D&D 5E (IC) Fitz's Folly


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Prologue: A Different World

A westerly wind picked up as the Swordcoaster, Captain Threwe, approached the inner mouth of the Bay of Chult. To the west, mountains of dark grey stone lead to jagged peaks jutting out from an endless canopy of trees so thick it seemed as if the sunlight could only dare to beat its way in. Ahead, the tall stone-cast walls of Port Nyanzaru formed a stockade barrier between the wide bay and the city itself. The ship passed through huge gates, revealing the harbour and the rising land that split the city's districts. Rows of buildings could now be seen, made of multi-hued stonework with colourful rooftops and murals.

Small, winged reptiles flew in zig-zag patterns across the ship's bow and settled into the trees as the crew made anchor in the bustling harbour. Wasting no time, Captain Threwe ordered a boat be put over the side, and he personally escorted his most important guests to shore. The crew's oars dipped steadily into the clear blue water as the boat negotiated it's way through the busy throng. Captain Threwe turned to his guests seated in the bow and said, "Welcome to Chult, gentlemen. May I ask what you plan to do on your stay?"

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You notice the oddest of sights as you approach your dwarven shipmate. He is tall for one of his race with massive arms and chest, a dark beard and hair that both look never to have been touched by razor or shear. Yet he is dressed like a woodland elf!?

His slacks are brown leather and look to be to tight due to the dwarf's thick muscular legs. They don't cup at the bottom as would be normal due to his unusual height. Belted at his waste are two thin bladed hand axes, not the thick hard iron of dwarven make, but with a lighter almost delicate look to them.

The belt at his waste is over a tunic of scalemail that looks like burnished leaves fallen from an autumn tree. It flares over his thighs, barely low enough to cover vital areas. It looks like he is uncomfortable, but the look on his face is of stubborn refusal to change out of his clothes.

Lastly he wears a forest green cloak that is held tight to his back by a longbow and quiver. A golden clasp in the shape of an enameled emerald green leaf holds the cloak at his thick neck.

The dwarf turns to notices your stare of bewilderment, and shakes his head. "I'm going to kill that pointy eared bastard for doing this to me!" he says turning to look over the rail of the ship back towards the lands you all hail from. "You hear that Kayloith! I'm gonna kill you for this!"

Later in the day the dwarf, you have heard refered to as Dellrak, sits on the longboat with a long walking staff across his lap. In reply to the captain's inquiry he asks a question of his own. "Do you know of a good tailor in this town?"

OOC: I have no clue what my mission is exactly. I think I am to be the groups survival coach.


OOC: Dellrak is expected to announce his arrival with the harbormaster, and make his way to the Thundering Lizard Tavern. (As is everyone else, really.) Faction Contacts will either send for the new arrival, or come to them. I should have said so, but I didn't.

Captain Threwe says, "I think you'll find one up the hill from the Quay. Sorry, I can't be a better help with that, but we have our own tailors aboard the ship."

OOC: By which he means, he can sew.
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Dusty Dragon
Rodrigo stood on the deck of the ship, his sharp eyes shaded by the rim of his hat, taking in the sights of the port, looking approvingly at the defenses. The heat did not bother him, as he had grown on this latitude, but this was not his homeland. He had hoped that after 2 years abroad he would have seen the rolling hills, the vinyards and the towers of Tashalar, but instead it was this town, surrounded by fearsome jungle. He hope the Lords hadn't erred. Even though Tashalar was "close", in reality all that meant was that he knew that Chult was a place to be avoided.

He was dressed in well maintained clothes of red and black, a bit too fancy for a simple commoner, but too modest for a true noble. He wore no jewelry. His chest, shoulders and hips were protected by metal-reinforced leather, but mobility was clearly more important than protection. Even now, in a "safe" locale, his long narrow sword was on his ship, the wide-cup of the hilt easily visible and immediately accessible.

He turned a curious eye to his dwarven companion - a forest dwarf? Was there such a thing? He didn't know. He also didn't know who this Kayloith was, or what he had done to earn the dwarf's ire. But he asked not, and looked onward instead.

Later, as the captain asked on the boat, Rodrigo gave him a cold eye. "The Thundering Lizard Tavern, if you please". His sword was still placed to be easily drawn.


The captain laughs, oblivious to the veiled threat, "Now that I can tell you. It is one of the noisier buildings in the Market Ward. You can't miss it. The city is divided into six districts: The Harbor Ward is in the center. To the east is the Market Ward where most tradesmen live and work. To the west, you will find the Merchant Ward, which is where you will find the Grand Souk - the largest market, in spite of it not being in the Market Ward. The Merchant Ward also houses the great Merchant Princes, who rule the city."

He lowers his voice as another boat rows past, as if he wished to avoid insulting the locals, "You should stick to these three wards, for your safety. The other wards are the Old City, just outside the city walls to the north-west, Malar's Throat, by the ravine, and the Tyriki Anchorage."

