You Better Run

 "I'm telling you, I cannot see!" Tristan said as Lynda passed the candle she was holding before his eyes. The female warrior frowned, then stood, looking down where her companion sat against the dank, damp wall. She looked to Chael, their priest of Lathander. He, too, gazed down at the stricken fighter, a look of remorse and confusion showing on his face.
 "I have no idea, Lynda. I swear it was a scroll of healing. I didn't recognize the diety, but the words, they were right." whispered Chael, as he looked around worriedly. This was an area of the Undermountain that they hadn't explored. In their panic to retreat from the shadows that had ambushed them, the Trio of Steele had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Probably more than one.
 Lynda Steele sighed, and rubbed her eyes wearily. This small room that they had found fortunately came with a door that they were able to spike closed. As far as they could see, the room was unfurnished and undecorated. Tristan shifted himself further up on the wall, his face creased with pain. Lynda and Chael both kneeled back down at his side; Lynda undoing the buckles of Tristan's chain shirt as Chael pulled out bandages from his pack. Wadding up a roll of linen, Chael had Tristan bite down on it as Lynda pulled the mail off the fighter, exposing the deep gashes that had cut through the padded undercoat. Tristan hissed as some of the links that had been embedded in the slashes pulled free.
 Leaning in close with the candle, Chael peered at the gashes. "They don't appear to be poisoned. With my needle and thread, I can close these back up," he said, sitting back on his haunches. "We'll need to head for the surface at once, however. I'm out of healing potions, and after the scroll, I'd rather not cast any more spells than I have to."
"And I'm no good blind," muttered Tristan, bitterly. Again, Chael wore a mask of shame.
 Lynda leaned her axe against the wall, handed the priest his healer's pack and took up the candle. "Well then cleric, get to sewing. I'll hold the candle. We can rest up in here and start off after a few hours of sleep," she said, If the dungeon will give us a chance to rest that is.

Tales from the Tet in Amphail

Briar Belabranta, Sister of the Cloak and Guardian of the Well, stood gazing at her reflection in the Moon Well. A symbol of faith to all women under the moon, of animals, and travel; Briar also exemplifies those who follow the green lady.

Yara was imprisoned fifty years ago by Norsinnow, a wizard known for his evil manipulations on animals and nature. Norsinnow also ‘collected’ lovely women from all nationalities and placed them in a sleep so deep none of the women aged or changed in appearance. He regarded them as his art gallery until the godsfall and suddenly with a surge of wild magic Yara was free to adjust to her new world; a realm where she must survive without her magical abilities. She came to Briar lost and confused, but optimistic when hearing Briar’s words of comfort. “I will help you find the others.”

The chill north air ruffled the feathers of her Bladed Cloak of Murder—Briar’s weapon and her Samular Legacy. She stood alone facing her moonwell, her consecrated grounds. Water from the stone pool lapped up on her Moonstrider Boots as she began to meditate as she did each night—reaching out, looking for threats; listening to prayers and looking for any surviving women from Norsinnow’s gallery. Briar called upon the aspect of the moon to show upon its face what there is to see; with a ripple that centered on the moon, it became a lens in which Briar watched…

Briar open her eyes to find herself in a tree-filled park standing next to a tall exotic woman, the woman cannot see Briar in the vision; furthermore she could not tell her story, but Briar believed this is one of Yara’s associates. Everything moved a quarter-speed and too Briar cannot see very far; her vision was limited to where the moonlight touches. Looking at the woman Briar notices the expression of horror upon her face. Looking toward the source of her terror, Briar sees now they are in the Heroes’ Garden—the Observatory prominent in the moonlight. On the other side of the park’s pond were two Kappa, spiked shells and snapping turtle-like heads, being brought out of the water. But it was not the Kappa that caused the fright—it was the man leading the Kappa out, it was Norsinnow.

Then the scene before Briar changes and the moonwell becomes a chaotic mass of frantic, jittering creatures. Creatures she and the Samular ka-tet have toiled with in the past. Indeed it was their first combat against a deadly threat as a ka-tet. In the pool she could see them gathering in numbers: individuals both small and large, minor and powerful; their population giving them a greater capacity for mischief and ruin. Briar thought, if these creatures are left unchecked then how devastating they would be to her plans for ascension. She opened her eyes, raised her head to the grey sky; her shape separating into a murder of crows that took eagerly to the sky.

