Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
- Drendar, Oracle of Law in life; in death he is a Heucuva. Boccob
- Lord Darkness, the Sword-Wraith; where there is night, there is Lord Darkness. Myrkul
- Delmaria willingly served Myrkul in exchange for advanced Summoning rituals; she exists now as a Crypt Thing. Boccob
- Mazrikoth, also a Crypt Thing and Fate speaker was the second of the corpse watchers. Myrkul
- Nastorrian, the final Crypt Thing and watcher, stands now as a symbol of Undeath. Myrkul/Bhaal
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Garic Stonefoot and his wife Shandril had been lost for weeks. Part of a small band heading to Skullport they became separated when a hoard of undead set upon their group. Shandril stricken with fear fled off into the cavern, Garic fearing for his wife charged after her. By the time he caught up to her and calmed her down, they returned to the battle field to find everyone was gone. All signs pointed to his party being killed and drug off by whatever horrors that had attacked them. With his wife in tow he had managed to avoid all the nasty’s the Undermountain had to offer. This week he had managed to skirt around a group of Piercers, a pair of slimes, & a Bulette. They’d also run across more wondering undead than he’d ever thought to exist. A cartographer by trade he had hoped to map a route from Skullport to Waterdeep. However his aimless wonderings over the past two weeks had produced maps with no origin or destination points and no known landmarks.
The day had started like all the others. Garic had wondered down a side corridor foraging for food. Though he had to admit the thought of another moss & mushroom meal turned his stomach it was at least keeping them alive. In the darkness of the cavern he caught the unmistakable smell of death. He gripped the worn haft of his old battle axe and listened. He could hear them coming, the scraping of bone on stone had become a familiar sound these past couple of weeks. He thought about making a run for it, but knew Shandril would be seen if she tried to follow. He ducked down a narrow side passage as his wife quickly followed him. All at once light flooded the large cavern, so bright their dwarven eyes burned with its radiance. By the time they could manage a glimpse half of the skeletal precession was already past them. Never had he know the undead to carry light before. His thought was immediately interrupted by conversation. A women's voice echoed through the cavern, he wanted to look but dared not risk being seen. Her voice was soothing, a radical change from the constant nagging he had been forced to listen to the past couple weeks. He could only make out a few words before the echoing distorted her speech, “Yawning Portal” and “Another entrance”. She must have come down the portal, he whispered to his wife. We will follow them back to the surface.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Tauron's uncle appeared at breakfast, unusual as he had risen early and was working in the stables each other morning he had stayed in Waterdeep.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
“It looks like Mirt finally took my advice and acquired protection, albeit to far mayhap because I was referring to a form of armor for the man.” Sai Torvil remarked with a hint of mischief in his demeanor. The trio had just left Castle Waterdeep after applying for and received of, quest from the Knights. Each of their spirits was high despite the early wintry day.
“Do they make armor in that size?” Asked Stribling, his gnomish features took on a thoughtful astonishment as he tried to imagine such ridiculousness.
“They make barding for horses, do they not? Bah!” Shagg said with a wink. “But for a smelly-ass giant? Bah! If Mirt wanted proper personal protection he should have inlisted me kin!” the dwarf- paladin said as jabbed a thumb at himself. They watched as the giant stopped to speak to a group of individuals- speaking with and not fighting. But before any of them could identify them, a cold blast of wind whipped up the snow and the people were gone, only the giant remained.
“I have a bad feeling about this…” Stribling said, holding his musket at the ready. The giant, unfettered by the harsh elements, continued his patrol.
“Come now Stribling we have to have words with our patron before we depart on our charter. He has been our benefactor since the beginning.” Torvil said and as he did, Torvil took stock of the giant. It was not what the giant had, because it was meagre as outfitting, but how careful he was when nearing Mirt’s Mansion; taking care to watch his steps along the way.
