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Message: <blockquote data-quote="MulhorandSage" data-source="post: 241479" data-attributes="member: 751">22nd day of Uktar, in the Year of the Standing Stone, 1372. Dear Gevrael,Thank you for your recent hospitality and understanding in our recent stop. I must confess I was surprised by father’s (relative) courtesy – do you think he knows of Ulrick’s importance in the machinations of certain Sembian parties? We've both known for a long time that a heart of cold, barbed iron beats underneath the courtier's lace and magician's silk.I wanted to explain this to you in person, but our departure was in haste, so this letter must suffice. It began with Ulrick, of course: the big lug had dreams again. One would imagine that the dreams of a paladin would consist of visions of epic struggle and great quests, like the wildest tales of a cunning Cormyte tavern-bard who sifts through knightly purses by telling them the only tales they wish to hear (regardless of how obnoxious they become in the retelling). I imagine most paladins dream of the deathscreams of dragons and the touch of chaste women. What else do they have to dream about?But not Ulrick. His dreams are different than those of other men, more portentous and vivid. I can only imagine what is like to be him at night, when the comforts of a woman’s touch fade with the coming of slumber, and there is not a scrap of dream-glory to be had, only torment.And that night, his torment was the vision of a lone dracolich, death-boned, steel fanged, raising its great horned limbs through a star-blue portal, destined to bring a final death to Cormyr.####Weeks ago, before we arrived in Wheloon, we had a chance encounter whose importance was lost on me until this moment. We had found three dead Orcs in the wilderness, on the path between Monksblade and Wheloon, one of them clutching an amulet with an odd symbol engraved on it. Unfortunately, the events of Wheloon had distracted me from researching the amulet, but now I suddenly remembered that it bore a great similarity to the sign of the Sammasterites, a cult which holds that undead dragons are the true gods of Toril, to be nurtured and worshipped as a prelude to their coming age of supremacy.A cult whose ultimate goal is the creation of those same abominations that Ulrick had beheld in his vision.It had struck me as odd that something as base and weak as an Orc-band could control something as important as the portals. Now it occurred to me that their mastery of the portals was due to information that they had stolen from their portal's true masters, the Sammasterites. When I informed Ulrick of my theory, the bedevilled paladin immediately declared that we would travel to Suzail and warn the crown of the dracolich threat, despite the rather dramatic consequences of such an act. A reminder of the beholder-mage that blocked the path was sufficient to dissuade his (dubious) lordship from that course of action – barely – but the portals still held our attention. Two portals in particular seemed to demand further exploration: one which led to a wine cellar where Kord was attacked by someone who was dressed like a Sembian, and another which led to a ruined shrine to Mystra. So we spent a half-day riding to Monksblade (the pair should consider themselves fortunate to have a Sembian companion who actually knows a thing or two about horses) found the cliff opening, and returned to the portal room.It is a marvel, this chamber. Sixteen or so portals, some dead, some blocked  by stone, others only slumbering, doorways etched into the stone by the craft and magicks of ancient Netheril. When the appropriate word is spoken, the portals become alive, sparking to red as they ignite, then cooling to a green miasma as they settle, finally fading first to a blue shimmer (as pretty as the crown of Mystra) and then to dark grey stonework when the doors are closed. We divined the opening word for many of these doors on our previous venture, a disastrous expedition where nearly all of us had died. Now that we had mustered our strength, we were eager to renew the assault. Finding the chamber unguarded by the Orcs, Ulrick once again entertained the idea of using the portals to get to Suzail, even though none of the doors would allow us to circumvent the obstacle of the beholder. Unfortunately, driving a point into a paladin’s head is enough to vex any man; a long argument followed that rattled me, and so I forsook my usual caution. Attempting to end the dissention before my headache became too great to endure. I stepped into the wine cellar portal, ready for (the expected) ambush.Yes, I had remembered what Kord had told us about the archer who had been lurking in waiting. But what I failed to remember was the very powerful magical trap that was situated at the door. Idiot! As soon as I stepped through the portal, I was suddenly surrounded by a coriolis of lightning. Instinctively, I dodged to one side, otherwise the lightning would have done more to me than to smoke my robes and singe my legs and hands. The instant I stepped away from the trap, I immediately found myself wearing a thief on my back. Azuth, I have never beheld such speed! He plunged a dagger into my right kidney, and gave it a twist for good measure.I would have been dead then, had it not been for Aron. The fool raced across the portal, bearing the brunt of another lightning bolt, and charged the thief. The distraction allowed me to stagger backwards through the portal, still clutching my side with one hand as shakily pryed a healing drought from my belt, and I quaffed it before it could fall through my fingers. I have never seen so much of my own blood in my life. Normally, I despise the taste of these brews, but for once I welcomed the burning sensation as it raced down my throat, (tasting much like rat's dung floating in a lamp oil soup) but the light-headedness and the pain in my side suddenly halted. I was not completely whole – my side still throbbed like a succubus in heat – but I always hate to let an injury go without a response, so I steadied myself, cast a spell of myriad images and prepared to rejoin the fracas.Alas, my comrades were not faring well. Seeing himself outnumbered, our quarry covered himself with magical dust – vanishing from sight, of course, and then he fired arrows at us while he danced nimbly around the cellar. I never dreamt I would miss having Kord at my side.