Kalina Kormallis awoke suddenly when a black crow cawed from the foot board of her bed. Kalina and the Ready-5 were staying at ‘Steelhands’ ranch, maintaining the grounds while conducting a lucrative smuggling trade. Kalina knew the place would be perfect; Steelhands is outside Amphail so, Kalina thought, Arsten could kindly look the other way and not be seen as an accomplice. Her business today was with a Northlander contact named ‘Odin’ whereby she was able to acquire the commodity needed to acquire the weapon crystals she thought the Samular tet would find essential in the months to come. Kalina felt a chill and noticed her window was open where it had been closed before. Retrieving her Fabled Dagger from under her blanket she then covered herself and strolled to the window, all the while checking for hidden danger. Reaching the window she peered out and saw nothing; no tracks in the snow and no one lurking in the air—except for maybe the crow. The crow cawed urgently. Taking a closer look at the bird she recognized it as one of Briar’s. As she put the crow in a cage Kalina searched for a note but found none. This only further worried the Mistress of Illusion, why was this crow separated from the rest? Kalina got dressed and made haste to the stables where she mounted her horse and rode for Amphail…

Arsten Thunderstaff found sleep difficult to obtain, the notion of protecting all these people—this community—invigorated him and kept him up most nights. He thought he was lucky to get fourteen-hours of sleep in a week, so he was to be a vigilant gods-general he thought. Arsten smiled in spite of himself, power had its price.

He reflected on the Brave Companions’ report of giant sign north of Amphail. “Less than a fifty wheels north of us.” Torg mac Cei had told him. The dwarf was a new Brave Companion, a former mercenary commander. He said Arsten inspired him to take up the fight and defend the North. Even though he holds a general aversion to non-dwarves, especially forest-dwelling races like the fey, he has a natural draw to Arsten because of their common skills and beliefs but would never admit it.

 

Arsten liked him, a dwarf follower: What will dad think? At least the Uthgardt have negotiated peace in observance of the common holiday, to honor their ancestors. Although he believes Briar was to be credited for the armistice, but the Uthgardt are a prideful brand of frontiersmen and they too would never admit it.

“Sai Thunderstaff,” it was Arrikes Jhansczil the on duty cleric. “Kalina is here to see you.”

As Kalina walked in she could not help but admire Arsten, he was in his element. This is what your celestial realm will look like she thinks: a war-room with maps with friendly and enemy movements plotted out. Trophies of war and depictions of heroic efforts.

The crow cried out impatiently while Arsten waited for the explanation he knew was coming.

“I think Briar may have gone and done something stupid.” Kalina said. “I think this crow represents her conviction- somehow she was able to leave it behind to find her with.”

Just then a muffled thud stopped the palaver followed by a small tremor that caused a glass to tumble and break.

“Sir!” It was Lord Gunthar Hawkwinter. “Attack from the north, it’s the frost giants!”

“I shall go with you.” Arsten said resolutely to Kalina. “The tet first!”

“No, you have a town to Protect, it would be better if I went alone anyway. I will take the fastest horse and follow the crow.” Kalina said with cool confidence. She came up and kissed him and patted him on the cheek. “Kill them all.” 

Second Thoughts

As the day wore on, amid the busy preparations and thoughts upon the strange creatures in the Horseman Pond, Tauren began to reflect on his plan for the weekend upcoming. To be sure, there were a multitude of worthy reasons to make the trip to Amphail, and he was sure this was the right course. It was just that the wise words of Samular Damien hung heavy. " We know the cult will attack us and our homes on the Feast. We Know it!!"


If it wasn't safe for Tauren to be at the Gardens, then it certainly wasn't safe for his followers. Besides, he had seen something in himself; he was not used to worship status. It had never even occurred to him that his church and followers would be anticipating a grand celebration and feast. He had felt...uneasy when he realized he was disappointing his flock so suddenly. Monday,in the early evening, he quickened Rushers pace as he drew close to where Teldicia was giving Hero (her new found mount and guardian of Heroes Garden) his evening grain.

"My Lord, It is pleasure to attend you again so soon." her subservience had a cool chill.

