Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="(contact)" data-source="post: 952613" data-attributes="member: 41">Marpenoth the 9thMy studies here are complete.  We now know what these ancient dwarves saw fit to record, and now it falls to us to sort out whatever remains.  Winterbeard has spoken:  Ceridain Death-Caller must not stir, for her womb is cursed, and spawns only death.  The dwarf warned Merkatha as much, and we are in a truly horrific peril.But for the moment, more mundane concerns are at our door.  Two bands of Stoneland goblins have been sent into the Delve, no doubt searching for Ceridain and following the bidding of Ilthais Truesilver.Both bands of goblins were sent here before their leaders were assassinated, and likely have no knowledge of the Sorcerer Queen’s treachery.  Ashara and Merkatha both believe that if we can make them understand this, they will leave the Delve, saving us the trouble of killing them.And as the only goblin-speaking member among us, it is I who shall conduct the parley!  I never dreamed of such things sitting beneath a candle in my study!Marpenoth the 10thThe hobgoblin war-chieftain proved remarkably agreeable once his clerics confirmed through divination and commune spells that we had the truth of things.  The Sorcerer Queen’s treachery outraged him, but the reality of Ceridain Death-Caller terrified them all.These goblins are contesting with one another over an artifact called the Mantle of Imialbulb, an ancient garment and artifact that once belonged to their greatest hero.  Merkatha assures me that the Mantle is in possession of Lord Ilthais, which explains his control over the goblins.We met with the hobgoblin war-chief in the Hanging Gardens, and his priests directed us toward a site nearby—a massacre site, replete with fresh dwarven corpses.  They say that they are terrified of the place, which makes it sound even more appealing (from the perspective of gaining a more firm grasp on the historical record, of course).Marpenoth the 10thWe have conversed with an elder servant of Moradin—a fallen solar celestial, to be precise.  An angel, to use the common parlance.We found him just as the hobgoblin priests had directed us—in the center of a massive common-hall to the West of the Hanging Gardens.  The radiant being still stands mournfully over the ground where he fulfilled Moradin’s final decree for Kor’En Eamor, and massacred thousands of the Father God’s own worshippers.  The dwarven corpses lie where they fell, as fresh as the day they were slain, many of them killed as they attempted to flee.  The solar responsible kneels unmoving in the center of the corpse-field, his normally radiant skin dulled by the millennia of dust that settled over him as he contemplated his act.It was in this place that Moradin took his dak’qis.  By ancient dwarven custom, the first and best part of all things crafted must be sacrificed to Moradin.  The dak’qis of Kor’En Eamor’s last generation died here, at the hands of this solar.  Perhaps they harbored love for Hepis in their hearts, or perhaps they supported Moradin out of duty rather than belief.  Or, most chilling, perhaps they were simply too loyal—a true dak’qis, the first and best of His people.The immortal has remained here ever since, contemplating the price of obedience, and slipping further into an abyss of regret, abandoned by Moradin even as he fulfilled the Father God’s last command.Now, the celestial broods over the bodies of the fallen, and has lost his faith.He has not, however, lost his memory, and was able to reveal more to us about this Uqaraq, the leader of the Hepis worshippers here in Kor’En Eamor.  The Uqaraq is apparently an honorific given to the King’s right-hand dwarf.  Uqaraq Aq Med is his full title, and he is sworn council to the Usurper God, and the temporal head of Hepis’ cult.  Uqaraq is also a lich.Marpenoth the 10thThe celestial has made a request of us.  In the area to the East of his vigil are the Halls of the Dead.  These were the halls where the deceased were interred, and their names were recorded in a great Book of the Dead.  The celestial has requested that we retrieve this book, and take it from the Delve to some place of safety, in order that the names of the dwarves of Kor’En Eamor not be lost to time, but exist as a record of their livesWe have determined to aid the celestial, and I write this as my group prepares themselves for the expedition.Marpenoth the 11th If my handwriting has changed, it is because I have changed.  Rather, I was slain and reincarnated.  I’m not sure how to put this, and truth be told I am grappling with a profound life-altering event.  I am, in the long and short of it, less long and more short.  Two and one-half feet tall, to be precise.  I am a gnome.There it is.  I write it and I don’t even believe it.  But it is true nonetheless, I have reincarnated as a gnome, of middling years.  But on the inside, I have not changed—I remember everything from my former life and retain my skill with Spellcraft.Ashara called a new body for my departed soul, through the blessing of her god, and now my handwriting is unrecognizable.It occurs to me that this transformation explains the mystery of the Great Sage of the Deepen Forest, who penned his missives in two distinct hands, a well known matter of some debate amongst the scholars of the Emerald Method, scholars who I am sure any future readers will be well acquainted with.  