The Twilight Paths Campaign (Updated 7/30 - Questions from Above)

[Cinerarium]

Hammer 3, Happy Harlan's, Continued

We also made a more gruesome find, a bag of human ears. Also in the bag was a note in goblinoid. I tried my best to decipher it, and found it a set of sinister instructions, included here for reference:

I require more. Keep the ears, I care not, but I want them alive. I have been forced to move to the apple orchard cemetery we spoke of earlier. Hang a lantern on the stone man’s broken hand, and then hide until I arrive. Bring them in lots of five. If you do not have five, do not come. Keep them until you have a whole batch. Do not let yourself be seen!

--YZ

Securing a rope, Gunn and Fin lowered themselves to the second level. There they found, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and up to their chests in water, three humans! Lost in the darkness, they were grateful for rescue. Unfortunately, none of them were Opulio. Their leader, Dulf, identified them as being part of the crew of the barge “The Harrenstar.” They had been attacked after a night of shore leave, and awoke bound and gagged in the darkness. Dulf claimed their captain would reward us for their return, and we were happy to oblige.

We felt we had obtained all of the clues we could, and though we had not found Opulio, were confident there was little else to be found in the sewers. Back on the surface, we headed to the docks to deliver Dulf and his companions, Bagor and Mikel. As promised, we were given a reward, and hopefully an ally for the future in The Harrenstar’s captain, one Hoomlur Sealover.

Retiring to Happy Harlan’s and glad to be out of the sewers, we ordered baths and found new clothes. My old vestments have been burned, and I can only hope that soon the stench will leave me behind. A short lunch followed, wherein we decided to proceed directly to the Library of Oghma. Again I thought I should make my presence known at the Temple of Deneir as soon as possible.

Refreshed and full, we left for the Library where I had spent so much time over the past two days. A scribe showed us in to the chambers of Clifticus of the 2nd Vellum, a Basilican whom I had met briefly on my earlier trips to the Library. He heard our story solemnly, and was shocked at the news. Clifticus recognized Fineon’s description of the body as Brother Linden Bjorn, the tattoo of his fiancée, Jenly, giving the late Binder’s identity. Brother Bjorn had been last seen in the company of two elderly humans matching the description we had received from Steel Jack! They had previously been in the Library, with Bjorn as their escort. He had not been seen since.

We asked to be shown the logbook that all must sign to gain access to the Library. Clifticus was only too happy to comply, and we followed him with troubled thoughts to the inner gate of the Library. There, the book showed only Brother Bjorn’s signature, and where he was headed – but no mention of the elderly couple! Clifticus was understandably vexed by this development, and he agreed to show us to the area where Bjorn had taken the couple, as indicated in the logbook. The Binders guarding the inner gates screened us for flammable items, and relieving us of what we had, let us pass. Descending to the depths of the Library with Clifticus as our guide, we located the stacks where Bjorn and the humans had been working. The books in that area mainly dealt with the Age of Darkness, that I too had been intrigued by, but were in a slightly different area than I had researched. Driade examined the dust, and was able to determine that a book looked to be missing. Clifticus confirmed this, but could not understand how it could be true. All guests were searched, by both mundane and magical means, before being allowed to leave. Obviously, the couple had either smuggled out the book in question by some other means, or had moved the book somewhere else within the Library – making it as hard to find as the proverbial needle in a haystack.

Clifticus, in a dark mood, promised to ask his superiors, and perhaps even the Great Binder Himself, for help in resolving the mystery. We agreed to share knowledge and meet again whenever either of us discovered anything new.

To be continued...

 

[Cinerarium]

Sad Partings -- Hammer 3, Happy Harlan's, Continued

Upon leaving the Library, a man broke out of the crowd and approached Fineon. Hailing him as friend, he claimed to have a long history with Fineon. After a dazed moment, Fineon responded in kind. I assumed that Fineon, though by no means a native of Harren, had met this man on one of his other travels. The stranger introduced himself as Chardin, and seemed pleasant enough. Driade reacted quickly though, instructing Gunn to move Fineon away, and telling us to distract Chardin. I told Chardin we were busy, but he could meet up with us later at Happy Harlan’s if he so chose. He took the bait and let us be. As we returned to Happy Harlan’s, Kazir asked Zazu to follow Chardin from the sky. Chardin left us and proceeded into an alley, whereupon he simply disappeared! Whether he magically transported himself or turned invisible, I do not know.

