A Familiar Destiny

“My associates,” the speaker began tactfully. “Let me first speak of the unpredictability of magic as we are all aware: it was not long ago when the magical power used during the aberration exodus caused teleportation to be a fools gamble; and now this year over the summer, anyone with the skills to pen a magical scroll were purged of the talent.” With practiced tongue, Lord Pinpirk continued. “The winter brings wild surges to any endure elements magic and mayhap some other fell surge or catastrophic effects we have yet to see or discover. Magic is our lives, our existence, and we are united in its enduring survival.”

Gathered in cloistered groups, listening to the silver-tongued Imp, were scores of wizards’ bonded creatures. In the newly rebuilt attic of the Trades Ward hostel, the sight of House Umbrusks Hater’sBall, were familiars both native and outsider, common variety and magical creatures. Felines ranging from alley cats to a wondrous white lion who listened with casual interest; an eyewing fluttered bat-like from perch to perch seeing everything; and a scamp of sinister fey-gremlins were too listening to the tiny demon.

“These changes could not have happened without the aid of significant magic: a wish.” Lord Pinprik said with an air of authority, his claim was met with affirmative gestures of purrs and quick jerky nods. Ravens, owls, weasels, and rats; they all reacted to his words—a voice from one of their own, a familiar, it unified them in mysterious untold ways.

 

“Our Eldrich-Lords,” speaking of their wizard-masters but avoiding the slave connotation, the Imp continued. “can undo these fundamental alterations and repair the Weave.” The Imp felt each pair of eyes on him now, mammals, birds, reptiles. “However such a collaborative effort cannot hope to succeed while they each toil at the helm of their own master-plans; waging conflicts against each other, wizard against wizard!” This was met with several sharp barks, thin hisses, and rude gesticulations of outrage.

“My associates… if we can come together now and palaver then we can come together in epic purpose. We will do what the Magi refuse to do and together share insight into the Aspects of Magic, we familiars will impart what they know and bring about the restoration of magic and the preservation of the weave... fulfilling our destiny.”

Fejyelsae’s Ring

The gem, a pink diamond is to be set in a platinum ring forged from several platinum pieces. The gem is not yet cut. Instead the jewel sits in a velvet lined box, upon a card;an appointment with the jeweler Jacinth Lathkule. Jacinth is a recent arrival to Storm Keep, a new follower plying her expert trade under the protection of the Samular Seven. The jeweler, unlike most followers, feels a strong connection to the pantheon, paying respects to all seven deities. She intends to earn a “master” status through the crafting of Fejyelsae’s wedding ring. The master work quality of the ring will then allow the addition of magical properties. If Fejyelsae accepts my proposal her noble title will be The First Lady of Storm.

James if you will allow a little backtracking, when I was in the carriage with Piergeiron and he spoke to me about the weather, I spoke with him about my true love of Waterdeep and a few other things. I would like to have requested that he marry us pending her acceptance and a time when the city is not starving or under attack.

Talmost Clothier and Furs

Tauren walked briskly in the morning sun, silently thanking Samaular Lord Damian for another day of dry weather. Though he tried to not dwell on Heilean and her new lover, he found it hard to escape his thoughts. He certainly had not seen it coming, but he also didn't feel particularly surprised by it. He thought it was a good match, and could not blame anyone for following the call of their hearts. He was still mulling over in his mind how he would approach Kelemvor, but he knew for certain he would approach him as an ally and friend. He reflected a little on how that relationship further strengthened the ties between the Faerun pantheon and the Samaular pantheon, and those thoughts pleased the would-be god.

Today he hoped to focus on the upcoming journeys into the north. He wasn't sure exactly where they were going, but he knew that griffon flight at high altitudes in this season of Frostburn was going to be perilously cold. As the caravan master, he had decided to start gathering the equipment and goods needed for their flights north. Of course, by reputation, the Talmost noble family were the finest providers of both exquisite and functional furs in all of Waterdeep. This trade and their tailors and seamstresses were the core of the families financial standing, and they operated a large very popular clothing shop. Tauren also remembered a big push from the family's new releases at the greengrass festival. They were introducing a new line of high end winter wear that was exceptionally resistant to cold and water. Tauren sought to invest in such gear for the entire party, knowing full well that it could make survival of the lethal cold much more likely.

