Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Message from the Tet in Amphail

After we arrived in Amphail a few weeks ago, Arsten wasted no time organizing and implementing a new chain of command becoming Lord Alougarr's chief military commander. Having already made a name for himself, Arsten was Alougarr's logical choice.

Arsten, in his first act as commander, lead the Brave Companions in a campaign against the local kobold menace, meeting with warm success: chasing them off rather than killing them all.

Over the days and weeks, Shaman-women from various tribes have began to make pilgrimages to Briar's Moonwell. Tribes who normally battle upon sight, lay down their weapons in respect to Briar. This however, complicates local matters because desperate barbarians have been making attacks on the town's food stores. Food set aside for the winter. This makes it hard to discern peaceful visitors from murderous pretenders.

Briar also warns us of a new powerful fey-creature who is rumored to have settled in the region. Ranchers and hostlers call it 'the Scarecrow', but Briar believes it to be some type of manifestation of Erythnul, the Red-Cap lord of the Slaughter.

I have reached out to the Ready-5-Blades, using them as unwilling accomplices in my endeavors to move smuggled weapon and armor crystals from Waterdeep to points across the North.

Lastly and most notably is the mystery surrounding the celestial and sometimes devilish angels who are rooted within the Siamorphe aristocracy.

As you recall Siamorphe was an early target for us three- being that the faith boasted Nobility among other likewise desirable Aspects. In a covert move against the three Siamorphe Aristocrats over night uncovered the truth of their origin: they are actually agents of Lilith, the avatar of Shar.

We are anxious to see our Ka-tet together again! Amphail already makes preparations for the Feast of the Moon celebrations.

Kalina Kormallis
(Briar, Arsten)

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

A Message for the Harpers

Esteemed member

In this time of troubles, we must be focused in our efforts to diminish the enemies of Waterdeep. An old enemy of our alliance, the Cult of the Dragon, has resurfaced, in numbers that are signifigant and growing every week. They are key to the information the dragons use to make their attacks most effective. Cult members must be identified and apprehended. They are currently the greatest threat to Waterdeep from within. Be aware when you hear the name 'Frostburn'. He is some sort of dragonking, or probably something greater, in the north. We need information, and arrests when possible. Let us all focus on the enemies on our streets, hidden among us.

                                                                                    The Horseman

 This written message will be sent to each Harper and Horseman that is in my registry. The scrolls will be delivered via my gold dragon messenger, and will sent out as soon as possible. 

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

A Meeting at EndCliff Tower

To an untrained eye this second floor room in Endcliff Tower would appear to be empty, perhaps haunted, if the whispered conversation between the two conspirators was overheard by anyone.

“Aspects are being drawn to this city. Some believe the doorway to ascension is above Waterdeep and they are correct. Our order faces some difficulty beyond simple wild magic. We have always before been able to assume the necessary form and through our magic, mimic their capabilities. We cannot mimic an aspect, we cannot fool the heavens. I have confirmed that one group of aspect hoarders sees through magic and also carry the cursed gun.” Persisted the whispered voice, “While this group is very dangerous I don’t think they are the greater threat, they are easily distracted.”

Vicarzo DeMarcain stayed hidden while listening to the magically carried whispers of his fellow a Zhent agent. Vicarzo wondered if this stranger was interested in maintaining the old ways or forging a new way, even a new order. The spell that carried his compatriot’s whisper also allowed Vicarzo a lengthy response, yet Vicarzo merely replied, “Bane, Myrkul, and Bhaal are dead.”

The speaker stepped forward into view, perfectly camouflaged before revealing himself. It was a man, middle aged and middle height, balding, walking on spindly legs and with a pot belly. “I’m glad you put it so succinctly, I am Agglemax, and I am ready to lead The Strangers.”


The nightmares and dreamscapes were getting progressively worse; furthermore the loss of sleep and her altered cycle was affecting her sensibilities. It was like the dreams were building up momentum, like a wind before a storm. She had begun to keep a journal because it was becoming ever more demanding to discern what was real and what was nightmare. When she was awake or dreaming. Some days she dared not step from her bed for fear of the Slithering Tracker who laird under her lavish bedding or perhaps refrain from wearing yellow that day because that is what the attracted insect swarms. Whatever the case she rarely exited her parlor, the fear was too great.