The air was cold, but not bitterly so, and the streets and plazas of the Sevencity were astir with ebbing masses of humanity. We decided to press back to Happy Harlan’s where our fate in the form of Chardin could meet us as it would. Gunn pushed a path through the crowd, not too gently, and the rest of us follow in his considerable wake.

Driade, in particular, seemed disconcerted by the recent events. She eyed Fineon with distrust, and not for the first time I realized just how alien Driade was. What could I know of the elven mind? “Fineon,” Driade said, “you are gammedrel [elven] and as such have my respect. But you acted strangely back there, and you claimed that the nadadrel [non-elven] was your friend. Yet you have told me, many times, that you only passed through the cities of men as a wanderer. You do not know that man nor—“

Fineon scoffed. “I know whom I know and whom I don't. Chardin is a dear friend I have known for...quite some time.”

Kazir increased his pace to walk alongside the two elves. “Fineon, I am fairly confident – as are our companions – that you are, or were, under the effects of an enchantment. Such arcane tricks are not uncommon, and they are as transient as a small sandstorm. Soon you will come to your senses once again.”

Fineon frowned and gestured towards Driade, his eyes on Kazir's own. “You, too, believe this nonsense? Tell me, is it so difficult to believe that I may have a human friend in this city? I have done much traveling over the years—“

Kazir held up a hand and shook his head. “No, it is not difficult to believe you would have such friends. Even here.” At this Kazir shook his head somewhat at the press of humanity around us. “But that man is not one of them. If you give my words any weight, please understand that Chardin means us nothing but ill fortune.”

“You do him wrong, sand wizard.” Fineon replied less hotly than before, nimbly stepping over a pile of horse manure. His mood grew contemplative for a long moment as the group continued through the packed streets. Finally, he nodded toward Kazir and Driade. “Very well, if I am indeed under some foul sorcery, then I shall agree with your thinking once the spell fades. For now, let us speak no more of Chardin or of enchantments.”

Fineon’s reasoning seemed sound, and after another ten minutes we arrived at Happy Harlan's. A few moments later found us around a corner table, cups of heated, spiced cider on the table in front of us. I took a long draft, savoring the warmth and spice around my tongue that chased the cold away. Gunn ran thick fingers through his beard, a habit the Gordian exhibits when uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, began to speak, seemed to think better of it, and once again started toying with his beard.

“Gunnstein, speak, please. It is obvious you have something to say. You are among friends,” I said, trying to open the Gordian up, and hoping the conversation would lighten the somber mood.

Gunn nodded. “Indeed I am. Which is why this is difficult for me.” The northern warrior stared at me, his blue eyes cold under the crags of his brow, then let his gaze fall to the table's pitted surface. “I canna be going wit’ ye no more, master Tryn. Your father is a fine man, and pays like he ought. Never did he miss a day, and always I had me coins for whoring or what-have-ye.” I could not help but smile at Gunn’s coarse manner. “But I think it time I be hittin’ the roads once more; a man must make a livin’. Yer safe here in Sevencity, safe with these others.”

I could not feign surprise at this. I knew for some time that Gunn was uncomfortable with the path I was taking, and where we were going as a group. He had argued against returning to the Hills estate, against going to Harren, and it was obvious our encounter with Chardin had shaken him. “I understand, friend. You have served my father, and me, well. But whither would you go?”

Gunn shrugged his massive shoulders. “I am thinkin’ I might like to see the Prince's Tower up by way o’ Tarn Cal. Or maybe fish the fjords in the Borsk mountains. Or, by the blue tits of Umberlee, maybe e’en head home to Gordia. There's always fightin’ to be had there.”

“Then I wish you well, friend. I believe I will remain here, for the time being, and I will let my father know of your decision. Should you have need of work in—“

Gunn interrupted me, reaching out a meaty hand to grab my shoulder. “Enough, master Tryn. I am not a man who likes g’byes. ‘Vaclava,’ in my home speech, is both a greetin’ and a farewell, ‘cause we ne’er like to be saying bye. Let us not say it now.”

I nodded slowly, feeling sad at his parting, but also somewhat guiltily feeling proud of myself, that Gunn felt I could take care of myself now. I clasped the Gordian's hand in my own. “Then… vaclava, friend.”

Gunn stood. “Vaclava.” He eyeds the group, nodded quietly, and gathered his staff and pack. “May Tempus shower you with glory.”