“Cast a fireball!” Ulrick barked to me as yet another mightily swordstroke connected with empty air. “Fill the entire room!” But the paladin had clearly lost his mind. How could anyone forget that any thief worth his salt would be able to hide from my fireball in one of the room’s many crooks and cracks, while we would all be burnt to a crisp? Not to mention what the fireball would have done to the wine – burning Cormyte manorhouses is one thing, but destroying good Sembian wine is quite another.Still, Ulrick had reason to worry. Twice the thief stabbed him in the back, in parts of his body where his heavy armor afforded little protection. I began to cast a spell to sense enchantments; within twenty heartbeats, I would sense where the cutpurse was standing from the very magical dust that hid him from our sight, and if tried to disrupt the spell, it’d be likely he’d expose himself to my comrades and be cut down like a dog.The thief countered my spell by dancing around us and whispering a word to shut down the portal. Fearing that we would be trapped, we panicked. I dove through the fading gatewayl back into the portal chamber, and the others followed. When we arrived on the other side, we realized that the thief had crossed the portal with us, so Ulrick decided to reopen the portal and return to the cellar. Unfortunately, as soon as he and Aron crossed the portal, the trap came to life again. Ulrick was electrocuted and fell dead to the floor; his armor was smoking and his father’s greatsword, sheathed in heavy cloth straps and fastened to his back, fell from his back and smoldered on the ground. Clearly it would never strike a blow again. Aron was grievously injured, so I rolled my other healing potion to him. Once he quaffed it, he was ready for the fight. The armor that the Thayans had given him fortified him against thief’s most deadly attacks, so our adversary decided to play a waiting game. The thief fled the cellar and hid in the upper levels of the building, but fortunately he was alone. The slow but diligent Aron carefully searched the building and finally discovered the thief hiding in an attic crawlspace, the dust’s dweomer having worn off over time. Aron smote the thief with several mighty blows, flaying him to death.So! Our enemy was dead, brutally harvested by my strong-armed companion. But Ulrick was also slain, and I was in no mood for funerals. I bade Aron to return with Ulrick’s body across the threshold before the trap reset, but he suggested that we should inspect the area outside the building first. To my surprise, his counsel was the wiser. That’s how we discovered that the portal led to our home city of Saerloon, where healing would be much easier to find than in Cormyr, and Ulrick could be raised from death to renew his task.Now you know why I demand such secrecy from you, sister.We stripped the thief’s body of its possessions, taking it as weregild for the priests of Azuth, whom we would employ to return Ulrick to the tragic lands of the living. Remembering the wounds he had given me, I spat on the thief’s body, a satisfying if petty act. I almost wish I had a raven familiar to feast upon its eyes. Aron changed his bloody clothes, and we wrapped Ulrick in a large hooded cloak and stood on either side of him, carrying him like a drunken man who had passed out from the excesses of the night.Our deception was made much easier by our fortuitous arrival at festival time. I had quite forgotten what a gaudy spectacle the Ravenswatch frivolity can be; the flight of the ravens from the jail to the citadel is impressive, of course, but the swaggering host of mages that follows it, casting their "spells", is laughably pretentious. None of these pups could challenge the city fathers’ as the Ravenswatch founders did a century ago. They are primping, posturing and perfumed pack of little beasts like poodles, who are utterly untroubled by the fact that they are lapdogs walking in a world of wolves. But they did provide a distraction, in case the thief’s comrades were watching the building. Singing a drunken, off-key ballad, we bards of the damned carted the huge paladin (with Aron bearing most of the burden) down the clogged streets of Saerloon, eventually dragging him to the House of Azuth.After three clangs on the heavy iron gate, we managed to rouse a half-drunken acolyte, who shivered in a hastily thrown nightshirt as rain began to fall. All the high priests were away at festival (probably listening to the Ravenswatch bravos tell drunken stories of spellcasting mishaps and childish pranks) so after some haggling and exchange of coin, we hauled Lord Ulrick's paladinly corpse down a (much too lengthy) passage and several long flights of solemn stone stairs down into the temple’s necropolis. And to think that I enjoyed hiding in those catacombs as a boy! We laid Ulrick upon a slab in its catacombs, covered it with a sheet of canvass, and hoped that the rats didn’t pry into it. (Fortunately the body had not yet begun to smell). Our business could not be concluded until the morning, so we retired into the depths of the city and looked for lodging.I really did not wish to see father, so I took Aron to the Winding Serpent Inn. The big Cormyte was famished and demanded a meal fit for three hungry men, but the sight of a man in such heavy armor at festival time was an affront to the innkeeper, and so they refused to serve the Cormyte. Ah, what a satisfying turn that was, after being a target for everyone’s spittle in the Dales and in Cormyr for so many miserable months.“Why should they care what I wear?” Aron growled as we sat down at a table.“Why should you care?” I replied. “I’ve seen you dance around naked.”“I only do that once a month,” Aron protested. “For religious purposes.” The knight is a devotee of Selune. Selune! Have you ever heard such foolishness? What good can come of worshipping the Moon, unless one wants to be a howling idiot?I ordered a huge meal, and tormented Aron by forcing him to watch as I devoured the repast. Grievous injury does encourage a certain hardy appetite. Once I had finished the meal, I purchased the use of a grand suite, to celebrate my return to civilization in the appropriate style. Aron’s keen (and hungry) glance espied a man who was carefully watching us while I ate. I didn’t know if he was a thief or someone more sinister, so I retired to my room, had food brought up, and retired to bed. Though I was sleeping in the city of my birth, both Kord and Ulrick were gone, and their absence brought only a grave discomfort. Enemies seemed to be everywhere.</blockquote>

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