As he stepped into the shop, warmed by three fireplaces, his mood was lifted and pulse quickened as he noticed all of the young women in the shop. He was greeted immediately and showered with attention as he perused the wares and inspected frost suits, frost boots, frost gloves, frost goggles, even frost horse blankets .It was just what he needed, and he loved every second of it.

Back To The Drawing Board

As the old-woman entered the house’s expansive library; a cavernous chamber of tomes and legers of the Highborn family, the Lady of the Mists dropped her elder pretext and appeared younger and vibrant, a contrast to her previous portrayal. She loved masquerades and the joy behind playing different roles; everything she did was shrouded in layers of illusions and lies.

The library was diamond-shaped with a raised central dais that featured a large oaken table under a model of the Savage Frontier on the vaulted ceiling; the Star Mountains being a central source of light. 

Elsewhere in the room, illumination came from small glass bottles that sit stoically on shelves; shelves that are placed over paintings of several Waterdeep’s most notable and distinguished historical figures. The glow gave them a dark sinister look. 

Embers glowed blissfully in the fireplace keeping the winter chill at bay but produced no meaningful light for the women attending the tomes and scripts. In the corners of the archive were smaller study areas where the best chronicliers of the house worked for at their goddess’ need. Whispers danced at the limit of sound as not to disturb researchers in their holy work.

Leira ascended to the table, her footfalls light and graceful, to find all Lilith’s dark—angelic duplicates pouring over texts, records, and books; volumes all thought to be exhausted or eliminated from their research.

“Starting over again? I thought these tomes to be irrelevant… we eliminated them ourselves.” Leira said apologetically though secretly enjoying the misdirection inherent in these endeavors.

“Jarred Mallred does not know anything. Incredible really that someone like Mallred who inherits the wealth of history and knowledge that is Blackspire Gap and still be utterly ignorant to the things occurring right before him. He is useless and I hope someone ends his idiocy soon before it spreads.” Lilith said absently while paging through her latest book. 

Leira, silent as a thought, took stock of the nature of Lilith’s research as one by one each of the Lady of Loss’ replicas finished their read and joined their host.

Leira’s eyes fell upon Historica-Magica a record book that documented houses with any arcane magical talents be they sorcery or wizardry. “What of the godson? Was he not gifted with insight as to the Aspects of Magic?” Leira asked wistfully her fingertips walking across the covers and bindings of the books. From the darkness a cleric requested an act of contrition and Leira acquiesced with a task: "Send word to Hlantos Melshimber that I wish to speak to her for tea." 

At this Lilith asked, “Why do you not punish for incompetence? Instead you send them on…”

 

“The fruits of my labor are slow to flower, Lilith. Sometimes even I do not know—for my efforts are is still shadowed in the mists of Time, but I have belief in my followers. One does not need to overwhelm with fear; delicacy works better than blunt terror but one needs to have patience.”

::Sigh:: “No, the godson is just an idolized tiefling.” Lilith spat. “He knows nothing... and therefore he is now nothing—a ‘god’ with no pantheon. He is abandoned and mayhap begging for scraps as we speak.” She purred at the loss and ruin. “... neither did Huld Belabranta or anyone else know—it is clear we must focus our efforts on their guild sister… someone within the Order of Magists and Protectors must know of the shape or existence of the Aspects of Magic.”