With nary a second glance, the burly Gordian walked out of the common room, leaving a subdued party in his wake. In a moment, Fineon stood. “I’d have a last drink with the Gordian.” Anticipating Driade’s objection, Fineon raised his hand. “Don’t worry, Driadele,” he said, using a form of her name I had not heard before, “I won’t seek out Chardin. And besides, if I was enchanted, then I won’t be here when Chardin arrives. I shall return by morning.” With that, Fineon hurried out after the Gordian.

To be continued...

 

[Cinerarium]

Sad Partings, Continued

We all stared into our cups for a moment. Pell, for whom I had begun to feel some brotherly affection for after his bravery in the Thieves’ Roads, was the first to break the silence. He grinned. “Moomgibble.”

“Moomgibble?” I asked.

Our gnome nodded, the tip of his nose waving somewhat comically over his cup. “I grew up in the Lathen Hills, north of the Jaspar, and we had a cow named—“

“Moomgibble,” sighed Kazir, rolling his eyes.

“Aye, Moomgibble. A wonderful name, no?” Pell was silent for a moment, a serious look passing across his face like summer storm clouds. “At any rate, when I was little… I was always getting into trouble. I always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And, about once a week, I was unfortunate enough to step into the… droppings… of our cow.”

I sipped my cider, eyeing the gnome over the rim of my goblet to avoid laughing at his expense. “Ahem. This is interesting, friend Pell, but what has this to do with us? Or with the Drimm?” I added.

Pell exchanged a quiet look with Driade before returning his gaze to me. “I stepped in our cow’s manure more times than I can count. The cow eventually died – struck by lightning, no less – but her name lived on. Whenever my parents knew I had done something stupid, they would only have to look at me and say, ‘Moomgibble,’ and I would just have to nod.”

Kazir offered a patient smile. “I fear I cannot discern the reason for this story, friend gnome.” And though Kazir seemed not to know where Pell was going, I had a fear I knew.

Pell nodded and sighed, suddenly sad. “Well, friends, there’s been no better time to say ‘Moomgibble’ that I can think of.” His face was serious, and he looked at each of us under a furrowed brow. “We stepped into something. Something big, and foul, and old. We weren’t meant to be in that glade, weren’t meant to spill blood there, weren’t met to steal that boar’s ring. We should never—“

I interrupted, more for fear of where Pell was going than any other motive. “That was chance, Pell. Nothing but chance. We do not even know if the Drimm are indeed after us, or if Matrim still lives. We know nothing at this time. There’s no reason to feel we have overstepped ourselves.”

“I’m scared, Tryn.” Pell’s normally jaunty expression was nothing if not solemn, and the uncharacteristic look brought back to me my unspoken fears of the last tenday. “I want to visit the city which shares my name. I never have, you know, and I had spoken with Riley of one day going there with him.” At this, we all looked uncomfortable. Even Kazir’s normally stoic face looked sad, and he stroked his mustache thoughtfully.

“These people here – these Harren men – they are rude and never seem to laugh. I am ready to move south.” Pell at this point looked genuinely unhappy, more so than when he had thought his mule lost at the Hills estate.

Kazir drummed a tattoo with his fingers on the table. “We cannot yet go south, Pell. The black-robed men have been through here. Most likely they slew the Oghmtie priest Fineon found beneath the docks. I, for one, would like to know the answer behind our current enigma.”

“Not me, Kaz,” Pell said, shaking his head. “I’ve always been curious but I can tell… I feel certain this is one time when I should just move on and let it lie. Moomgibble.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but hesitated. On the one hand, I too want nothing more than to leave these problems behind, that the scene of Riley’s death will stop playing through my mind. On the other hand, if it is not safe here, I do not see why it would be safe anywhere else. At any rate, during my moment of hesitation, Driade spoke. “I, too, do not like this. This city smells of cruelty and suspicion. There are too many whisperers. The smells I want blow wildly across the Weedsea; the whispers I wish to hear are the soldierpines shuffling in the soft winds of the Lantern Grove.”

“What are you two saying?” I asked. “You, too, wish to leave?”

Pell was silent, but Driade nodded resolutely. “I will leave on the morrow, nadadrel. You are welcome to come with me. My people of the Lantern Grove would welcome you, for a visit. We know how to treat strangers, unlike the men of this city.”