“Let us move while big-blue has his back to us.” Torvil said as he moved out from the alley towards Mirt’s Mansion. The giant seemed oblivious to their presence and continued toward the harbor.
The trio moved as a team; Torvil, with Durindana in his grasp at the lead; Shagg his armor shining with the hammer symbol of Gond, taking center; and Stribbling at the rear sweeping his musket right and left, covering their backs.
With Torvil’s attention split between the Mansion and the giant, Torvil did not see the uneven stone protruding from the road and tumbled hard on to the ground with an audible curse; Durindana inadvertently lost in the snow.
Torvil’s curse was cut short as he watched in disbelief as edges of the ground around him rose up; curling like an old map, then suddenly with no warning- enveloped Torvil in a vice grip. Gone are the pavers of the street, now there is only the constricting pain of an avalanche. Torvil could hear sounds outside of his stone prison, but could not gather enough air to make so much as a plea for help. Torvil became disoriented; darkness began to flood the edges of his vision as he slowly began to suffocate. Torvil’s eye opened into the astral, and what he saw changed him in a very fundamental way. Pain was all he felt for what seemed like a long time for Torvil, then as abruptly as it all began- it ended. Torvil’s stone prison opened like a petal and returned to its paver-like shape. His astral sight gone as well.
As his disorientation faded, Torvil began make out the shapes of his friends, the giant and another figure who, Torvil soon realized was talking.
“Apologises Sai Torvil, one cannot be too careful in these times of trouble.” Mirt 'The Moneylender' said as he helped Torvil to his feet. “My friends this is Goram, I have hired him to protect my interests.” Mirt motioned to the giant.
“Well met and may your days be long upon the earth.” The giant said in perfect common and reached out a hand. Torvil accepted it and returned introductions.
“These,” Mirt motioned to the uneven paver as well as to several others. “are trappers.”
“I know them.” Shagg interjected. “Magically manipulated ooze or slime; they have a natural camouflage and a ‘tooth’ that they use to trip a victim into his trap. Bah! I’m not impressed!”
“It was not intended for you. Come,” Mirt motioned for them to follow him to his Mansion. “I’m sure there is a reason for your visit. Let us seek shelter from the storm”
Torvil retrieved his sword and as Mirt lead them to his mansion Torvil reflected on what he had saw; a stairway spiraling out from a mountain covered in blood. The stairs made their trek along the outside of a tower-like structure, pausing at balconies at regular intervals. The spire seemed to disappear into the heavens. Like a dream, the image was quickly fading for Torvil, but one thing remained: a presence so powerful and omnipotent that could only be the overgod.
Mirt’s Mansion was like a fortress, nestled along the slope of Mount Waterdeep amid picturesque trees and bushes. Once inside the private parlor, Mirt called for his servant Salicia, a quiet albino woman who obviously possessed a sorcererous bloodline. “Salicia, arrange for three more at dinner tonight and have Goram bring in the Warchest.”
Shagg loved Mirt’s Warchest; it was usually the reason for their visits. Outside the parlor, Mirt’s dinner guests were arriving and being led into the main conversational. As Salicia exited the parlor, Shagg caught a quick image of a humanoid dinosaur creature, a saurial or some such. But it was too quick for him to make out any detail.
“No need for the Warchest today Mirt and apologizes we cannot stay for dinner,” Torvil said with obvious regret. Shagg elbowed his human companion. There’s always a need for Mirt’s warchest, Shagg thougt and he was hungry.
Torvil elaborated, “We have been awarded a quest by the Firelance Knights and only wish to say farewell; you have always been accommodating and honest with us and for that we thank you.”
Mirt’s expression was one of pride and astonishment. He produced a decanter to toast their success and then asked, “What will you be doing my friends? Ridding the undermountain of giant spiders?” he laughed at his own humor.
Torvil and Shagg both honked at the jest aimed at Stribbling who, everyone knew, avoided the undermountain at every opportunity.