Awakenings

Norsinnow waited until the Samular group left his workshop before rushing back over to the liquor cabinet replacing his empty cup with a full bottle. Norsinnow’s used both hands to grip the bottle and drink, his body trembling with adrenaline and fear. Gathering his thoughts, Norsinnow wryly thought that he must be held in some regard by the group since he was given an option to co-operate. Quickly deciding that his work would have to wait, the wizard hurried to his private quarters to gather his belongings. Norsinnow had already had enough problems with the warriors of Tempus and without the Samular tet’s backing here at the Fields of Triumph, he was far too exposed. Once in his quarters he finished his bottle and focused on gathering the essentials he needed. Deciding the risk of wild magic was necessary, Norsinnow used a spell and magical ointment to disguise his appearance and made his way out into the night towards the church district.

The creature once known as Balin Jardeth wasn’t certain what had occurred but suddenly he could no longer feel his master’s omniscient presence, his master’s will. His existence was his own again…at least it would be once he had sated his hunger. The creature who once had been Balin must feed. Not certain how he had arrived in the church district or where he was headed the creature peered around, instinctively careful to avoid any priests that might be about. The Balin creature heard the heartbeat first, his tongue engorged, teeth extended as the fresh blood of an unprotected soul was approaching. Moving quickly, the creature found a series of small tents battered and torn by the storms of the previous evenings. The remains of the tents would provide enough cover eliminating the creatures need to alter from his humanoid form.

Norsinnow now shivered from the evening’s cold but was pleased that the snowstorm had finally stopped. It didn’t please the wizard to go into hiding but he was almost certain that none realized he had a sister who was a priestess of Tymora. Chuckling to himself, Norsinnow realized he was weaving in the snow covered road, the liquor beginning to hit him. Not too much farther before he could call upon his sister’s hospitality…

The Balin creature unloaded both his pistols into the backs of the human’s knees, dropping him instantly into the snow. The wind would hide the human’s screams the Balin creature realized as he fell upon his victim. Fangs extended, his bite tore at Norsinnow’s neck, ending the wizard’s life and beginning his undead one.

People to Trust

Claudia Kelton is an agile thief who loved the city and the adventure of the streets or the ‘hustle and bustle’ as everyone called it; she never lacked for a challenge or for excitement in Waterdeep. Before the dragon attacked her home she and her best friend Jovena Roaringhorn would frequent many of Waterdeep’s well-to-do taverns and pubs; having met after being finalists in an impromptu drinking game-- they have been friends ever since they woke from that night.

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Elad Edals, cold infecting his joints, pointed to a brutish man across the High Road. Claudia, following the direction from the older man, saw emerging from a below-street apartment a hulkish man who was unspeakably built. Iron corded muschles over a seven-foot warrior’s frame—seemingly immune to the bitter cold until finally the man drew out a cloak and drew it tight around him. Her mouth dropped as she saw the warrior shrink to average height and merge with the hustle and bustle of Waterdeep.

 

“His name is Sanford. Did you happen to see his scars?” Elad asked formally. “Acid from a dragon; I set my watch and warrant on it.” Listening, Claudia kept her eyes on Sanford as they followed Sanford south along the High Road. “… Sanford has been making house calls to everyone he believes are Cult of the Dragon agents.”

“He does not look like the private investigator type Elad. Do you know if he works for Piergeiron?” Claudia asked, now identifying where Sanford was going: the Pampered Traveler.

“No, but one of his contacts does… or used to… I do not know yet, however Sanford visited a man named LaCarre—who may have told him about this last call.” Elad said thumbing back indicating the apartment where Sanford left from.

“What does this have to do with the book you are looking for and why you think House Wands involved in all this?” Claudia asked leading them to the walnut-shell littered deck of the 'Traveler.

Elad regarded his young companion quizzically. “Nothing, were not here for that. We are here to discover why dragons attacked your house or why the cult sought to attack; mayhap present ourselves sympathetic to yon brute because if my assumption is correct then we all have something in common.”

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One less cultist kowtowing to the dragons of the North, Sanford thought as he easily slipped into the flow of Waterdeep traffic. His palaver with Kafcar yielded him valuable information as well some convinces, the cloak being just one of many; but what Sanford loved the most was the satisfaction of giving them a taste of their own. 