I was unsure how to take this advance. The elf’s cold exterior had suddenly flashed warm towards me, but I was more concerned with her and Pell’s determination to leave. “I thank you for your offer, and hope to one day travel to the Grove. But I find myself drawn to this danger, and at the very least I must stay here in the Sevencity long enough to visit my temple and write my father in Cymeria. I am concerned that where once we were six, we would now be three, assuming Fineon is not lost. If there is evil afoot, and if it looks for us, we will be less prepared to meet it without you.”

Kazir nodded. “And neither of you would be guaranteed safety, either. Surely you would feel more secure along with us?”

Pell shook his head. “I can move well, alone. I can speak with the burrowing animals. I can remain on the forest trails.” He shook his head again, waving his hand to clear away the possibility of him staying. “I will return to my homeland, for now, and none will follow me.”

Driade nodded. “I, too, can move well enough on my own. I have hunted these forests of Luc Valu for two summers now. I fear not for my own safety or that I will lose the way.”

Kazir glanced from me to Driade, then to Pell. “I am sure I speak for Tryn and Fineon when I say that the three of us wish you both nothing but good fortune. We ask that you think about this decision, however, prior to acting. I fear the roadways are less safe now than they were prior to our crossing of the Daericstream. I fear the Gul-Drimm are more than we now know.”

Driade nodded. “Thank you for your well wishes. Nonetheless, I have made my decision. Pell and I spoke last night, even before Fineon was ensnared by the odd spellcaster. I will take him as far as the Jaspar, then I will head to the woodlands of my home.”

Pell appeared faintly embarrassed. “I am sorry, friends. Truly, I am. But this is not for me….” His words faded into an awkward silence.

Driade stood, nodded, and with a last look my way walked towards the stairwell. Pell lingered for a few moments, gulping the last of his cider before looking at each of us in turn. He, too, then turned and made his way toward his room upstairs.

Kazir and I looked at each other, unsure of what to say. I smiled faintly, sad to see them go. “Moomgibble,” I said.

 

[Tellerve]

Holy Moongibble!

So, err, that is kinda not good. Although I do find it interesting that the players weren't automatically happy with rushing into the jaws of death. Was this a decision by the players to play new characters and leave the old ones off in a good way as opposed to waiting till they died to bring in a new character?

BTW, I don't know if it was intentional or not but the priest of oghma, Clifticus, made me grin when I thought his name came from Cliff notes. As I said, maybe not intentional or maybe I'm seeing something completely different but my mind immediately made the leap.

Good stuff! More Tryn!


Tellerve

 

[RJSmalls]

A Break in the Action

Tell -

Actually, your question hints toward a bit of an unfortunate story. We had to take a break from the campaign about this time in Tryn's journal mainly because I had too many pokers in the fire and couldn't support a regular session.

During the pause, it became somewhat clear that a couple of the players from the start of the campaign didn't see eye to eye, so to speak. My wife, after seeing me mope about, suggested I fire up the campaign again - which I did. We commenced, however, without a few of the players we originally had. I didn't feel comfortable inviting one or two of them and leaving the leftover player(s) in the cold. Just an unfortunate situation, as I said.

Anyway, the group is smaller now, but seems to have meshed very well together. As Tryn's journal will show, Tryn (Cleric/Rogue), Fineon (Elven Cleric/Ftr), and Kazir (nomadic Wiz/Mon) seem to work very well as a team (at least at the time of the latest journal entry; I don't want to give anything away).

There's my quick $.02 regarding the change in the group composition.

Cheers,
RJ

 

[Cinerarium]

Sad Partings, Finale

“Well, what an odd turn of events this day has shown us,” Kazir said with obvious surprise on his face. I patiently waited for him to continue, as I had learned by now that he was wont to pause for a long period between sentences. I did not begrudge him the time, as whatever he said when he got round to speaking was usually worth the wait. “Where does this leave us? Shall we continue to pursue these oldsters and pry our noses ever deeper into the mystery of the Drimm and the strange and ancient prophecies?” One of the things I admire about Kazir is his ability to speak so dramatically.

“I say yes and will pursue it alone if need be,” Kazir continued. “Fear comes from the discomfort of the unknown, the rational mind at war with the irrational. My mind is calm. I embrace the unknown,” he said, not in arrogance but with a sense of calm as stating fact, like stating that Fineon’s coat is purple.