“Instead,” Torvil said. “we are to be apart of Sai Piergieron’s response to the dragon-flight. The Knights believe that smuggling cursed items into the hoards of these dragons will weaken them and mayhap get them to turn on each other.” Torvil paused then added, “we are to venture into the High Forest and smuggle Bracers of Defencelessness into the hoard of Turqual the blue.
“Will such an effort work?” Asked Mirt.
“Who knows?” Stribbling said.
“But they do pay well.” Shagg added, as they both took each others hand in a warriors clasp; wide grins firmly etched on their faces.
As if on cue, Goram entered with the Warchest.
“Then you may find need of the Warchest after all.” Mirt smiled at this and took his warchest form Goram. “You may go Goram, see that tonight's guests do not run a foul with the trappers.”
Stribbling rolled his slate-grey eyes as he watched Shagg; the dwarf could hardly contain himself. Torvil approached as Mirt opened the Warchest and began to take out several items while also offering practical suggestions on the use of each one: a decanter of endless water “you don’t want to run out of potable water… no matter where you are”; pipes of sounding “create or alter nearly any sound, a handy distraction”; and the cloak of the bat “essential gear for almost every adventurer”.
Before making his entrance to dinner Mirt watched as Torvil, Shagg, and Stribbling headed east from his mansion to the High Road. Mirt thought back to earlier years when Torvil was just a squint, innocent and full of fire. Today Torvil embarks on his first quest with his friends and this brings Mirt to tears. “Fare well Sai Torvil. Fare well… my son.”
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Sic: Thunderstaff interjects, redacted
Begin Damian Agundar
Talos and Umberlee are dead, behold before you, I am the Lightning Lord! God of Retribution.
Sic: Thunderstaff interjects, redacted
Divine Domains entered: Note Firelance Silmerhelve to amend record with Domain Entry
Continue Damian Agundar
Cassalanter family are snake men, Brokengulfs are traitors to the city. Calls for truce between any disagreeing noble families in preparation of the dangers that Waterdeep prepares to face, declares war is coming, Sic: Supporting claims and evidence of Waterdeep’s dangers and war seconded as fact, Sai P. No further support necessary.
Continue Damian Agundar
Offers path to nobility to remaining Brokengulf’s supported by members of the Firelance Knights through Noble House Roaringhorn, declares Brokengulf name to be no longer noble due to the Brokengulf treachery. Restates support of Waterdeep and declares Waterdeep to be Holy Ground. Reiterates offers of truce during Waterdeep’s time of troubles.
Sic: Sai P advises D. Agundar to move onto his next point or conclude
Continue Damian Agundar
Declarations of Agundar Estate preparations, troops, and support towards city since return to city.
Sic: Several interjections of support and commendation. Sai P verbally commends efforts.
End Damian Agundar
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Suddenly and at once the Magister was on his feet with a jeweled black wand in his aged outstretched hand, all thoughts of the mercenary Max Rinnen and his magical bowl forgotten; there was no movement, just one blink- floor to feet, wand in hand.
Cyric was a walking cathedral in both monumentus physique and artistic expression; scores of detailed and elaborate tattoos covered his body; symbols and recreations from each church he was said to have visited- temples of tyranny, subjugation, and loss. He stood menacingly over the Magister, his eyes- the shape of tombstones, an indication of the divine power Cyric held. The man began to speak to the necromancer with a deadly even coldness that dulled the Magister’s senses.
“The Godson assembles his pantheon Magister; we are yet called again to hear his words before the last portal to Waterdeep it to be exhausted.” Cyric said.
The Magister turned his attention from the giant man to his robes and devices of office and followed Cyric to the main audience chamber of Killraven Keep…
The Godson saw his fate clearly before him; he is to stand as over-god, administering his own hand-picked pantheon; seven individuals of established notoriety and prestige in his father’s church- weather clerics, sorcerers, or murders- the Godson had is fate clearly before him. The Magister, archmage of necromancy; Cyric, the contract killer; Randron, the drow sorcerer; Ferestain Halaster, Highborn of Zhentil Keep, and the others were to be the Godson’s intermediaries in his malevolent pantheon. Dark times were on the horizon for the ffolken of Faerun.
