Nthal
Lizard folk in disguise
Strange dreams, stranger gifts – 08/28/2019
Things never seem to last. Ragpicker’s Square is full of the refuse and broken things of Sigil. The poor pick through it, looking for anything that could be of value, no matter how low.
It’s a testament to how nothing stands up to the ravages of time. How things change from useful to junk.
But sometimes you can find value in the garbage. And sometimes it finds you.
Things never seem to last. Ragpicker’s Square is full of the refuse and broken things of Sigil. The poor pick through it, looking for anything that could be of value, no matter how low.
It’s a testament to how nothing stands up to the ravages of time. How things change from useful to junk.
But sometimes you can find value in the garbage. And sometimes it finds you.
We made for a nearby hill that looked promising for the night. We didn’t say anything as we made our way there. Even as we setup camp, we didn’t talk. Each of us had an experience and each of us were trying to sort it out. So, it wasn’t until a fire was going, and we started to munch on the stale rations did we say anything. And of course, it was on the least of things.
“Myrai, can you give me a light?” Beepu said, staring at various papers squinting.
I was staring absently at the fire, while I flexed and lit up a nearby pebble for him and muttered, “Sure thing.”
“So, Beepu what does it say?” Iesa asked looking up from where he was feeding Mo a piece of bread.
“It is not a book, it is a schematic, so it does not say anything.” Beepu shot him a glare. “And unfortunately, it will take me time to decode it. My father’s notations are hard to decipher.”
I turned and looked at him, “Why? I thought you had been doing that for a while?”
“Well yes. But these notes are very different. They are including references I have not seen before. I may need to visit a family friend in Waterdeep to make headway. He studied with my father and may be able to help.”
“Waterdeep eh?” Daneath said frowning. “Nothing but rain there. Besides I need to head south.”
“You too?” Iesa said. “Same vision?”
“I suppose so. But Umbra went south based on what the…um Elk showed me.”
“Yeah. Same vision.” Iesa said. “I think it was somewhere south of Daggerford. Secomber perhaps.”
Daneath nodded. “And there’s where we start.”
“Hey what are you going to do Myrai?” Iesa asked looking towards me. “What did the Elk show you?”
I thought a moment before replying. “It showed me…It,” I started searching for the right words. “It didn’t show me anything clear like that. So, I’m a little…I don’t know.” Saying finally.
“No path home?” Daneath asked looking at me intently.
I didn’t answer and just stared into the flames, as if the answer was dancing there all this time. All I could do was slowly shake my head.
“Well, you are welcome to come with me to Waterdeep,” Beepu said cheerily.
“Or with us,” Iesa said with Daneath nodding, and Mo jumping up and down.
I gave a small smile, “Thanks. I…I’m going to think on it tonight, if you don’t mind.” And I stood up and stretched. “Perhaps a small walk will settle me before I turn in.”
“Well, stay in Foggle’s sight. We don’t want more ankhegs or gnolls.”
“I will,” and I moved away from the trio at the fire to think and walk. I was very tired, and after helping cleanse the Elk’s statue I still didn’t feel great. But I was wound up, and needed to do something to clear my head and answer a simple question.
What did I want?
A barmy question at first glance. Thirteen days ago, it would have been easy; ‘Go Home.’ And that would have been that. Since then a lot had happened.
I gained some semblance of power.
I died.
I was forced back.
I had more jink in my pocket than I ever had before.
I had…friends.
That last one stuck with me. I originally thought as them as adams; partners of convenience. But we had fought and bled together. No, they brought you back to life. That wasn’t something a partner did; you meant more to them. Far more. Sure, they made a horrific bargain, but so had I in the past. Many in Sigil wouldn’t have bothered.
Sure, Sigil was home, but what was really left there? A filthy kip, which by now was probably picked over for anything left behind. Who was left there? A pack of fiends, spivs, and knights of the post around every corner and a couple of bartenders who valued you for your occasional jink and little else. Beyond a standing tea time with one being there on occasion, there wasn’t anyone close. And he…was a dangerous friend.
Even so I missed it. The familiarity. The sounds. The smell of the food…no just food in general. I hadn’t thought about za in a long time, but I certainly craved it. But all of this longing and nostalgia really distracted me though from the obvious.
I was enjoying myself. As much as I wanted to mock the clueless, it was still new. The Hate Night’s party and dance with the nobility. The elegance of the Elk tribe’s forgotten tombs. The simplicity of the people’s lives here. Even the food. Except the eggs…I may never get use to them. But it was a Sensates’ dream. Experiencing everything first hand. Not the jaded tales overheard in the Bottle and Jug. Everything.