The nude woman looked up from her bed at her surroundings and noted that the Running Stallions painting over the head of the bed now featured a disgusting troll mage dressed as King Azoun IV. It snarled and taunted her, making abhorrent gestures with his fist and his mock crown.

The troll-king jumped from the painting, landing with a disgusting lustful grunt. He threw off is regal trappings exposing his royal genitalia; sniveling and growling: “IT’S GOOD TO BE THE KING.” Over and over.

The woman grasped for her weapon Avildar, her only defense, but its familiar grip could not be found—the sword was gone. She could feel the troll's cold hands pinning her down, he was huge and strong. The woman pressed her eyes shut, screaming to be freed of the nightmare. "NO!"

And when she opened her eyes again, the king troll mage was gone, her scream still echoed in the room. Sitting up she saw the Running Stallions had returned, horses briskly galloping in front of  great snow-capped mountains. She took up her sword, the cold pommel reminded her of the trolls cold touch and composed herself; it seemed the nightmare was over but, she believed, that if she should die in her dreams—she could never be aroused from that slumber.

The dreamcatcher reached for her journal and saw that an astral red gem-stone sat upon its covers. The irregular gem pulsed with its own inner light, like the tempo in a fey song or an ominous and feral beating heart; but the gem was not there before she was sure—was that in a dream too or was this still a dream?

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Danrly's Death Face

" and when you saw that face, that face that he made, you knew it was your ass "

Fallon didn't spend much time thinking about Danrly until Samular Bordane took him as his trusted man. But on the flight back to Waterdeep, he thought upon Danrly's loyalty as opposed to his hatefull nature. You see, it was pretty evident in just about all of Danrly personal interactions that he knew he was better man of the bunch, the smug bastard. He was the smartest, strongest, most cunning, most devious, most deadly man at the table. He was above you. Until he met Bordane.

The Grim Lord had a plan, a plan that involved every thing knowing it's place, and acting accordingly. A plan that was based in the reality of the hatred that survival sows. A plan that recognized not only nobility, but also that the strongest of nobility was meant to rule, and must. The Grim Lord made holy edict of Danrly's ferocious and well-earned moralities. Bordane Agundar was a better man then Danrly - he was a god.

Danrly's resolve has forged stronger, Fallon thought to himself as he watched Danrly hunch into the griffon saddle. But his face showed his visit to the grave. Fallon's eyes saw a grey edge cast around the dark eyes of the bladesman, and a darkness across his face. But Fallon also knew from those eyes that Danrly would kill or die for his Lord and His Plan. Again.

A Night of Dragons (The Fields of Triumph)

Cyric sat amongst the blood stained benches of the Fields of Triumph. The fields have hosted many events over its long and brutal history. The gladiatorial arena was once a place where warriors and knights could prove their mettle against the fearsome foes and monsters assembled by the Brokengulf family. Lately, it seems there has been more blood spilled in the seats than on the sands.

“You should be dead,” Cyric said to his cohort, the disgust in his tone entertained no rebuttals. The man sported injuries that were slow to mend. “Why do think that is?” The bitter cold was brisk off the coast this day.

“You are not the only one who sees the value of my skills Sai.” The man said with a smugish grin.

“Indeed, I am lending your services to that one. Serve her as you would me until such time as I decide your services are required elsewhere.” Cyric finished.

“Your words, my hand Sai.” The man said as holding up his palm.

Cyric watched the man, walking with noticeable pain, exit the arena then turned his attention to the sky. He had another appointment that would soon to arrive.

Thoughts began to formulate behind his tombstone shaped eyes, he needed one more aspect to become the most powerful of the Godson’s pantheon. The only one who could challenge him was…

The sun was blotted out for a moment, snapping Cyric from his thoughts. He stood, muscles flexing; he dawned his black hat and regarded his visitor some would call an angel. She was lithe, athletic, tall, and sensual—not in a seductive way but brutal and cruel. Her black feathered wings and well as her scantly clad form had an oily quality that was both inviting and nightmarish…

Sorvani had been cautious as of late. The coordinated attacks from: first the chromatic dragons, then days later—metallic scaled terrors. The carpet balked Sorvani when he attempted to make his way on foot or horseback when conducting city business; hence the mage found himself traversing among the towers of Waterdeep. 