“I have brokered discovery as to Killraven’s portal’s destination; it will transport us to an underdark seaport that connects with Undermountain. I would not have us blindly traverse these ancient gates without assurances; therefore, our first step upon the stairway to heaven begins in Skullport.”
Then all at once they shouted “Iyachtu! Iyachtu Xvim! Iyachtu! Iyachtu Xvim!” the Truename word for the Godson and the title of their new world to come; a realm remade in tyranny and fear under the aegis of immortals.
The assemblage began at once to outline their immediate and long term plans in their crusade of oppression and subjugation, of conquest and intrigue; wisely knowing to take only what was needed, and seizing the rest along the path. They would establish a dark ministry within the halls of Undermountain and put forth a call to worship to supporters who would realize their sacraments and defend its tenants.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Since arriving in Waterdeep Max discovered the chilling nature of The Magister’s agents, horrific augmented zombies to which the Magister could see through and should some unfortunate soul die at the cold hands of his zombies… would soon rise as such an undead. Max was terrified these undead would also be under the necromancer’s bailiwick. Taking the Magister’s coin for the past four years at Killraven Hold taught him a lot, not the least of which: Max did not want to find himself as an undying, undead slave.
To this end Max made some inquiries and discovered the City of Splendors has become the City of Fate for many this winter, the city is fast becoming crowded and with a war being waged on so many fronts Max in his mind of intrigue couldn’t balance them all at once. He ordered another graff and then noticed Trystan; tall, slender and grim enter with a stunning blonde woman who wore the symbol of Sune and captured the eyes of everyone- human or otherwise.
Gillian told Max this popular theater actor possessed a divine aspect that enabled him to duplicate and fabricate runes and magical scrolls; Trystan would assuage Max’s fear of becoming undead by making more of his pilfered scroll.
Then the fabric of magic rippled and the Dragon’s Head Tavern became a bloody, chaotic battle field….
Max was quickly pressed to the wall near an exit by an elemental creature that tried viciously to envelope him. In mere moments when all directions became one and then nothing, Max fought off many different types of outsiders one that was unmistakably undead- this renewed his fears of undeath, so when the elemental attempted its enveloping attack, Max sifted to his left and back, found himself on the Tavern’s deck without the creature, and stumbled back onto the grass.
“Grass!?” Max exclaimed out loud to no one. Then the Dragon’s Head was gone, winked out with a sucking of air. Also gone was the smell of pipe weed, the screams of terror, and as Max looked about the city of Waterdeep itself!
Where was he? Max thought as he rose to his feet and picked up his sword. He scanned the countryside and saw curious basalt ruined structures poking up from the ground. Max ventured around and noticed the weather was not the broken sky as above Waterdeep, and the weather was not as blustery.
Finally after about an hour, Max happened upon a patrol of riders all bearing colors Max recognized. He breathed a sigh of relief and hailed them, his arms waving about as if he was trying to fly.
The riders responded immediately and rode at a gallop to him. Max quickly composed himself to not appear threatening as they held up and stopped about thirty feet away. Max noticed their horses were healthy and well maintained; they were well equipped, and the patrol leader was beautiful swords-woman upon a sterling white stallion.
“Well met good folks.” Max said, projecting his voice opening a dialogue. “I have fell victim of magic gone awry and humbly request first aid and… well,” Max paused. “I do not even know where I am. Can you offer sanctuary? I offer what skills I have in return.”
The patrol palavered for a short time among themselves when finally the woman nickered her horse to stand before Max, she even smelled beautiful.
“Well met stranger. I am Allene Macgovern.”