Including having your throat ripped out I suppose.
Sigil could certainly live without me for a while. And I perhaps needed her less for now. I was growing in power here, getting stronger.
So perhaps I knew what I wanted, just not the direction to get there. I turned and walked back to my tent at the edge of the fire. I waved at Beepu and refreshed his light. Once inside I removed my weapons and my chain and laid down. Perhaps a night’s rest would give me clarity. I lay there, looking upwards hoping that the dreams would be gone for just an evening…
…But such was not to be.
The nightmare began again. But it’s different. Instead of being the actor, I was watching myself. Everything felt like I was in a indistinct fog and I felt detached from what I watched.
And the dream was different. I was no longer a girl, I was older. The sequence is the same; Elisna dies and rises again. But there the resemblance ended.
I saw myself run into a familiar tenement with tears in my eyes. The faded banners of Kelemvor on the walls. But the room has a sinister edge to it, as I spot three altars, of darkness along the wall, where no altars stood before. But only one was clearly visible in reddish light, where I could see the carvings of three triangles upon it.
I then saw myself turn around and see him. I never knew his name, and he was a guest of the Bleakers for as long as I knew. I fed him and other like him in the Gatehouse, in the Barmy wing. And he always remembered me. He cursed at me, as I saw one eye stare out from the hole in the door. A wolfish blue eye, bloodshot and quivering as it stared at me, shouting obscenities.
And now this disheveled man, in a torn grey tunic leered at me; his hair, long dirty and unkempt. I didn’t recognize that man. But I did that eye. I saw myself back up in fear, putting a hand up to shield myself from him. Then my world fell apart, as the floor buckled from rot, causing me to plummet into darkness below.
I watched myself, twisting and turning as I bounced through mud and water tumbling deeper under the Hive. I saw myself pass layers of trash and detritus. Until I finally stopped, landing on damp stone.
I saw myself lying there a moment, before stirring and struggling to stand. Turning and twisting in the dark, trying to understand where I had fallen.
The Weeping Stone Catacombs. A place buried deep within Hive. A place said to be prison for cursed spirits for crimes committed long ago. Here the water flows from above and pour over the bas relief of faces carved in the wall, making them slick with tears. Cut off from the light and air from above, it lives up to its name as a black tomb in the Hive.
But I was more concerned with finding a way out, as I watched myself looking around. Now, I always could see in the dark. But here the passages led in all sorts of directions. But it was all the same; the same echo of dripping water, the same smell of musty earth, the same passages going beyond my sight. I watched myself turn about in panic, until I saw something just at the edge of my vision. And then I moved towards the figure, and as it retreated, I followed it.
But this didn’t make sense. Was that real? Is this a tale my sleeping self is telling me? I don’t remember falling. I don’t remember the Weeping Stone. I don’t remember this at all. But it feels right. It feels as real as the nightmare before.
Why don’t I remember this?
I watched myself with curiosity as I clambered in the darkness, towards something or someone. Being able to see in the dark was a gift. I could have flooded the passage way with light, but that seemed wrong. Almost disrespectful for those slumbered here.
I follow the figure; passing alcoves and openings. Now I am aware I was not alone here. Each one paws at me frantically. And each shiver and turn away afraid. Each shiver and I feel the echo of the Strand resonate in my dream. I am being led downwards and finally I enter a room deep underground.
It looked to be a tomb to someone important, forgotten long ago. An ancient place. Like the rest of the Weeping Stone Catacombs, it was a time when the dead were still buried in Sigil, long before the coming of the Dustmen. And it was indeed old. The water and time had worn away the details of carvings or even color. Who was interred here was a forgotten detail, just like the catacombs themselves.
Another tunnel exits from here, and in the distance, I see the figure. It was crouching in the darkness, and it carried something in its arms. I watched myself following it trying to see who it was, and what it held. I get closer and I finally see what I am following; a mustie. But it moves with purpose. And it knows the path well, no hesitation or uncertainty. I had heard tales from Dustman that even the least of the undead could find awareness given time. But I thought then it was barkle but watching this one made me think there was some truth to it.
It started to climb and was out of sight for a moment. Once I reached the bottom, I could see it climbing. It was ascending a great pile of dross, trash and broken items. I watch myself struggle to find solid grips and footing as I pulled myself up out of the pit below. I could see the mustie above, climbing slowly but with far more certain footing, as if this path was well known to it.