"Teldicia, I have come to talk, and pass along a word of thanks for guiding me to a decision I had not considered before."  The horses approached one another, and looked to mimic the conversation of their riders.

" I must admit, you awakened my thoughts of what might happen to you all should the Cult attack our temple in my absence." The weight of that sunk in as Teldicia also considered that for the first time.

" I had hoped to leave Waterdeep with out too much advanced notice to my enemies. I would still like to maintain that as much as possible, but I would like you and Galoban to lead a sort of pilgrimage to Amphail in the days after I leave. Lead our followers to leave sporadically, not en mass, Thursday and Friday, and join me in the celebration of what I think you have brilliantly dubbed our first official church holiday - The Horseman's Birthday, the Feast of the Moon"

Teldicia's brimmed with tears. This suggestion and invitation lifted her heart and her faith to knew heights. She now truly believed he valued her work, and devotion, and undying love. She now truly believed she had a hand in setting forth how to properly worship The Horseman, her Gypsy Lord.

"Yes, my lord, I shall spread the word slowly, individually. I shall assign every one a leaving time and route. I will take care of every detail. Thank you so much, my lord, your thoughts are truly always with us," She smiled broadly and wept a little as she kissed his ring and bid him safe journey on the morn.

The Risen

The Mermaid Sword

She was a vessel with a history checkered by high-living affairs both public and scandalous; many times highborn passengers had a tendency to run-afoul when traveling on the Mermaid Sword. 


The legend varies from one family to the next with the common theme being: a mermaid’s revenge against a womanizing noble. Another example of the ship's past was her involvement in the Wave Wizardess incident. During the Year of the Harp- Year’s End celebration, one of the most puzzling and still unexplained attacks along the Sword Coast occurred. In the waters outside Balder’s Gate, aggressive Northlanders sailed in, systematically decimating unarmed vessels at sea; folk who were there to watch the evening celebration. One ship, the Wave Wizardess mysteriously exploded during the raid; raining fire, causing the ocean to combust during the sea-attack, both defeating the Northlander surprise attack as well as causing an equal amount of collateral damage. The Mermaid Sword however, not only survived the attack but is credited with rescuing a Waterdeep noble by the name of Raine Wands.


Cold ocean water sprayed on the prow of the Mermaid Sword, her graceful figure designed to court the ocean waves not butcher the waters with bludgeoning, ponderous hulls. Sails that embraced the wind with longing affection like a two lovers after a lengthy absence. It was an encouraging sign, it meant progress.

Ord Gauntather stood brazen and attentive on the prow striking a contrasting figure next to the elegant bowspirit of the Mermaid Sword; ocean water heavy in his mouth, he ran an admiring hand down the polished wooden rail then spat at the figure head. Ord again scanned the horizon before meandering to the opposite side repeating the his perusal of the waters hoping not to find what he was looking for.


The journey to Waterdeep was becoming even more taxing, than he could have imagined. Numerous run-ins with giant sharks; to unseasonably cold and stormy conditions and now the danger of icebergs—nevertheless, Ord was being called to Waterdeep. It was urgent and undeniable. He and the Risen Cult were down to seven now. “They who cross the Dark One meet his Doom earlier and more harshly,” Ord thought; one of the tenants he believed. He mentally credited them each: 


Yontryl Amatar, a breathtakingly beautiful Fairborn maiden. A child from the streets, she has served Ord as her religious minister for many years now. She had a survivor’s prowess that he liked and admired.


Vlakkados the Hooded Menace, was a contrast in appearance and profession. A gentle soft-spoken man, he is very tall he often leads people to assume he is a beggar or a cleric of another god. More importantly he is a prodigy when it comes to torture and interrogation.


Tyrostarr the Dark Imperceptor and alchemist of the Risen Cult; Ord recruited him after learning how he was able to assassinate his former master by using a sister-in-law caught in  Tyrostarr's web of lies—she died of ‘natural’ causes before she was connected to the crime.

Cauldyth is a fairly short, rotund, cleric who has a flawless recollection for names and individuals. He delights in acting and often portrays himself as a moneylender named Oswald. To his day Ord has yet to see any of his spells surge with wild-magic.