Friday, March 9, 2012
Syndra appreciated Eva’s help but sat uneasy in the company of her ka-tet. Families such as the Agundars and Thunderstaffs were not well like in the Order and were sometimes regarded as hostile; and families like the Tarms were largely seen as subservient because of their association and membership within the caravan’s guild. The Dark Enchanter, Huld Belabranta held office in the Order and was Syndra’s only involvement with the Grimm eccentric family until meeting Briar. She welcomed Briar’s position on improving women’s social class and thought to speak with her more on the topic. Syndra immediately liked Kalina’s no folly attitude and thought she would be good in a fight, but it was Eva whom she had a deeper connection with, in fact Syndra now understood Eva was somehow connected to the Wands- for good or ill.
The time had come to advance the surveillance effort further; Syndra prepared her Beaker of Plentiful Potions as magic was cast to determine the nature of Trystan’s and Aymee’s possession of divine power- an aspect of Rune or Lust.
Wild unfettered magic pulsed like a ripple in calm waters simultaneously opening a set of doorways sending the Dragon’s Head Tavern and all of her patrons to five of the closest portals in the North. Disorientation and confusion grappled everyone; patrons who were one minute enjoying a mug of graff suddenly fell upward as if gravity were reversed; a Halfling who, this time had an honest flush in his pudgy hands, was hurled with his back to the wall, pinned and an unable to act; while Syndra’s prepared elixir went awry and changed her into a mug throwing half-orc, suddenly unable to cast her spells.
The portals cast out all nearby planar aspects: Arborea, Hades, Limbo, Mechanus, and Purgatory, from their possessors in the form of seven extra planar beings, some undead, some mechanical and others elemental in nature; outsiders equipped and motivated for purpose.
Syndra struggled to help against the outsiders but maintained her attentions on Trystan; one of the creatures- an insect of blood- was threating to drain him and Aymee of their life. Then Eva fell under attack! Syndra turned her attention to the threat and used her wand to aid in the creature’s destruction… now in the form of an elemental.
Trystan was immediately overwhelmed by the vicious outsiders, he could barely maintain his defenses. He did not feel the disorientation as others felt, but was in fact parted with two planar aspects he had carried; he still was in possession of two others however, but that was not going to help him much now. He had only rudimentary skills with the rapier he carried; but it was all he could do to defend himself and Aymee from horrible death.
Aymee was briefly disorientated when the tavern began to traverse the ways between portals. When she regained her perceptions she saw most of the patrons were either held to the walls or standing on the ceiling with blank looks on their faces. Trystan was pressed in combat with a being that had the look of death, she stood and began to provide healing energies to him hoping aid would soon come- Trystan is not to die at another’s hand.
Syndra crept up behind Trystan, hoping Tauron’s aid in battle would provide her a viable distraction, and then she realized Aymee was watching her, seeing Syndra as her true self. Then Aymee did something that utterly surprised Syndra; she moved to flank Trystan!
As the final clockwork centaur was struck down Syndra buried her magical blade deep into Trystan’s flank yeilding the Rune aspect and providing Aymee with an advantage to finish the murder and seize the aspect of chaos from the ugly man.
In the aftermath, fifteen people had perished, eighteen had survived, and one individual had been left behind in the ruins near Secomber. Investigators found no structural damage to the Dragon’s Head Tavern but warned the establishment was still under the effects of wild magic, as well as statements from survivors that the defenders against the attacking outsiders saved them from wholesale slaughter and the paperwork that created.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Geoff was quite drunk and would have been hard pressed to name the Inn he was at if asked. The name of the Inn was the Pampered Traveler and Geoff had ended up there due to the owner’s friendly policy towards the shorter races. After resting a day from journey to Waterdeep, Geoff had made his way into the bar for Breakfast and had not left since. During his time in the bar he had grown friendly with two individuals, Tanis Stormweather a disillusioned nobleman and Emilia Husteem a nervous young woman who constantly fiddled with a pouch that hung from a necklace. Finding them both susceptible to his wisdom he started to confide in them.