I watch as I squeeze myself between beams, and cracks in stone, and through mud. Finally, I saw myself break free and breach the surface, near a large pile of debris. I think I am somewhere in Ragpicker’s square, deep in the Hive. I can now see the mustie clearly; it looks desiccated and old; few wisps of hair remain on its once human head, and its eyes are empty sockets. Yet it sees just fine as it threads its way between towering piles of wreckage.
Finally, the mustie has come to a stop in a cul-de-sac of trash and refuse and sets its bundle down on a fractured table of stone. I watch it unwrap it, and I watch it place a silver cylinder upon the surface.
The mustie turns to looks directly at me, and shivers and points at the table. I see on the table a glyph or rune, with the cylinder in the middle of it. I am still watching myself stare at it, and as I watch, the glyph glows in a warm yellow light. Then I heard a noise of steel on stone and I watch my dirty and disheveled self, turn around.
There behind me, staring with that wolfish eye was that same barmy that started this. He drags the edge of a rusty cleaver against a broken bit of stone. The sound of its scratching echoes lightly around the mounds of debris. The man’s smile and eyes were widening in excitement as he continued to move slowly forward.
I reached towards my side looking for a dagger and I panic as I realize that it was missing. I watch in horror as this slow drama unfolds before my eyes. I see myself back up slowly, a hand and arm behind myself trying to feel my way. I move that way, until my back comes in contact with the altar, and in turn my hand brushes the silver object.
Then I watch several things happen at once. First, I see the madman and his cleaver charging at me. The, my hand touched the cylinder and a bright white light flashed from the glyph. And finally, I see the purple bolt of energy erupt from my right hand and striking the madman in the chest.
I watch as my face changed from one of fear and surprise to strength and confidence. I threw another bolt and then another, forcing the madman back. As I throw more magic at him, my gaze is captivated by the glyph on the table. Something simple and elegant.
The mustie suddenly moved not towards myself fighting the barmy, but to me watching in the dream. It reached out and gripped me, and It painfully forced me to look at its empty eyes. Then it leaned in close to me and it whispered in Celestial:
Ehōike mai ka ʻikunae. Ehawi iau i kai Welo. Ehewi iau i Kamana.
I then awoke with a start, breathing heavily. I sat up and for the first time I could remember the dream. Why I felt fear. Why I felt that something was just out of reach. But what happened? Was that real or just dream stuff.
I sat there and thought and tried to remember when I could first cast magic. I remembered it was after the Faction War ended, but now it seemed that the event I dreamed was what happened. Why could I not remember that before?
I crawled out of my tent, not even bothering to put on my boots, my bare feet on the grass and earth. Iesa and Daneath were up, and talking quietly by the fire, and Foggle was on a stone nearby keeping an eye out for things. The dream now clung to memory, not allowing me to forget it. It was clear; as if it just happened a moment ago.
What did it mean?
Why now?
As I stood there in the cool night air, I looked up at the moon they called Selune. It was full, and its cold white light shone from it, and I could make out shapes and patterns on its surface.
I looked around a moment, and then I returned to my tent, and grabbed the greensteel stiletto from my discarded boot. I drew it and tossed the sheath back onto my bedroll. I then scanned the earth, looking for a flat open area. I found one easily enough and I then began to draw with the sharpened point of the stiletto, using it as a brush in the canvas of the earth.
I recreated the glyph; its form still burned into my mind’s eye. I didn’t think I could forget it if I tried. I felt compelled to draw it out. I did the whorls and arcs, and then made corrections until its form matched my memory. I then outlined it with a single circle on the outside perimeter. Once completed, I thrust the stiletto in the center of the glyph I carved from the dirt. I then flexed and put my light onto the pommel, lighting the earth and the carving I had made.
“Hey, what is Myrai doing?” Iesa asked.
“I’m not sure. She’ll call if she needs something,” Daneath replied.
I sat down outside the circle and crossed my legs. I placed my hands on my knees, my palms facing upwards.
“E kohana ma ko’o makunanae,” I whispered aloud and then reached within myself to find the Strand. It hung there wavering, and I took equal measures of darkness and light and mentally wove them together into a braided strand of grey. I then imagined placing the Strand into the circle and surrounding the Glyph on the ground. From there I pictured that the threads of light and dark snaked from the binding circle and reached in and wrapped themselves on the Stiletto in the middle.
Centering myself, and closing my eyes I began to chant aloud softly in Celestial:
Ehōike iau i Kaʻikunae. / Show me Knowledge.
Ehawi iau i Welo. / Give me Vision.
Ehewi iau i Ka’mana. / Grant me Power.