Thabbys the ‘divine’ necromancer—she, like the others share a prejudice against wizards and mages, as opposed to priests and clerics in the service of the Dark One. She is attended by a yellow parrot skeleton, her messenger and many other functions.


Finally there is… Announcing himself from below deck Halamather, the only remaining original member from Ord’s adventuring days, ascended the short staircase to the prow where the High Hand watched for icy hazards.


“We should see the lights of Waterdeep tonight old friend.” Halamather said optimistically, he knew Ord felt urgency to this trip north; it was why they appropriated the Mermaid Sword.


“Good, Thabbys efforts of intercepting ravens heralding our brazen theft to Waterdeep authorities have met with success. The most challenging task will be…” Ord let his sentence trail off as he once again scanned the horizon, looking for the soft glow of urban settlement. 


“Is the cargo secure?” Ord asked in a way that made Halamather think of navy captains and containers of supplies of which they had little.


“Yes, but it is as you say. The most challenging task will be getting it into Waterdeep,” continuing the thought, ‘to say nothing of the intrigue we will find’ Halamather mused.


A chilling irritated bird-cry preceded Thabbys arrival to the impromptu palaver, “I have prepared the message as you requested, it awaits your order.”


“Outstanding sister, soon we will all be in the company of the next Tyrant.” Ord’s voice was growing inside him; he knew this sensation well—it was when the Dark Lord channeled his distain inciting an episode of uncontrolled sermons and recitations in tongues. Soon everyone could hear Ord speak:


“To serve is to do one’s utmost to bring strife, domination, and hatred upon the civilized races of the Realm. Under clear duress, for tyranny is the dominate aspect; discord to stability under the church’s iron rule.” And as Ord Gauntather- Druid-Bane, Most Holy Hand, and Dread Scourge finished his sermon tiny hints of light appeared to the east separating sky from sea. It was soon accompanied by occasional phantom sounds of the city waving its warm glow in the distance.


Ord brought his lips close to the yellow-bones of the patriot, “To Giller’s Apothecary oh messenger of bones; we answer the Dark One’s call.” He said still feeling the power of his god, it was good to be home.

Holdings

The Heroes Garden is a large open area very much like a tree-filled park located in the sea ward. It is about four square blocks in size. The area has served different functions throughout its time, but before it was abandoned and fell to neglect, it last served as a small wizard college known as "The Observatory". Nearly all of the smaller out buildings have been destroyed by the elements, but the manor and main hall still stands. This was a sturdily built large residence with an adjoining tower. The whole structure is made of a mixture of hewn stone and masonry architecture, with wooden mill-worked interiors. The residence is a large square two story manor. Its ground floor includes a large auditorium, a kitchen, and a library. The second floor is living arrangements. Of course, when Tauren claimed these grounds, the house was bare, and Teldicia has only started to furnish the house and temple. The tower is round, and three stories high, with an accessible roof for a viewing platform. In the wizard school this is where the master studied and worked. He is said to have been very skilled at glassblowing and glass making. The doors and room features are of very good quality, though most of the locks are stuck open and no longer operational. As mentioned earlier, the out buildings are not in nearly as good shape, and are good for little but stables. A tent city has developed on the grounds, and Teldicia has been ministering to them. Indeed, some of them have joined my ranks as followers. The area shall still be known as Heroes Garden, but people have begun to refer to the manor as  Horseman's Tower.

Thru the looking glass

Gillian’s finger traced the red dragon figurine as it encircled the mirror. He enjoyed the irony of how it so closely resembled the bitch that hunted him. Since the dragons had openly declared war on Waterdeep, he had kept a low profile. She had been circling the sky for several days before the attack, no doubt looking for him and the items he had hidden. He had watched her, the image in the mirror as clear as looking through a window. It had been a couple days since he had used the mirror. While a low profile was keeping him alive it was counterproductive in his race to divinity. He had just acquired his 6^th aspect and located his 7^th when the dragons came.

Gillian speaks the divine words causing the draconic figure springs to life. As it breaths a layer of flames over the surface of the mirror he utters the name “Ember the red”.  As the flames burn away the mirror displays a scene Gillian can’t believe. “We are the Samular “ the rest of his words drowned out by Ember’s roar of hate & fear. He watches as an amazing aerial combat ensues. The two griffon riders begin charging Ember in unison. There blows are precise dealing horrific wounds, yet the dragon survives. It tries to flee, moving at amazing speed it greatly outdistances her attackers. Then out of nowhere with a speed that can only be described as heaven-sent, a rider vaults from his mount driving his blade deep into the dragon.  