“I am not, however, so foolish as to think this path is not dangerous,” he said, reading I imagine the uncertainty on my face. “Tryn, I would welcome your aid and companionship on this quest, and I hope Fineon will join us as well when he returns. We could try to pick up the trail of this Chardin, if he does not seek us out. We certainly did tell him where we were staying,” Kaz said, shaking his head. “Lastly, we have the lead provided by the scroll we found in the sewer. We can head to the cemetery tonight and try to lay an ambush for anyone who might respond to the signal lantern. It may also be of benefit to warn the priests of Oghma of our encounter with Chardin. Someone wants their tracks covered. More priests may be in danger.”

Kazir and I continued to talk for a short time. We decided that we were both drained and tired, and would rather do some reconnaissance around the cemetery during the day. Further, I need to go to my temple as soon as possible. With any luck, my brethren will be able to provide us with some aid.

I ordered another cider, reached into my pack for my journal, inkpot, and a fresh quill, and set to writing this entry.

 

[Cinerarium]

Hammer 3, Happy Harlan’s, the Deep of Night

I cannot rest until I recount what else has transpired this dark day. As promised, we nervously awaited the appearance of Chardin at Happy Hara’s. I felt we were at a turning point, the general unease that had been building from the start of the journey was now growing like a thundercloud, black and foreboding, distant thunder heralding the tempest to come. Absent our companions, I felt distinctly unprepared as Kazir and I waited in silence for the appearance of Chardin. Once I finished writing, we talked for a bit about what to do in the morning, but our thoughts were elsewhere as we nervously waited.

My own edginess seemed reflected in a half-orc mercenary who had frequented Harlan’s for some time. He fidgeted about, and on several occasions seemed about to come to our table. I pointed his behavior out to Kazir, who identified him as Begeth Toth. Toth had apparently been a gladiator in Apia, and had won his freedom before crossing the Conomora. He looked fierce and wild, his scars plain to see. He also looked old and tired, though I suppose age comes quickly to his mongrel people.

Just as the half orc seemed set to finally approach us, Chardin appeared. I was so taken with his appearance I barely noticed Toth’s swift departure. Chardin seemed to materialize out of the smoky air of Harlan’s, his dark, unkempt hair framing a face as hard as granite. Without asking, he sat and regarded Kazir and myself. I tensed, already mentally focused on diverting whatever charms he might try.

“I see that your companions from earlier are not here. Very well. I shall not be so forward as to try to enchant any of you this time.” Chardin’s voice was like a whetstone slid across a dagger. His piercing eyes looked into me as I regarded him with some trepidation.

“What is it you want?” Kazir asked, and I was thankful for the break in the silence.

Chardin’s gaze turned to Kazir. “You have been looking into things you should have left alone. It would be wise for you to cease your investigations and find other pursuits.”

“Are you threatening us?” I asked, steeling myself for his reply.

“Let me simply say you would do well to stop your meddling. And your companions who recently left – oh, I know about them – are affected by your choices as well. Perhaps no ill fate will befall you, but perhaps you will come to find them, strung up by their own entrails.” This last Chardin said with the same tone I would have expected him to order a cup of mead – no malice or anger, but as simple fact.

“Your accent,” he said, addressing me. “You are Luc Valu, are you not?”

Thinking quickly, I told a half truth. “No, I am from Val Hor. Why do you ask?”

“Odd,” Chardin replied, as if we were talking about the weather. “I am seldom wrong about these things. I have walked Saficea since the Primus’s children fell, and have seen mountains fall into the sea.” He paused, and I could do little more than stare astonished at his bizarre speech. “Very well. I leave you with this, a reward if you choose to not pursue this matter any further, and a reminder of some of the fate that may befall you if you choose to continue.”

With that ominous utterance, Chardin stood. He calmly unfastened a pouch from his belt that looked heavy and jingled with the sound of coin. He placed the coin on the table, and left the bar.

Several moments passed while Kazir and I looked numbly at the bag and each other. Not wanting to touch the sack, I motioned Hara over to our table. “Hara,” I said, “I would like to apologize for not having paid you yet for our rooms. Seeing as we have not yet found Marigold’s son, I offer you this,” waving at the sack on the table, “as I am sure it will cover our expenses.”

Hara gave me a quizzical look, but shrugging her shoulders, proceeded to upend the sack onto the table.

Whereupon well over a dozen severed fingers, each adorned with a simple ring, fell onto the table. Hara gasped and drew back, then giving us a dark look she placed her body between the grisly fingers and the rest of the common room.

“I know not what kind of sick game ye be playing,” she hissed, “but you’d best clean this up right now! And if ye be planning to stay here any longer, it’ll be twice the cost!”