Shortly after coming to Waterdeep his carpet drew him to a pair of astral travelers, Eldred Treydarr and his companion Orderkeeper Versa. It would seem that their fates: Sorvani, Eldred, Versa, and the Carpet—were linked. It was a mystery and they needed answers but the Oracle required a Pearl of the Sirines to obtain some insight where others have failed. 
Then came the all too familiar sound of a dragon’s roar. 

“Perfect.” Sorvani said in a sarcastic sigh. Then an explosion rocked the city’s west side as half of the Fields of Triumph were blown apart. Lightining flashed and thunder boomed as it seemed to Sorvani, some brave—and foolish—ffolk have responded in due coarse to what will now be seen as the third attack on the city. 

Sorvani directed Carpet cautiously to the Arena and what he saw made him cower in shock and awe. 

…After coming to an accord and after the hastily following consummation, Cyric and the Avatar of Darkness and Loss reaffirmed their plans one final time, when an all too familiar sound of a dragon’s roar ceased their palaver. Plans seldom go accordingly.

From the sky, descending in a pulsating flash of lightning was a sizable blue dragon. The dragon immediately began to defile the Fields of Triumph, using first her dragon breath to un-encumber the arena of its north-eastern wall then going as far as to defecate and scatter debris about.

Cyric and the woman exchanged glances and watched the dragon as she toiled and destroyed—if she had noticed them, she did not concern herself.

“There are people coming, Clerics and Gunslingers.” The mistress of the Night said.

“I hear them my precious; we will wait until we have a proper audience before we rid the city of this loathsome dragon.” Cyric said, his voice low as he called upon his divine strength.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Retribution upon the Marauder of Waterdeep

Fallon couldn't help but think that to charge headlong into the maw of one of the worst beasts imaginable while the very air pumped into your lungs was still aflame would surely mean death for anyone else but the Charging Knight, his master and liege. He paused as he remembered the lump of panic he swallowed down as The Horseman barked his command to mount and prepare to charge. His lord had promised that he would be called upon as an equal, and Fallon burst with Glorious pride to have answered his challenge today. Never again would he doubt his manhood or abilities. He could not keep himself from smiling as he replayed in his mind the two mighty charges he executed alongside his liege. He could see the look of surprise from the beast when his blade bit him on his first pass, causing him to wince enough to open a weak spot for Tauren to exploit and grievously strike. Of course the huge dragon broke away from the others, trapped in the temple in deadly combat with the hag bitches, and pursued The Horseman. Taking a full round to move and position itself the dragon bore a look of smug satisfaction, believing to have set up a devastating attack. As the pair of cavaliers wheeled about on their griffins, the dragon was about 10 feet away, with all of it's awesome natural weaponry poised to kill. But the Charging Knight was sure of his tactics, and cried for the next charge. Fallon again bit with his sword, taking advantage of the dragons focus on the ascending god, and together the knights fatally wounded the great beast that marauded their homes a week past. Fallon was exhilarated to see the dragon fly away at top speed, but even now still could hardly believe the burst of speed from the Samular knight bent on retribution. He spurred his mount faster than Fallon had ever seen one fly, and then leapt from its back, launching him in a dramatic arc that ended in Arcanum hilt deep into the chest of the dragon, piercing it from the back of his left shoulder. He watched as his lord stood on the back of the slain dragon's corpse, and rode it to the ground.

Now he stood in amazement, looking at the skin and souvenirs Tauren had taken. He had done a good job with the hide, and reaped enough to make a set of banded armor from it. Tauren instructed Fallon on how to remove things like horns and claws and such, and he kept himself busy with it while Tauren harvested the hide and collected the blood. Seeing all the blood reminded him of the glee the Samular knights displayed as they ate the still steaming heart of the beast. He took part, and got caught up in the fraternal feel, but he still wasn't sure he liked it much.

