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The Dungeon Master 185 Captain
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 Posted: Mon Dec 22, 2008 6:41 am
 The cold savage wastelands of The North. For whatever personal reasons, you have all traveled to this land following the Dessarin, the great river that runs from the south to the very north at The Spine of the World.
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Posted: Mon Dec 22, 2008 7:20 pm
. With the new law passed by Horustep III allowing women to work the same jobs as men, Sister, who relinquished her division of her father's dowry to the church of Thoth at her home metropolis Gheldaneth, sought the opportunity from the Church to become a diplomatic messenger of Mulhorand. A nun of Thoth, the child's upbringing long since introduction to the temples and monasteries, was to mingle with the public faces of the hierarchy of civilization. Not as a beggar, but as a bridge between the complaisant slaves and parsimonious bureaucrats and the prosperous clerics ruling them all. Her hopes were to one day become an Ambassador to a far away land with rogue disorder strewn about.
. The many thefts performed at the name of Mask had become a nuisance to the esteemed clerics and bureaucrats, and the thieves' knowledge of their new found chicanery had to be stopped. With so many of Mulhorand's Soldiers away, the task of order befell the clerics who, through their chains of command, eventually delegated the arduous assignments of sleuth and discovery to their monks and nuns via the street officers of Ghelandeth. They questioned known thieves about the vanishings, but they were all too quiet to betray their god and people. Wizards were brought in to investigate the magics being used in the crimes, but the divine was out of their field of knowledge. Surreptitious practitioners of cunning attempted to best Mask's aggregation, abnegating their studies for the purpose of discovering the whereabouts of the peoples' belongings, and the reasons and wherewith of the onslaught of violence.
. Rumors abound the lands of other such sites where bands of thieves are rising against the echelons. From as far south as Mulhorand and as far north as Waterdeep, several bevy of bandits and pilferers are rising from their shadowy depths. The Church, determined to resolve their unpropitious dilemma, decided to send troops of diplomats to each subsequent city in supposition of befalling the threat of an uprising. Her chance finally came; Sister was going to do everything in her power to be a member of one of those caravans. She had nothing to take but herself, and was ready to represent the city Gheldaneth in the best possible way she could. She only needed to convince the Church to allow her, a nun, to join the peregrination of investigators. She met with clerics, pleading her case.
. "I feel," she said softly and reserved, "that we should not appear as an outside entity of order befalling the world over. It may be more counterproductive to our cause. Mask is a trickster who will have his members cause our prospective neighbors and allies to disdain our efforts of ridding this plight from the world." Her training of religions and theocracy would keep her well prepared for any debate.
. "We know this, nun," an onlooker said from his pulpit. He wore spectacles, finely crafted and worthy of a nobleman, though he was a cleric of Thoth in equally fine clothing. "We are not so unlearned as to daresay a military could waltz into a city with no purpose," he continued. "We've only the gates of The North left to enter, and are forming a thorpe to do just that." He paused, expecting a response.
. "Yes, Sir. Of course. I mean not to disrespect your knowledge or position." She countered gracefully. "I am well taught by my mentors to require very little, and to peacefully resolve dispute." Changing her approach would be wise if she would expect to go. "If your crew should need a new monk of adequate skill with whom to travel and teach and from whom to learn, I assure you, there are many at the monasteries who would be willing to journey and protect them and our shipments to their destinations. I, Sirs, would even be willing to go, if it would please you."
. A cleric smirked with his twisted face unfurling his lip in the upper corner. His eyes met the nun, standing there with perfect poise and perfect resolve. She was not an incredibly attractive woman, but had a way with words that even he could not deny. He bellowed loosely, "That is why you're going with our merchant traders. Only the city of Waterdeep is left unrepresented, and it is known to us that you have been trained well in coordinating arguments for introduction. We have it on high authority of our scouts that there is talk of a Guild of Shadow Thieves returning to Waterdeep from the Undermountain. Any progress that is to be made would begin there in Waterdeep near the back alleys and darkened doorways. The City of the Dead is said to be an ideal place to begin an investigation while the sun is high, but it is not recommended anyone defy the guards who protect citizens from that unholy site in the cloak of the moon. Mulhorand is grateful for your willingness to assist your God and Church in the matter, Sister, and you would surely find reward in your merit."
. She could not refuse. Not only because it was a request of the Church, but because she was being given the one thing she wanted most out of life: the ability to be different; the ability to leave what she knows, and recreate her own identity in a manner of self expression. She had to accept in a way that was not too doting. "I'll go, Sirs," she whispered to refrain from screaming it from the top of her lungs. "I'll travel with our merchants, and introduce Mulhandor to Waterdeep. It will be an honor." Her smile would not break, but inside the nun was giddy.