“I… I – I deeply apologize, good woman! I had no idea that would happen.” I moved quickly to sweep the fingers back into the sack, using the edge of my bowl to avoid touching the digits. “Here is your payment – for both of us, for the next two nights in advance.”

Kazir and I decided that this would be an opportune moment to retire from the common room. We discussed the day’s events a bit further, and decided we definitely did not want to openly pursue the matter of the dark robes any further for the time being. In the morning we will visit my temple, and proceed from there.

 

[Cinerarium]

Hammer 4, the Temple of Deneir

Clever journal, I take it you already noticed that tonight I scribe the day’s events from a different location. Tonight we rest at the Temple of Deneir. After the last night’s misadventures at Happy Harlan’s, Kazir and I felt our welcome had worn out at the house of Hara.

As promised, we ventured at first light to the Temple of Deneir. I nervously anticipated what would occur when we reached the temple. It had been nearly a tenday since I received the vision from my Lord, and still I had not visited one of his shrines to make an offering and pray for guidance. We made our way through the Sevencity as it awoke, the air alive with the sounds of carts being drawn to market and roosters crowing in backyard coops, while all around us a soft snow fell.

Unlike the Library of Oghma, the Temple of Deneir is not open to the public. Those who need a scribe enter a side entrance, or have one sent to their homes if they are wealthy enough. The main entrance is closed except on holy days to all but the Glyph Priests themselves. An acolyte greeted us at the door, and after assuring him that I was indeed a priest of the Lord of Glyphs in spirit, if not yet fully anointed, he let Kazir and me enter.

We were led through the great antechamber of the church, where priests constantly chiseled at a great work representing the Metatext. Written in several tongues, the priests constantly added new pieces of wisdom, while others plastered over bits that had, over the course of time, proven to be so much… moomgibble.

Past the nave, where I briefly knelt and said a prayer asking forgiveness for one so wayward as myself, we were led finally to the chambers of one of the Readers of the Temple. As our host stood behind his desk and invited us to take seats, I was surprised to note that he was an Aradeeti, not unlike Kazir himself. With a large, dark mustache and olive skin, the Aradeeti seemed genuinely pleased to meet us.

“Come in!” he said. “I am Omad Five-Crossings, named for the number of attempts it took my vessel before we finally traversed the Conomora. Please, take seats and be at peace.”

“Thank you most kindly, Reader Omad. I am Goetryn Pater, and this is my friend, Kazir al’Goram.”

“Ah, a fellow Aradeeti! Tell me, how go things in our homeland? It is many alameshi since I left the fair steppes behind for the Isles. Have the Doth’raki been seen in greater numbers?”

Kazir looked pleased to meet another of his people in such an unlikely place. “It has been long for me as well, since last I saw the open steppe, or walked the streets of Durbin. But last I heard, the Doth’raki had not been seen in numbers in some time.”

Omad stroked his mustache, and looked over Kazir appraisingly. At last he turned his dark eyes to me, and I felt my heart jump. Surely by not seeking out Deneir sooner, I had angered my Lord. “Tell me then, Goetryn, what is it I may do for you? I see that you too read from the Great Book.”

I hesitated but for a moment. “Indeed, our Lord of Glyphs has chosen me to be one of his scribes. I had hoped and prayed for this moment, but I am sad to say that it came nearly a tenday ago, and I have just now made it to His great house.”

Omad looked me over, then nodded. “There are one thousand, four hundred some odd worshippers of Deneir in all of Valusia. Of those, some two hundred and eight have taken up the life of a priest within His house. And out of those, only thirty one – now, thirty two, have been blessed with His power. If Deneir has chosen you, He understands why you have not yet come to His house. Do you have any offerings for the Glyphlord?”

I must have been beaming with pride. Omad cut through my fears and left me feeling vindicated. Perhaps it was only my own questioning of my faith that had let me down when I attempted to repel the undead yesterday. Oh Deneir, thank You again for blessing this mortal with what pieces of knowledge You have seen fit to grant!

“Indeed I do, Reader. I have here a love note, recovered from the tomb of Luvios the arch mage, and several centuries old. And here I have a transcribed set of runes from a pillar in the swamps north of Purseton. These runes are in ancient Epalian and contain part of a prophecy. Further, I give you a scroll, found only yesterday in the sewers, detailing a nefarious plot to kidnap natives of this city and give them up to a mysterious end. I also have a list of five names, written in Halfling. Finally, I have my journal, detailing my journeys since leaving Cymeria on Nightal 15th of the year last. I would ask, however, that the journal be copied if you think it best for the temple to keep it, as I would like to retain it for my own study.”