Kobold Stew

Last Guy in the Airlock
When the Miss Imogen stands at the prow as the ship makes its way into port, one hand on the gunwale as crew members dart around her. None of them ask her to move, however. It has been a pleasant voyage, and her instructions have been clear: Uncle wants her here. Other passengers are clearly on a similar mission, and though all are holding their cards close to their chest for now, she feels that among them, she can accomplish her mission. Once the vessel is tied, and passengers begin to disembark, she thanks the captain with a polite courtesy, her eyes lowered but glancing up into his as a small reward to him for the voyage.

"The Swordcoaster is a fine ship, Captain, and I will be very fortunate if she will carry me again."

She has heard Rodrigo's query (the same that hers would have been), and so she asks instead for directions to Malar's Throat, and whether the Captain has any suggestions for what she might do there. She will feign innocence at any answer he gives, and then thank him politely.

One of the crew is derelict in his duties, and helps her with her baggage, but once she is off the ship she carries everything herself happily.

She walks with the others to the Thundering Lizard.


Kyhton 21, Year of the Warrior Princess - Port Nyanzaru, Chult

High Lord Doom Indraeyan,

As Instructed, I have placed myself at the service of Alastar Bol and the Gauntlet to add our expertise in this matter. Those Knights are brave and valiant brothers in arm, they welcomed me as one of their own. Alaster gave me the order to join an investigation team leaving for Chult. It seems that the source of this Evil is buried somewhere in these tangled jungles. The assembled team is made up of the convergence of very diverse interests. I like to think that unity makes strength, however I suppose in this case, what unite us is more the old saying "The enemy of my enemy is my friend". Only time will tell. I didn't have the opportunity to learn more about them but it seems to me that some fine elements are gathered on this vessel. I am confident that, together, we will find a way to eradicate this Curse.

I pray for you, My High Lord Doom, and may The Judge enlightens me along the path.

Chrysagon of Mir, your faithful Iron Brother.​

Post Scriptum: I'm pleased to inform you that a monk of the Order of the Long Death is taking part of this expedition.

Chrysagon sealed the letter and took away his writing material before stepping out on the deck. He looked at the sky, as usual. Taking every second of life as a gift.
Moving in silence, his smoky gray figure doesn't attract attention and it is not unusual that it takes times before somebody notices his presence. What is more notable is his large shield displaying prominently the skeleton arm holding the balance. Unlike other clerics, his vestment doesn't exhibit any trim or ostentation, beside the iron epaulette indicating his rank among the Kelemvorite clergy. Hanging at his belt, a heavy flanged head flail enlightened by a radian light.

His new companions were all there, looking at the bay, waiting for the captain to drop anchor. How many of us will come back on this boat at the end? If only Chrysagon could tell and warn them. But that's an idea he had to reject. He remembered the words of his mentor, "If people knew when they are going to die, I think they probably couldn't live at all." One thing, however, he could say for certain: with such a team, we will walk among the dead before long.

Quietly, he disembarked, with a simple "Thank you for your service captain."
This Rodrigo seems to know where he is going. He has a leader spirit. That's a good thing, let's follow him for now.
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Nobody could quite place the cloaked passenger. He'd been mostly unseen through the trip. Only really making an appearance when one of the crew had taken deathly ill.

The sailor was quickly sequestered belowdecks and even the ships surgeon refused to go near him. But the man with no name quietly joined him in his banishment, only returning above decks when his charge had finally succumbed to his illness.

After this rumors abound about the man, each sounding less reasonable than the one before it. That he had made no attempts at saving the man's life. Indeed, that Nameless had let him suffer for some time before finally killing him in some dark ritual. All witnessed when The Unnamed placed a scrap of paper into the deceased mouth right before he'd been sewn into his weighted hammock and thrown overboard. (An otherwise common practice at sea.) All of this while barely uttering a word.

Now, The Nameless stood above decks as the ship pulled up to the dock. He balanced himself well upon the moving planks, yet seemed to stay relatively motionless and stoic. His clothing was simple as could be. Pants, shirt, worn yet sturdy boots and a hooded cloak, once blue, which he always seemed to wear up, even below deck.

Once docked, he disembarked as silently as he had embarked. He he had taken note of his fellow passengers bit seemed disinterested entirely. Now he strode out in search of the dying. Hoping that he might get a feel for this city by studying the deaths of it's occupants.

Squirrels are evil!


Standing with the others after disembarking, the dwarf asks. "Do we wait for this harbormaster here? Or do we have to search 'em out?"


Dusty Dragon
Rodrigo leans in as the captain gave his warning. He could be wrong, but he sensed that this was a man in search of an audience.

"Truly? Are we talking about footpads and cutpurses, or something... else?"

After disembarking , Rodrigo added his agreements to the others' words of thanks and praise... for the captain had delivered them true, and they may need him again.

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