. As a passenger of the merchant caravans, she would be able to enter the city with a trade known to be accepted by Waterdeep: precious stones. These exotic goods were available from Mulhorand, a distant land from Waterdeep with a very different environment. It was certainly considered they would not have exactly the same goods available to them. Not only would she have the benefit of traveling to exotic lands, but she'd also be helping her city regain an inkling of the finances being removed by the iniquitous bands. The long journey would be ideal for Sister to educate herself in the mannerisms of The North, and more importantly, to find an educator of the language of Chondathan, native to The North, and spoken by all its inhabitants. No one could learn such a drastically diverse language with such short notice and in such short time, but she was determined to give it a try. "Even if all I can say is, 'Hello' and 'Goodbye,' I have to try," she thought to herself, physically and mentally preparing herself for any forthcoming challenges.
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Posted: Tue Dec 23, 2008 8:19 pm
Kal’Donar Ixraz. First Boy. First Graduate of Melee Da’Thera. Prince of Ixraz. All titles that had never meant anything to the drow male. Titles that meant even less now, so far from ’home’. But it was home he visited now, outside of his body, traveling down the corridors of his memory in the sleep-like state of reverie. Today he was reliving the downfall of House Ixraz. He heard again the sounds of dying soldiers. Priestesses of Lolth crying out for mercy. Then their howls of despair as they realized that Lotlh held no clemency for her fallen.
If there was ever a happy day in Kal’Donar’s life, surely that had been it.
Amber orbs opened slowly, diminished slightly by the dark elf’s perpetual scowl. It wasn’t that he was angry. The former scion of Ixraz had rarely ever felt true, red anger. He just had one of those faces. His eyes drank in their surroundings. There was no light within the small wagon, but his eyes needed none, picking out every object and every detail with a precision born of the starless Underdark. Even more so for Kal’Donar, whose eyesight was often key.
He rose in a fluid motion, emerging from reverie with the almost arrogant method of a warrior. Within this wagon the gypsies had given him for his own rest a single tome, another gift from the strange traveling folk. The Fletched Way it was called. It had not originally been written in Common, but this version was, having been scribed so by an unnamed author. Kal’Donar had been studying it extensively of late, finding many gems in the art of archery that even the masters at Melee Da’Thera had not known. Which was to say, not surprising. Few in the Underdark ever took up the longbow.
Fewer still enjoyed success with it. He however, was one such dark elf.
And that was only the beginning. The book and its martial teachings were fast becoming his dogma.
The drow dressed, slinging his long bow over one shoulder, the quiver over the other and buckling his b*****d sword to his hip. An ebon hand pulled a slightly less black beret from its post, setting it neatly atop his white-capped scalp. He knew it was night, his time, but donned the cowl of his cloak for good measure. Surface folk did not take kindly to him, given his heritage, and with good reason he knew. If there was anything Kal’Donar could appreciate, it was pragmatism.
Slowly, he pushed open the door of his wagon, stepping out into the cold Northern night. In the distance, he could see the walled barony of Yartar. Even at this late hour, trade caravans were bustling in and out. It would seem the gypsies had reached their destination while he had been in his meditative state. A handful of them were still awake, but none were trying to call to the caravans that occasionally came down the nearby Evermoor Way. Not even they would hawk their exotic goods at this time.
They did not acknowledge him as he bled into the night. They did not need to. They paid him to guard and so he did, night after night. A sentinel.
But Kal’Donar felt, and not for the first time, a wave of monotony. He did not intend to spend the rest of his many centuries keeping watch over these folk. The time to move on he knew, was drawing nigh.
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Posted: Sat Dec 27, 2008 6:18 pm
Dust flew in small clouds as Serj fell to his knees. "Arrgghh!" he moaned, " I'm so sick of being lost!" Glancing around, he blew out a sigh. "Well... what do I do now?" he mused. Shifting about, he leaned against the sack that held most of his few possessions. How did it come to this? he thought. He hadn't always been lost like this, an unwilling wanderer. It wasn't too long ago he had a home, but due to a strange twist of fate, lost it. It had happened like this: Eight months ago, he was like every other Githzerai, living in a monastery, a little bubble of order amidst the chaos, when a Githanki attack overran it. Serj had been just a trainee, not yet strong enough to defend the place, and so was hiding with the other trainees in the barracks.
Unfortunately, the barracks were the one of the first places overtaken. His fellow trainees escaped; Serj wasn't so lucky. He was flung bodily from the protective shell of the monastery into the swirling chaos of Limbo. The unpredictable chaos did a strange thing then. Serj felt a strange burning sensation. He would later compare it to magma flowing through his veins. Glowing lime green sparks coursed over his body as the sensation reached his head. A scream ripped from his throat as he vanished in a gout of the same colored sparks.