Omad looked over each of these with a great deal of interest, particularly my journal. The list of names in Halfling he returned. “All of these are very interesting. They tell stories, where bits of wisdom might be found. Particularly the love note, as it tells of a poignant moment from a period of history where we have few records. And your journal seems a copious account of an eventful few tendays. I look forward to reading it, and shall have it copied and returned to you by the end of the day. But this list tells no story, so while I thank you, I would return it. Goetryn, you have indeed been following the path that the Great Scrivener sets out for each of us. In return for these documents, I would offer you something in return.” Omad produced a durable journal and a scroll. “Pick one, as a gift to a new cleric of Lord Deneir.”

I felt honored. Bowing, I humbly accepted the journal. It was relatively thin, but long and wide, fashioned more for durability than aesthetics. An elegant, scripted “K” graced the green-gray cover. I looked forward to reading it at leisure.

Pleased with the gratitude I showed, Omad spoke. “Now, is there any way I may help you?”

Kazir and I proceeded to tell him our story, to as complete a reckoning as we could. Although all of it is within this journal, we wanted to immediately have his counsel. He heard our tale in full, and seemed greatly saddened upon hearing of the death of Brother Linden Bjorn of Oghma. The disappearance of the tome on the Age of Darkness also greatly bothered him. Omad asked pointed questions, drawing more of the tale out of us whenever we skipped a part unintentionally, and asked for more detail when needed.

“I shall do what I can,” said Omad when we finished. “We have little knowledge stored here, though – that is the duty of the Oghmites. What works of art come through here are studied for components of the Metatext, and then usually sent on. But I will see what can be found of this enemy – the Gul-Drimm. Also, I would open our Temple to you, if you should like to stay here. There… there are not as many of our brethren in Harren as there once were. So many pursuing a more… militaristic career.” At this, Omad was silent and looked into the distance a moment, reminding me again of Kazir. “One other thing… at the Hills Estate… was there, by chance, a man there by the name of Gorful? A rather large, bald man?”

“Indeed! He was very helpful in getting us out of there before Lordling Lenardo could cause any more trouble.” Kazir and I sat forward.

Omad nodded. “Strangely enough, Sir Gorful was here, last night. I did not speak with him though. If you would like, I could let you speak with the priest who saw him.”


To be continued...

 

[Cinerarium]

Seeking Knowledge, cont.

We expressed our thanks to Omad, and he left us for the moment. Presently an elder priest of Deneir entered the room. Stooped with age, he waved us to sit as we stood in his presence. He ponderously made his way over to the chair that Omad had occupied.

“Hello,” he rasped, “I am Reader Ells Three-Words. They call me Three-Words because I have discovered three words of the Metatext!” The elderly priest beamed with pride. “I would have found a few more, if I hadn’t fallen asleep after too much mead one night as a younger priest. The candle I had been studying by fell over, and badly burned a tome I had been studying. Ah… the misfortunes of youth! Now, what is it I can do for you?”

“Reader Ells, I am Goetryn Pater, lately of Cymeria. This is my companion, Kazir al’Goram. We are honored to meet you! Three words of the Metatext! I must say, it is an honor to know you, Glyphscribe.

“We understand you spoke yesterday with a Sir Gorful. We are old acquaintances of his, and would like to know, if we could, more about your meeting. Why was he here in the Sevencity? We saw him at the Hills Estate but a short time ago.”

“Sir Gorful?” asked the elderly Reader. “Ah yes, young fellow. He was here looking for some people, now let me see… yes, he said something about looking for a strange mix of people, something about a Gordian, a gnome, and an elf, if I remember correctly. I’m not sure why in heavens he sought them out here. Seemed he almost took up the orders of Deneir as a younger man, before entering into the service of Lord Byron. Most peculiar.”

“An – an elf, a gnome, and a Gordian? Did he perhaps mention an Aradeeti, a Valusian, and another elf?” I asked, incredulous that he could have been looking for us.

“Why yes, I think he did. Is that important?” asked Three-Words.

I paused, and exchanged a glance with Kazir. “I believe it may be, elder. I believe he was seeking us. My other companions include those you mentioned. Do you know why he sought us?”

