before, Foggle could have easily done all the watches for us.” I looked at the owl and then at the Fingerpainter, “You’ve got a Tanar’ri’s chance in Nessus of that happening.” The gnome’s brow furrowed, and his eyes darted back and forth, his mouth silently mouthing words. Finally, he turned his head to look at me. “So…no then?” --- For the next day and a half, it was marching. My calves and hamstrings burned the entire way. We didn’t talk much as I recall. I don’t remember much about the road or the hills or anything. The intervening night was as uneventful and as was the morning. Finally, we arrived. The road came around a hill and I could finally see the destination. Yartar was a bit larger than Triboar. It was situated on a hill where a pair of rivers blended into a third. The town had a wall surrounding it, and it appeared to be tiered. The top tier had some sort of estate at the top, and there was a broad second tier with stone buildings. This overlooked a broad third tier of wooden buildings visible above the surrounding wall. This was my second impression. The first impression hit me hard and my eyes widened, as the breeze blew from the town and towards us. The smell was overpowering. It was a mixture of rotten fish, oils, urine and fouled water. The only thing I didn’t smell was brimstone, which was in the background of all the smells in Sigil. The sources of the smells were clusters of buildings along the banks of the river, downstream from the city. Docks were anchored just outside the walls, and large number of barges were docked, and even then, the docks were only a third full. It was a Blexburgh. I was underwhelmed at the site and smell. I only hoped that this plane had more to offer than this city. The smell wasn’t lost on the others as well. “Wow…I thought that the docks in Waterdeep smelled bad.” The Knight remarked, pulling a cloth over his nose. “Ah, that smell is from the tanneries downstream from Yartar. Making leather is a nasty business, best out of sight and out of nasal distance.” The Fingerpainter said matter of factly. “I just hope its downwind.” Our Knight replied. “Well we can hope. But, where are we going now that we are here?” I asked. “I can find us a place once we get in the gates,” the Knight said. “You’ve been here before?” the Tinman turned and looked at him. “No, but I can find my way around.” I put up my cowl of my cloak and tucked in my hair again. Soon we found ourselves crossing the Surbrin river bridge and were walking towards the gate. Unlike Triboar, there were actually guards standing around the gate. Or rather, leaning near it. They seemed uninterested in us, or in anything in particular. As we were approaching, a heavily loaded wagon had pulled in front of us from a road leading north, with an armed escort. Leading it was a man dressed in leathers, and a pair of swords hanging from belts. The guards, where they were bored before, stood more alert and watched as the wagon entered the gates. But they didn’t stop or question the man, or the drovers. In fact, they seemed almost apprehensive. But as soon as the wagon entered the gate, they resumed their relaxed postures and ignored our small band, as well as the other people wandering in. The main thoroughfare wandered into the city and between the walls and the fact that the tanners were downstream the noxious smell became much more tolerable. But what caught my eye, was that there were dark sailcloth banners overhead, stretching across the road. Many of the smaller shops on either side, also had a mixture of dark and white toned cloth. It certainly felt that the town was getting ready to celebrate the strange holiday they called the Hate Night. We finally reached an open market. Here among the customary goods of fish and leather were specialty vendors offering something for the occasion. Everyone seemed to have feathered masks for sale. Several were offering cheaply dyed cloth for decoration. Street urchins were hawking flowers dipped into dark paints, creating what looked to almost macabre bouquets. Everyone had something to sell for the occasion, as long as it was generally dark, and framed with light colors. The market sat roughly in the middle of the lowest of the three tiers of the city. Most of the folk that had entered the town with us at the gate now started to separate and conduct business. But the wagon that we followed did not stop. In fact, several of the caravan guards were actively pushing commoners away from…whatever they were carrying. The wagon continued through and started to move upwards toward another gate leading to the next tier. At this point the Fingerpainter spoke up, “Well the assault on my nose has been stopped. So,” and he turned to look at the Knight, “Where is it you propose we stay and plan out our next steps. That, and food. Yes food is in order, after those trail rations almost anything would be welcome.” “Almost,” I said absently as I looked around at the stalls and goods. “Probably should see when the party is too.” “Party? Is that terribly important compared to our journey?” the gnome asked archly. “Only if you want to buy supplies from a hung-over merchant; might get better deals from someone nursing a headache.” I remarked. “Hang around a moment, I’ll be right back,” the Knight said as he dove into the throng of merchants and shoppers. “…and I guess we wait here.” I said. The Tinman shrugged and was then quickly mobbed by several merchants trying to sell him cloth wraps for his scabbard for the coming occasion. Since we were on the edge of the marketplace, I just moved to find a nearby wall and waited. I really wanted to shop and look around. But the amount of jink in my pouch was only getting lower and I didn’t want to give in to temptation. Fortunately, the other two were getting the most attention from the merchants, and for the moment they didn’t give me a second glance. It wasn’t long before the Knight returned and motioned us to follow him. We quickly cut through the center of the market and entered what looked to be a poorer neighborhood than the ones we had passed earlier. He quickly navigated us down some narrow streets, and then to even narrower alleys. I was beginning to believe he was either barmy or lost or perhaps both, when he came to a small set of stairs leading down to what appeared to be a cellar behind a building. On the wall on the building was a worn sign with dark letters: [B][CENTER]‘The Lusty Bard’[/CENTER][/B] “Here?” the Fingerpainter exclaimed. “This is a bit off from the main streets and such. Why this particular place?” “I’m with him on this,” I said, “I mean, I’m ok with cheap lodgings, but this smells like a den of cony catchers.” The three look at me blankly. “I mean a den of…spi…er, well knights of the p…um…” The blank looks continued. “Den of thieves.” All three nod, and our Knight replies, “Exactly.” The Tinman, the Fingerpainter and I, look at him and say, “Why?” He shrugs and says, “Well, it’s a great place for local information, the drinks will be cheap. And besides, what could go wrong?” [B]Session Notes:[/B] Funny thing is that after a year, the map that we used for Yartar has gone missing. Even stranger, is while there is an official map of Triboar, there isn’t one of Yartar from WoTC. And as to the Hate Night; we were mystified too. [/QUOTE]
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