“Tanis as you yourself stated, everyone has their eyes to the sky. I’m proposing that a group of enterprising individuals such as us profit on the bits and pieces being ignored on the ground!” Geoff proclaimed, pausing only when a new mug of ale arrived. “Emilia certainly with your knowledge and connections we could position ourselves to take full advantage of all the wealth being ignored right here!”
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
A few topics are in my mind, Samulars, to address Sai P. in this meeting. Foremost is the dragon turtle Briar and I dispatched on griffon patrol. It is our tet's intention to have this meat harvested and prepared to add to the city's food stores. Mention that our group and the Tarm Household have been actively building food stores for the upcoming disasters prophesied by so many. Maybe speak of some other ideas I have had brewing for building food stores. On a side note, we know that was a true dragon, one that had probably sunk numerous ships. Although we are completely unprepared for searching for an underwater dragon lair, it may be worth mentioning to Sai P. as a way of building resources. If it could be located quickly, it may be found unguarded.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Growing disgusted with her investigation, Sakornia decided to search the battleground to see if she could find any evidence to support such claims of divinity. Sakornia and her supporters were desperate to identify as many of heaven’s petitioners as they could before the year and a day arrived that the voice spoke of during star-fall. Sakornia was a member of The Fallen, a group of priests and paladins of dead or altered gods from Azuth to Waukeen. The Fallen believed all the gods were dying and the world will end in the year and a day the great voice spoke of if these arrogant people attempted to storm the heavens in the mistaken belief they can claim the god’s powers.
Sakornia searched for an hour before she noticed a floating, glowing light, like a snowflake flittering around areas where the bolts of lightning had struck. Small tremors of electricity ran across the glowing flake of light revealing a creature’s bone structure inside the glow. “Was this a creature born of divine power?” Sakornia wondered. As if in answer to her thoughts, one of the nosier witnesses she had spoken to called out, “FireStar!” pointing at the glowing flakes of light. Sakornia thanked the witness, the older fellow, and then left the area. She decided she had enough evidence to add this Damian to her groups list of divine challengers. She hoped when The Fallen decided to approach Damian he would be smart enough to listen.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
She looked up and smiled to the cleric of Gond who again accompanied her this cold and stormy night. He was a strong man- tradesman at heart, and with that came a confidence with his talented hands- hands who knew how to handle a woman. Again she smiled, and continued to walk up the street while sharing her background with the charming Gondsman.
“After the investigations in Yartar and my following adventures with Cirillo, Miltiades, and Sai Holloran that summer, I have now been given the honor to further Tymora’s calling.” She looked longingly into his eyes and then away. Silence passed like a cold wind between them. The storm was still gathering strength; ‘dear spirits’ she thought- ‘no storm god to pacify, no shield of protection- only...’
“Come, ‘Rina” Taking the woman by the hand, the Gondsman motioned to the tavern across Waterdeep Way. “We can take refuge in yon tavern my Lady Fair.” He gave her a mischievous smile that was infectious and turned for the Dragon’s Head Tavern, their passage creating parallel prints in the new snow… then a pulse of soundless thunder rippled out from yon tavern and Arina and the Gondsman were suddenly thrown off their feet and into the slush.
Arina quickly looked about, her perceptions still in a haze but she steeled herself and noticed the cleric was knocked unconscious; not seriously hurt. From across Waterdeep Way the tavern, which only seconds before promised a warm hearth and warmer company, now flickered erratically in and out of existence- its patrons in a confusion of muted screams, bloody weapons, and wild destructive magic.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Undermountain day 1
Within hours of being lowered into the sewers, Uthrac- Balin- Vhaas and I observed several cave-ins and structural weaknesses to the main sewer lines under what we agreed to be Waterdeep Mountain. It is not clear if the dragon-kin we were sent to investigate caused them or the monsters simply took advantage of the exit. Several unexplained events occurred during this time (spectral sounds and minor ethereal lights); however none brought harm or loss.