“He sought you? I heard that we had your journal, young Goetryn. Now I must read it myself! I look forward to discovering the circumstances behind such a motley group assembling! Well, Sir Gorful. I think he said something about you possibly being in danger. Oh my, but that does sound dreadful.”

“We thank you greatly, Reader Ells Three-Words. If you could excuse us, we need to see if we can find Gorful at all.”

“Not at all, young one. And make sure, when you write about me in your journal, that you mention why I’m called ‘Three-Words!’”

Kazir and I took our leaves of Three-Words (thank you again, elder) and decided to go to Happy Harlan’s in case he had tracked us there. On our way, we came across a bowyer that caught my eye. I had heard stories of the skilled crossbow craftsmen of Harren, and decided to quickly look over the bowyer’s wares. The worst of his crossbows put my worn crossbow to shame. With money in my pocket from our adventures in the sewers, I decided to buy one of his masterwork creations. I haggled a decent price, and he even threw in a few of his masterful bolts as well. For the rest of our journey to Harlan’s I felt a bit safer, knowing I had such a fine weapon at my side.

Hara didn’t look pleased to see us, as I expected. Again though, the half-orc Begeth Toth started as we entered the bar. Ignoring him for the moment, I headed straight for where Hara stood at the bar.

“Hara, I’d like to again apologize for the incident yesterday. If it’s any consolation, we’ve found another place to stay the night.”

“Well, ye paid, so all’s forgiven, but that kind of foolishness will scare off customers.”

“Agreed. Again, my sincerest apologies. I must beg a question of you though. Have you seen a man in here lately asking after my companions and I? He would be a large Luc Valusian, bald but armed and wearing armor, most likely.”

Hara gave me a look, and I knew she’d try to get some more coin out of me before this was over. “No, I saw no such man looking for you.”

“Could I ask you then to give him a note if he appears and asks for us?”

“Aye,” she said, and I could predict her next utterance before it left her lips, “in exchange for a few crowns.”

I grimaced. This harpy had taken every opportunity to come between us and our coin. I thanked Deneir and Omad for giving us another place to stay. If I ever have the coin to start my own inn, I will make it my mission to drive this uppity scullion out of business!

“Very well. Two crowns to deliver this note to Gorful, if he should come looking for us.” I quickly drew out a sheet of paper, my ink and pen. Kazir suggested simply drawing the symbol of Deneir, reasoning that Gorful would know where to seek us out if he saw that. I agreed, and sketched a simple rendering of my Lord’s personal glyph, his eye underneath a candle. I folded the paper carefully, and dripped a bit of candle wax to make a seal. I handed the note with the crowns to Hara. “Thank you for this, Hara.” She grimaced and walked away to serve other patrons.

No sooner had I turned around to talk with Kazir than I found myself face to chest with Begeth Toth, the large half-orc towering half a head over me. “Can I help you?” I quipped, reeling internally from his stench.

“I gots information you want,” Begeth growled. “You makes it worth my while, and maybe I’ll tell it to you.”

“Information? What information?” I asked, stalling for time to think.

“First, you buy me some Margiven mead. Then we be talking.”

Kazir had told me of Begeth’s fondness for mead, and of his semi-frequent brawls with Jorthio Twicebow, a Larren clansman who also hangs about Harlan’s. I was relatively sure that by getting Begeth into his cups, I might be provoking Hara further, but at this point I didn’t particularly care, and figured that the coin we’d given her would still persuade her to give our note to Gorful if he should arrive.

With a mead in hand, Begeth was more agreeable to talk. I won’t bore you, dear journal, with the bartering that went on. Other than learning that Begeth’s skills with arithmetic were seriously lacking, we got precious little information out of him, other than a few slanders towards myself and my god. Eventually we agreed to hire him out at eight crowns a day, upon conclusion of which he would tell us what information we had. We agreed to pick him up the next day for a mission we were planning.

Exhausted from running all over town, we ate a quick meal and retired to our cell in Deneir’s Temple. As promised, Five-Crossings had returned my journal, presumably having kept a copy for himself. I shall have to buy a new one, however, if I keep writing at this rate.

 

[Tellerve]

Good stuff, and a couple posts since my last one. So cheers to you for getting a few up there. I wonder though why no one else is saying much about this thread. Obviously I know you Cinerarium, but I think the writing is quite good as is the story. I guess people aren't very willing to adopt a new story hour but rather stick with ones with 5000+ views and years of backstory. *shrugs*

Well, keep 'em coming and I'm sure you'll get more followers!

Tellerve