Ehawi iau i Welo. / Give me Vision.
Ehewi iau i Ka’mana. / Grant me Power.
I could feel a twinge of the fabric around me, and a stirring in the weave of magic. Keeping my centering, I repeated the chant calling out to something far beyond.
For Knowledge, For Vision, for Power.
I could feel the energy build and flow through me. It felt like a wind that flashed between hot and cold, twisting around the Glyph and through me. It grew stronger and stronger, and I felt it pulling on my hair. Still focusing I opened my eyes and saw that the ritual I was calling had manifested as a wind around me. The blade no longer was anchored to the ground, now spun on its point like a needle shaped top in the air.
The brothers were now standing staring at the confluence of energy that I had summoned, mouthing something I couldn’t hear. But they didn’t move as they watch the ritual unfold.
I could feel it reaching its crescendo. I tasted the energy in the air. I felt something close on the horizon in my mind, slowly being pulled closer. I stood up, still chanting, my hair now swirling around in the wind. I stepped carefully into the circle, avoiding touching the lines with my bare feet. I then reached out with my right hand into the center of the glyph, above the now wobbling spinning Stiletto, and chanted the words one last time.
Ehōike iau i Kaʻikunae. / Show me Knowledge.
Ehawi iau i Welo. / Give me Vision.
Ehewi iau i Ka’mana. / Grant me Power.
And as the last syllable crossed my lips there was a flash of light and in my hand, I felt a warm metal object. The wind started to die down and the weave that was once twisting around me returned to normal. The stiletto dropped and stuck into the earth below it.
I stared at the object I held. It was a cylinder covered in markings that resembled a form of Celestial writing. Along the sides at regular intervals were tabs that stuck out. I switched it between my hands, and pulled on a tab. A sheet of metal was extruded, as thin as strip of parchment. On it, was writing in a form of celestial, although the lettering wasn’t familiar. But as I handled it, I could feel that it wasn’t just a strange document. It contained power.
“What just…what is that?” Iesa said looking at me standing on the bare earth, my hair a scattered mess.
I curled my arm to regard the cylinder a moment and looked at Iesa.
“A gift.” I said simply.
“A gift? From who?” Daneath said looking around his arms outstretched.
“My…I don’t know.” I said, not wanting to guess aloud. But to myself I thought something else.
Thanks father, wherever you are.
My watch had come, and I realized I had a task in front of me. The writing was Celestial, but it was archaic. It would take some time to read it and understand it. But its appearance solidified something in my mind. I knew where I needed to go next.
The others had awoken and soon we were almost done packing up. I could hear the “What? She did What?” from Beepu, as Iesa told him the story from last night.
“And you did not wake me?!? Do you not think that might have been considered important?” Beepu said angrily as we all started the march to Portstown.
“Well, if it was important, shouldn’t have Foggle woke you?” Iesa said pointing at the brass owl.
“He would indeed…oh. Wait. Foggle! We need to talk.” Beepu said wagging his finger at the owl overhead.
“It was a bit of wind is all anyway. And a thing right Myr?” Iesa said.
“Yes, a thing," I said giving him an exasperated side glance. "And it means I know where I am headed next.”
“Where? Candlekeep?” Daneath asked.
“Based on what Beepu told me, I don’t have a way to pay the entrance fee. No, I need to go to Waterdeep and look in some of the libraries there.”
“What? Oh excellent. I will introduce you to some very important scholars there.” Beepu said surprise and then with enthusiasm.
“You sure?” Daneath asked, sounding a bit disappointed.
I nodded. “Honestly I think I would prefer going south than crawling through books. But dusty tomes it appears to be.”
“Well the barges will take us down all the way to Waterdeep. And from there Daneath and I can make our way to Secomber,” Iesa said.
“We can send a message up to you two when we have found something,” Daneath said.
“That will allow me to research what I need for the device as well,” Beepu said happily.
“I guess that means we have a plan, cutters,” I said smiling.
“Cutters?” Iesa asked.
“A term used for skilled friends that are trusted,”
“I kinda like that. Cutters.” Daneath said.
“Not as good as ‘Big-D’ though,” Iesa said slapping the big man on the back.
“Oh, not that again,” Daneath admonished.
“Come on, that’s a legendary name!” Iesa said.
And so. the argument continued for miles, with me smiling at the miracle of finding friends so far from home.
End of Part I
Session notes:
There were two things that happened here, which is really part of last session. The first, leveling up. The second was a discussion on how we wanted to spend our downtime. where we were spending some down time.
That discussion is boring to read though.