He awoke to the rattling of chains. Through his blurry vision, he saw a hobgoblin trying to fasten chains about his limbs. Weakly, he raised his arm to push its shackle bearing hands away. Instead, the tattoos on his arm glowed lime green as a sparks jumped from his hand to the goblinoid's forehead, slaying it instantly. A hooded and cloaked figure Serj had not noticed before stepped out from the shadows of an alley. "Did you do this?" a female voice demanded from behind the hood. "I... think so..." he muttered back. A few stray sparks arced over his body A grin spread across the hooded woman's face. "Come on, laddie," she said, helping him up, "Lets get out of here before the Skulls catch you for fryin' a slaver."
The next two months were enlightening for Serj. The woman turned out to be Larra, a benevolent cleric of Mystra, hiding from devotees of Shar there, in Skullport. She correctly recognized his new innate magical talent and taught him how to use it, as well as about Mystra and the new world he found himself in. All until one morning, two months ago. Larra had burst through the door, clothes singed and ripped. "Grab your things," she had said with forced calm, "It's no longer safe here, and I really don't want you to get caught up in this." Serj grabbed the sack that held the gear Larra had given him, and dashed back to her. She was in the middle of spellcasting, as he entered, when a fireball took out the door. They were both pelted with flaming splinters.
A spiral of blue light started to envelop Serj's toes. He began to step forward, but was held in place by Larra's spell. The spiraling light reached his knees. "Damnit! Let me help you!" he yelled at her. She finished casting a second spell that seemed to freeze everything around them. The light reached his mid stomach. She stepped close to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Sorry, hon," she had said with a sad grin, "I've taught you all I could in the time we had, but I got 'ta hide again. Frankly, at your level of experience, you'd slow me up, and endanger us both." She touched a ring on her finger and she began to disappear. The light reached his neck. "I hope to see you in the future..." he heard in his ear. She vanished completely, as the light reached his chin. The last thing he saw there before the light engulfed him completely was time jumping back into its normal flow and clerics of Shar storming into the now empty room...
He shook his head, clearing out the thoughts of the past. He stood up, grabed the sack and slung it over his shoulder. He hefted his shortspear and began using it a walking stick. Thats enough of thinking about that, he thought. I'm still in the middle of nowhere, daydreaming about the past won't help me. Shrugging his shoulders, another thought crossed his head, Where am I going, and what am I going to do when I get there? ...Gods, I hope I find someone who'll help me soon... He trudged northward once again.
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Posted: Wed Dec 23, 2009 3:00 pm
It all started in an inn. Lots of things begin in a common inn, so this wasnt so surprising.
or maybe it started two years ago, in the sword coast, on a seemingly abandoned island 5 miles from the coast. There was, in truth, two settlements on this rahter large island. One was an outpost of the Cuelq'tkari Dragonborn, a large clan of the dragonborn. Another was the first tiefling outpost built in years, and it was owned exclusively by the illustrious and powerful Zeb'guanti Family, especially loved by their son, Tintrall, a young yet very shrewd cleric, who was, at the moment, serving Aumonatour( is that spelled right?). He was recruiting men for his new knighthood, the Knights of The Returning Sun. He met in battle with a dragonborn then, a young paladin of Tempus by the name of Balasar. And did they clash! The battle was the highlight of the seemingly boring raid, and it lasted for almost a full half hour on end! the two warriors left the field, weary, wounded in at least a dozen places, but from that moment on, a truce was declared, and for the first time in many years, the two warring factions settled on a peace treaty for both of them. Balasar and Tintrall, both left their island insearch of adventure and fame, and ended up forming the Knights.
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Posted: Wed Dec 23, 2009 5:41 pm
Trintrall and Balasar were currently in the north,for not other reason other that they simply felt like a little cold would do them good. That was when they saw something human shaped in the harsh snows. Balasar ran toward the thing, and scooped him up protectively in his large, muscly arms. "Hey Trin, there's something here! It looks like a Githzerai, I really think that we should help him?" Trintall replied by runnig over and putting a thick, animal pelt over him." Of course we should, you big oaf!", he joked. Then he was serious." We should really take him to that cottage, and see if we can help him." Trin and Bal raced to the abandoned cottage, and set the Githzerai on a bed, and Bal and Trin started to both pray for holy light to heal the injured and weary young githzerai."do you think htat we should try to recruit him into oor knighthood after he's rested?", Balasar asked timidly after the man was put to sleep." I don't know Bal, i just dont know. We could, but there's just as good of a chance that he'll say no, and i really hate it when we save someone and they dont repay our kindness, and you know i do bad things to people i dont like." Trin pulls out his large morningstar(i just love how his weapon fits his god: morninglord, morningstar, get it?) and went off in search of something to blast holes into.
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Posted: Tue Dec 29, 2009 3:22 pm
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