Gillian could tell that multiple active aspects where in play as the dragon slayer rides Embers carcass to the ground.  With the unbearable weight lifted, he stared fixated at the dragon mirror in disbelief. “Well done” he muttered with a grin he couldn’t hope to contain. As the image begins to burn away he catches a glimpse of the slayer, a look of satisfaction flash across the mirrors surface then it’s gone. Placing the mirror in his bag & slipping the fan into his belt Gillian closes his deposit box. He headed out of the Owls roost headed towards the home of Dwarinom & Benethoe Draigo.  He had one more aspect to acquire and he had put it off long enough.    

Faerie Tales

Briar was amazed at how often serendipity landed in her lap. Here in Amphail, just days after her arrival, she had come across a book that was a collection of legends and people at the time of the Samular campaigns. She drew her blankets around them tighter as she read aloud to her cohort.

 The story relayed the downfall of one of Tancred's followers, a brave warrior of the north known as Dorric the Martyr. He hated his nickname, according to legend, because it had been given to him by the close attendants of the Samulars, mocking his over the top devotion to his lords glory. Once when their retinue was in Amphail, the village had found itself sharing lands with and falling prey to a vicious dark fey fox woman, a creature known to elves as a huldra. Very few tales of such fey exist, but they are generally thought to be shy. This twisted dark fey ,however, took joy in taunting the folk of Amphail. She always left her name, Erytheis, scratched into the flesh of her victim when the malicious creature came out on mild evenings to seduce and then murder one of the townsmen. Dorric, when he heard the tale at the inn, boldly declared that he would not allow his lord Tancred to fall to such wiles, and set forth immediately to West Wood, where the fox fairy laired. Dorric carried with him the Hammer of Grace, a mighty weapon in his right arm, a weapon he notably referred to as his "legacy". Some legends say this was a weapon of Tempus, some say Tyr, and a few say it is of Moraddin. The power it was revered for was Mercy. The hammer had the power to heal those who were injured, even upon deaths door, but only if its user chose to subdue rather than kill his foe. A single lethal blow would block its healing powers for what is now an unknown length of time. Well, that was the last anyone saw of the good and zealous man known as Dorric the Martyr, because he never returned from the West Wood. Despite a week long search, no sign was ever found of him or the mysterious huldra. The hammer was lost in those woods, never to be found at the time of this books printing. No more of the seduction murders were found after his disappearance, although folk still believed the West Wood to be haunted by that dark fey for many years afterward.

Briar bit her lip, and snuggled closer to Tetra. She was intensely aware of the fey influence in the current worlds time of troubles, and could feel the influence of the dark fey growing. She certainly didn't like the portend of a Samular warrior succumbing to their dark sorcerys.

A Game Delayed

Sage Ammathair could only be drawn away from work by three things, a new discovery, his loving wife Shay, or his niece Hlantos Melshimber. Hlantos was the daughter that Ammathair and his wife never could conceive. She had spent her childhood under the esteemed tutelage of her famous uncle and became his most apt pupil and able assistant. Despite all of Ammathair’s years of training his niece and her obvious talents, the sage’s sister Hlanta still favored her bull headed son Khallos over his older and more able sister Hlantos. Ammathair’s nephew’s sole focus was on the family’s vineyards and collecting fine wines of which he sampled too many. Once the sage’s sister passed away or ceded over control of day to day family business to the hot headed young man Ammathair feared for his family’s long term health and viability.

Despite Ammathair’s concerns he was growing frustrated at his niece’s tardiness. Hlantos had sent word she would meet him for a game here at the Emporium. They had agreed to meet at dusk and it was dark now well over an hour. Growing concerned Ammathair signaled his bodyguards to him and sent one to search for her but to report back to him at Waterdeep Castle. Leaving word and coin with the proprietor of the Emporium the sage returned to the castle a worried man.