Earlier in the summer, Sanford suffered terrible acid burns on his face and half his upper body when a black dragon attacked Secomber. He spent many weeks recovering—justice and retribution simmering under his gauze and wrappings giving him strength and purpose. When he was travel worthy Sanford left behind his job as a High Moor adventurer and ventured to Waterdeep. These days he seeks revenge by burning away the faces of dragon cultists with corrosive acid like Kafcar. 

Stomping his boots to remove the snow and slush, Sanford scanned the Pampered Traveler and spotted his associate—appearantly as did he judging by his wide charismatic smile. Sanford had made many acquaintances since arriving to Waterdeep: LaCarre, Durnan, and this man Adon. After ordering an ale Sanford removed the cloak revealing his acid scarred bulk and sat down opposite Adon.

“The cloak serves you well my friend.” Adon said companionably. “What did the man tell you before you burned away his life?”

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At a nearby table Elad Edals and Claudia Kelton listened intently as Sanford relayed to the other gentleman what the cult of the dragon had planned next for Waterdeep and the North. 

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Tyrus Skullstorn watched it all with curious detachment; the brute, the couple-- he was intrigued by this Damian Agundar, Lighting Sai and Lord of Retribution and wondered what the future may hold for the Realms. Tyrus resolved to understand this new faith… a force of the coming storm and decided how else was he to judge a faith but to observe those who venerate that faith? Tyrus needed people to trust, he was a stranger in a strange land and in these times of troubles enemies are at every turn. 

From the Desk of Maskar Wands

Maskar Wands 

Let it be known to all mages and wizards of the Order that I, Maskar Denethor Wands hereby assumes the position of interim Archmage of the Order of Magists and Protectors…

A polite knock at Maskar’s massive oaken door overcame the sound of rain outside and arrested his quill from its meticulous work; this letter was difficult enough as it was without distractions Maskar mused but such was the existence of high office.

“Sai Maskar?” It was Scirkel, “the wizards you called for have arrived.” He said with a touch of mild trepidation, uncle Maskar was an imposing figure and frightened Scirkel more than any wizard of his house.

“Thank you Scirkel, send them up and call for my wife as well.” Maskar bid the young alchemist.

Finishing his official announcement Maskar stood, stretched his back, and turned to the window overlooking the Street of Bells and thought deeply about his missing brother Marcus and his first directive as Archmage of the Order. Outside a swarm of pigeons took flight in alarm at the imposing robed figure now standing in the window. The blizzard conditions of the past couple of days subsided only to allow room for freezing rain that added to the misery and tolls already suffered by the good folk of Waterdeep. From here in his third floor office, Maskar could see his remaining brother Raine’s Colossus being retrofitted for travel and longed to accompany him to Thay, but matters of the Order could not be ignored and who, if not Maskar, would protect house Wands from the multitudes of adversaries? Breaking Maskar from his thoughts were the footfalls and mutterings from the seven spell-casters he called to palaver.  

Lady-Sai Olanhr Wands 

One by one they entered: Fea Eltorchul, eldest daughter and heir to her house; the Lady-Sai Hlantos Melshimber, the gifted pupil to the Sage Ammathar; Huld Belabranta, the dark enchanter and patron of his House; Sorvani, an accomplished traveler and spell-caster from Zhentil Keep; Fistandantilus, a rather callous but capable mage; Circe Assumbar, Lord Laeros’ sister and heir regent accompanied by her bonded familiar; and finally Maskar’s beautiful wife, Lady-Sai Olanhr Wands who seemed as confused as the others when entering the office. Without preamble Maskar summoned several plush red and gold seating to accommodate the five women and two men; his spacious office had suddenly become much smaller.

After an exchange of pleasantries and the offering of refreshments Maskar began; “It is with a heavy heart that I take on the office my brother Marcus has vacated.” He looked to his wife who offered her usual supportive smile. How he loved her. “However, I have summoned you here because you all escaped the unfortunate Midsummer scroll larceny. You seven, to my knowledge, are the only ones in the city who retained your talents in scribing scrolls. Therefore I am requiring that, until such time as the threat against this city has been routed, each of you is to focus your efforts on scribing scrolls of fire and flame.” 