In particular the treatise The Seven Tides of the Sea King’s Tablets springs to mind.But my present narrative compels me to return to it, and I shall have to ruminate upon the debates of the Emerald Method school at a later date.I know you are probably saying to yourself, “get on with it, old man, tell us how you died”—but I must council you that in matters of narrative, the Shadowed Sage of Neverwinter Moor put it best, just before he was rended limb from limb by dire rats:  “How fitting and purposeful it seems, this world of ours, as my death arrives only just as the last of my life has been told. ”For my part, I agree with the poet Lifsilven, who interpreted this to mean that time as we experience it (moving only in one direction, etc.) exists to provide us with the maximum amount of surprise, and that all authors of narrative (fictional or no) should contrive to follow the workings of the Gods, and the universe They have made for our edification, if not for our entertainment.Our journey to the Halls of the Dead was made over water—in this instance long carved passages flooded by an elaborate aqueduct system stood in place of the mythical Fugue River.  Even as I was contemplating the universality of the waterway as a symbol of transition, we were set upon by spirits of the drowned dead!  It seems to me that those undead who die in water harbor an especially wicked hatred for the living.  Certainly, these undead were terribly fierce, and it was only luck that prevented our rafts from capsizing.My companions wrested the Book of the Dead from a group of undead dwarves beyond the waterway, who seemed to be re-enacting their last living days before the Dwarven Fall.  I say ‘my companions’, because I was slain outright.When I awoke, it was looking into the eyes of Ashara.  She had reincarnated me, and here I stand, although not so high as I used to.  I shall have to have a new stool, I think.Nonetheless, the book is ours, and we are quite sure that we can put the thing to a use far closer to that of its original creators’ intent than the living-dead who guarded it. Marpenoth the 16th Upon our return to the celestial, we debated the best place of safety for the Book of the Dead.  It was his wish, after all, that the names of Kor’En Eamor never be lost to whatever terrible future he has foreseen for this place.The thing is a massive tome, and calling it a “book” does not do it justice.  It is the height of a grown dwarf, and nearly twice again as thick.  We are forced to carry it in a litter as one might a wounded companion.We debated where to take the book, and in the end settled upon placing it within the care of the Lady Tesseril of Eveningstar, and so here we are.  I suggested taking the tome to Candlekeep and the great libraries there, but some of our more militant Cormyrian members carried the argument. I can only trust that our Lady Tesseril will take all appropriate care with this ancient and priceless artifact.Marpenoth the 18thOur journey back to the Delve was primarily uneventful, although our divinations indicated that Lord Ilthais is actively hunting for us.  We have evaded him, and decided to explore the upper levels of the place.We journeyed upwards to what we believe is the top of Kor’En Eamor, a level dedicated to the unique cold forging techniques that I will leave to more expert voices to detail.What I will tell you  is that the place is cold—frozen in fact, and occupied by a strange menagerie of bat-riding semi-humans.  These creatures are as blind as their winged steeds and bloodthirsty, led by a terrible sorceress of foul temperament and bestial heritage.  Do you recall the joke about having seen the medusa?  Well, I have now seen one, and it is no laughing matter.These bat riders made their lair inside the Great Delve, but hunted outside of it—they were masters of one of this place’s many portals.Like all of Kor’En Eamor’s egresses, it gives onto a mountainside at the other end, and wonder of wonders, this portal has a still-extant city of dwarves living at the base of the mountain.  They must be descendants of the First Dwarves.  Tomorrow, we intend to face these dwarves and see what they might be about!Marpenoth the 19thWe have returned from the dwarven city in one piece and somewhat the richer.  They live in a strange world, occupied solely by dwarves, giants and abominations.  They have no knowledge of magic or priest-craft, and behave entirely like a people whose culture is steeped in a deep and abiding shame.They refer to Kor’En Eamor as “Hell”, and believe that the gods who live within are angry with them for some long forgotten sin.  They have determined to make a show of their architectural abilities in an attempt to win back the lost favor of their gods.  They have set the task for themselves that they will carve the entire mountain face into a great city—a sprawling dwarven place that will act as an offering of penance.  Surely, they reason, their gods cannot but warm their hearts to them once they witness this wonder built of dwarven craft.They received us well enough, though we seem more strange to them than we can possibly imagine.  Their king took us in state, and once again I was able to play the interpreter.It is worth noting that the ancient language of the dwarves is a living language amongst these people, and I am chastened to admit that my presupposition about the silibant ‘tsc’ was incorrect.  I now can state with some authority that rhyming prose was the custom, not the exception amongst these ancient dwarves, and should I live through this adventure, I have a bet to settle with a certain well-educated lady of my acquaintance.Marpenoth the 22ndI remain in our base camp, hoping to study the mysterious cold-forges, better acquaint myself with my new form, and avoid the necessity of acquiring a third identity! The rest of our group began to work their way back down toward All Roads Meet, exploring as they go.  As of yet I have no word of their progress.Marpenoth the 24thSolitude plays tricks on my new eyes, else I am stalked by shadows.  It is cold nearly all the time, my fire notwithstanding.  I have no word of my companions.  I only guess at the date, for I am frightened and must remain out of sight of the portal.</blockquote>

Verification