The Lion, The Eagle, and The Dragon

On the morning before the Blue dragon attack on the Fields of Triumph, three of Tempus’ greatest combatants competed in seven challenges that tested their strength, valor, and weapon prowess. To find a warrior who demonstrated courage under scrutiny; skill with every weapon given unto him; and exemplified the virtues to which the Tempus clerics would see in their god’s avatar.


A god of War: but not one of blood-thirsty slaughter, but a virtuous warrior-god who draw followers that will worship Tempus with zeal and generosity; as Shield of the Defenseless and Sword of War.

“Uncle, who is that warrior with the horned-helm?” the inquisitive Santis asked of his uncle Vastarr Roaringhorn. Having failed at getting his attention over the din of the crowd, Santis prodded his uncle and repeated himself to no avail.

Krazen Dragonsbane

“That’s Krazen Dragonsbane the former leader of the Kryptgarden Keepers.” His twin sister answered. Alyssa Roaringhorn was prodigy when it came to history and lore; many in her family have hopes that she put that knowledge to use as a Lore master or bard.

Swords clashed followed by pugnacious taunts that brought on another round of cheers that forbad any chance for palaver. Alyssa stepped up on the benches to peer over the large dark man standing in the row below them; she noted his black wide-brimmed hat. She bid her brother to do the same, and climbed up on the bench.

After joining her she continued, “He has a checkered past, some say it was Marten—some say it was Krazen who brought the end to the tet, but Krazen has never betrayed the church.”

“He looks absolutely mad.” Santis observed.

“Their whole tet came back… changed.” She concluded, nodding in agreement. “I am not sure of the other two.”

Santis for a wonder knew one of the others. Santis Roaringhorn was for the sword and the warrior’s way; and idolized many of the cities noble warriors, but before he could say before more—jeers and vigorous arm pumps to the sky cut him off to the spectacle. A cry of triumph cut through the crowed, and that brought goose-flesh to rise on his arms. Up one more step, they were now shoulder level with the large man who Alyssa thought looked like a mortician.

“The man with the black and gold breastplate…” Santis pointed out.

“The one with the eagle?”

“Yes, that is Ramsey Eagleshield—he was the first to bring an aspect of good to Waterdeep.”

Ramsey was well liked, without a selfish bone in his body—the man knew no limits when it came to generosity. Furthermore he was a hero in the eyes of ambitious young warriors, always taking the time to show aspiring fighters a quick parry or… the “eagle’s-slash”.

Kelemvor Lionsbane

“I hope Sai Eagleshield proves the victor!” Santis said enthusiastically and began to lead his section in a chant for Eagleshield… Eagleshield… Eagleshield!

“Ok then,” Vastarr remarked at last. “Who is the third warrior?”

It was then the man in black turned to regard the Roaringhorns, “That’s Kelemvor Lionsbane, slayer of King Graul—the Ice Mountains orc king; recently he protected hundreds against the West gate dragon. That is who I’d see win.”

Claudia

The ferocious blast of cold had struck into her home with such velocity and force that the concussive energy hurled the teen girl from her top bunk through the small wood shuttered window. Had she not landed on some of the wood from the window, the piles of snow outside her second floor window would have braced her fall. The wood lodged painfully into one side, bruising her ribs and scraping the skin along her side with painful splinters. Claudia could only watch in terror as the tremendous dark bulk of a dragon passed over head, casually destroying her family and home.
Claudia searched the wreckage of her home for two days before locating all of her families’ corpses. The anger grew during those days. Alone with her grief she first hated herself, angry at her own failure, frozen scared in the snow. The anger coalesced when she found the body of her mother, wrapped around the frozen infant form of her baby brother Ryan. Crying and yelling at the sky, Claudia fell into fitful sleep, haunted by dreams of her brother surviving the blast only to freeze to death in the wreckage. Unsure of the time or day, driven near madness by her nightmares, Claudia stepped out into the storm. Crying to the heavens, Claudia swore her vengeance to the sky and dedicated her life to destroying those who took so much from her. Then as if in answer to her cries, a voice broke through her anger, calling Claudia to a place called Storm Keep. The lord of the manor calls for those who would learn to resist, the tenor and tone of his voice carrying similar pain and hatred for dragon kind. Returning to the remains of her family home Claudia gathers the few things she could recover and prepared to fulfill her oath.