I would like to fill the dragons bladder with as much of its blood as it will hold. This of course will be give to Damian and Bordane, as I know the blood is necessary for forging their rare metal.
I would like to pluck both its eyes and give them to Eva. After all what is an oracle without creepy monster eyes?
I would like to harvest as many horns, teeth, and claws as you will allow, James. Much of this I hope to sell or make gifts of as components to those few mages we know and work with to fight these dragons.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Red Rocks Hag

Hags have been apart of children’s stories as well as creatures of nightmares for a very long time; it has even been suggested that they may once have been fey, cursed for their vanity and turned into ugly crones. They are usually solitary, but sometimes a group will gather together in covens of three.

All hags are female. They are able to breed with males of most humanoid and monstrous humanoid races, and even some fey. Some degenerate races willingly breed with hags, but in most cases hags must resort to trickery, illusion or force in order to mate. It is said they haunt the dreams of mortals, eventually trapping the souls of their victims in gems which they trade to other evil outsiders.

Hag offspring are usually female, and male children are sterile and are ‘normal’ members among the father’s race, apart from possibly appearing awkward or unusual in some subtle way. However, in most cases this is a moot point, as hags generally eat their male offspring.

A known hag in urban society is a menace because of their penchant for trickery. Typical a Hag swaps its newborn female child for another baby of its father’s race. The changeling grows up as a normal child, whilst the stolen baby is usually taken and eaten by the hag. The changeling may possess strange physical features, and/or traits of cruelty. When it reaches adulthood, it develops into its hag heritage.

The different types of hags all have their individual abilities, in addition they gather together as a coven, the hags gain additional terrible abilities which vary from coven to coven.

Tales from Skullport 2

Larissa Silvermane let her fingers lightly touch the waters so when they kissed the surface—little rings rippled outward from her vantage point. Faint sounds of lapping water filled the otherwise silent canals of Skullport as the smell of sea water permeated the harbor.  The only illumination came from drift-globes in the shape of skulls. Death’s Gypsy felt a chill as Skullport charmed her like no other.

She focused her attention upon three individuals gliding on the dark waters speaking in hushed infernal tongues. She listened with great interest…
“Too many pursue the same course Ambassador,” Tyrus Skullstorm pointed out. “and yet this war with Luskan is not the only conflict in the works.” Tyrus had only been in the west for almost a year and already he had a firm grasp on the individuals who commanded power in Waterdeep.

Homen Abarbrent looked deep into the artistry and detail of his master-wand: the Touch of Chaos, admiring its beauty and power. “I doubt many know there is more than one war going on, indeed most I would say only know that Waterdeep sails against the Pirate Kings.” His gaze went to the old Puccalli and the younger Tyrus. “We should only concern ourselves with known elements who threaten our objective.”

 “So many are after the same thing, how close are we to knowing the truth to its location?” Puccalli asked, breaking his silence. “If they find the…”

“It would best serve our interests to have an asset involved with everyone we believe in pursuit of what we also seek.” Ambassador Abarbrent said with finality.

“I have already begun Sai Abarbrent.” Puccalli said.

Larissa could no longer hear them as something was approaching—following actually, the Thayans. Using her Ring of Free Action she melded quietly into the shadows under a nearby bridge, she steadied her self long enough to peer out. Shadowing the Thayans were dwarves progressing in short coordinated movements; she noticed they did not speak but used hand gestures to communicate. The dwarves seemed to be moving in for an ambush on the three gondoliers. Larissa closed her eyes and began to utter the words of summoning undead.  

 With the dwarves halting in their progress, Larissa could hear the Thayan palaver again.

“My acquaintance indicates the dragons have allies in the city and that his cover in their cult has afforded him some valuable information….”

Bubbles ascended as a prelude to Larissa’s undead as they broke the water’s surface intercepting the first round of shots that surely would have killed the Thayans. Larissa took no further actions and just watched—with the element of surprise gone the Melairkyn dwarves did not press the attack and quickly retreated back into the undermountain.

Twenty-Five minutes later Larissa was again on the cold city streets thinking of what she had heard. Making sure she was not being followed she entered Claudanius’ Owlery to send a message, Karlot may wish to know he may have a mole.