The basilisk’s back trail lead down into what Uthrac recognized as one of the fundamental levels of the mad wizard’s undermountain. During a brief respite we began to her sounds of battle- and gunshots. We hastily proceeded north- deeper into the dungeon toward the sounds. After several turns and hallways we discover the basilisk trail ended exactly where forces were engaged in battle: a trio of exotic looking dwarves armed with rifles against a dozen dark-fey.
Finding a commonality with the dwarves, we rallied against the dark-fey and successfully drive them off. Due to injuries sustained in the battle, we were unable to offer chase.
The dwarves showed us gratitude and identified themselves as Udall, Mikor, and Vanos, of the Melairkyn and keepers of the Melairbode. They spoke in an archaic dwarven dialect and gave off a supernatural aura. They related their story to us and explained their mission to us: in the treasure acquired from the Edomira’s dragon hoard was a chaotic evil weapon- vorpal sword. They intend to discover a means to destroy or neutralize it.
The dwarves have agreed to accompany us on our return tomorrow. Also of note these dwarves display a great understanding of artifice and smith work as exemplified with their familiarity of firearms.
End of Gunslinger Report
Thursday, March 1, 2012
In the first six months of Arnivon’s ten years of service, he was hastily overwhelmed with the immensity of his task. It was more torment and grief upon the lands than the paladin had ever dreamed could exist. Arnivon began to question himself and his calling. Was he up to the task? Could he relieve such burdens from these hardened ffolk? He did not think so. The North was brimming with hardships for hunters, barbarians, and farmers alike; not to mention the emotional suffering felt by the children of these frontiersmen who worried sleeplessly for their fathers, who after setting off to hunt, may one day never return.
Fueled by the desire to liberate the suffering or chronicle their death in the case of martyrdom; the paladin turned to an alchemist who told him of a pollen that would allow Arnivon to endure more pain… in the name of his god. Little did the paladin know that the pollen would lead to an addiction so powerful that it poisoned his soul and ultimately resulted in Arnivon falling from favor.
“The flower is commonly called the Ice Rose.” Garegamel explained to the paladin. “It only blooms in the winter and is so rare that one dose costs more than most of these humble folk of Uluvin will ever see in their life time.” The alchemist convulsed in giddy laughter at his own cleverness. “He-e-e-e-g!"
“Where may I find this white rose?” Arnivon asked, already skeptical of the evil little man.
Garegamel turned, hiding his nervous twitch gets when he tells untruths. “Ice Rose! You will find it near sacred or blighted grounds, yes- yes that’s where best to look. He-he-e-e-e-e-g!”
Producing a book Garegamel turned a well-worn page or two and showed Arnivon a drawing of the flower. The alchemist was careful to hide the script that infact described exactly where to find the undead plant: ‘upon grounds where an undead, typically a ghoul- was defeated and was buried within the earth.’
It was a month later when Arnivon finally found a medium sized (and oddly man-shaped) grove of wild Ice Roses. Harvesting them as the alchemist instructed, the paladin crushed the petals into a white powder so fine that even the slightest of breath threatened to ruin his weeks of searching.
When Arnivon first inhaled the powder, the paladin soon found that his capacity for enduring pain and easing ones suffering was increased manifold. Arnivon marveled; such a flower with properties such as like these must be a gift. Ilmater’s Respite Arnivon came to call it, and for over the next twenty-one months the paladin became addicted to the flowers’ properties. Arnivon preached vigorously the properties of Ilmater’s Respite, paying no heed to his own responsibilities for the easement of suffering; instead distributing Ilmater’s Respite to the faithful with the hopes that others received the same ‘blessing’.
There was no enlightenment for Arnivon; there was no self-discovery; and by the time the paladin arrived to Waterdeep and realized his sins, there was no Ilmater.