Another call to Service

"But despite the heroics and valor displayed that night, despite the victories in the city and harbor, beasts of the north have wrought lasting and dangerous harm to Waterdeep."
Tauren paused, letting a little tension build in his words. Although he felt different, changed, certainly, from his war on Draco and the attainment of his complete divine portfolio, he couldn't know the extent of his changes in confidence, appearance, and stature. He wasn't aware that he had now with him an air of regalia, of nobility earned and defended, an aura of royalty. His physical presence and charisma buoyed his supporters like an ocean and assaulted those who opposed him like the wind of a coming storm. His words inspired commoners and nobles alike into moods of war, peace, caution, celebration or reverence as he wished.
"The beasts have a tactic that must still be dealt with. We have the means to cure it, but it will take time and effort. I charge my priests to go forth and purify the food supplies and water wells that have been fouled by the magics of the cursed dragon scourge. Go through out the city and identify yourselves and offer these services to all the homes of Waterdeep. Spread word that the Herald's of the Horseman will help undo the spoilage at an any home free of charge. Give praise to Samular Lord Arsten Thunderstaff, and all the Lords and Ladies Samular, for honoring the commitment of Nobility, and protecting Waterdeep. Warriors, do not let the clerics and holy men go unguarded. We have many enemies within our city walls, and we must be on our guard. Be wary of outsiders and their intentions. Be on the lookout for any signs of the heinous Cult of the dragon. Be on the look out for each others safety, as always. In the name of Samular, for Waterdeep!!"
The congregation broke into rousing cheers as trumpets, horns and drums filled the air with loud and joyous music. Fighters and cavaliers were already pairing with clerics in the platoons, and people were exchanging "what they knew about Lord Arsten" . The mood was so uplifting that Tauren, the Horse Lord even momentarily forgot about his fathers funeral, set for the next day.

Journal Entry: Rewards of Service

Two days before my father is laid to rest. Eva has told me she is holding his soul for me, so that I may send him to his rest after Ascension. I had not until then considered that she made this decision every single time any human died. Everytime, Anyone. It serves me as a reminder to BE the god I will rise to. With funeral arrangements set for Friday, I plan some special ceremonies for my morning services tomorrow, during which I shall reward seven of my most faithful followers, regaling the Glories of their triumphs.

      Teldicia, my high priest, has spread my word and gathered my cavalry faster than I could build my church.Her zeal gains my admiration, as well as her selfless healing, which has saved more than one soldier caught in the collateral damage. I shall give her an enchanted headband, one that magnifies her energy and passion. I will present it to her before ceremonies, so she may disguise it in her wardrobe, if she wishes to be discreet about it.[ headband of charisma +2]

     Galoban has been behind the scenes, but dedicated in bringing music, bards, artists, and historians to the ranks and hierarchy of my followers. I am particularly pleased with his efforts to scribe a written account of the historic Samular Ascension as it occurs. He, too, shall be given a similar headband, which I believe will serve him well. I will present it in front of his musicians so that he may bask in the glory of his success, but i will not describe it aloud, again allowing him the option of discretion. [headband of charisma +2]

    In the morning prayer, I shall recognize Lieutenant Vataan Harpell, and recount his bravery in Amphail as he led his Second Platoon to defend the people of the village. To help bolster his own defense and honor his bravery, an enchanted shield is his prize. [light shield +1]

     Also in prayers, Stable Master Candace Tanner shall be asked to stand and be recognized. Her expertise in the herd have shown through as we haven't lost a single horse to to injury or fatigue. She has proven to be well in command of the growing diversity in my herd and pack. Her gift is a magic ring, made of gold with the images of woodland creatures raised along its outer rim. [ring of animal friendship]

     Alegan of Waterdeep shall be called forth as I relate the tale of him volunteering to ride with Samular Lord Damian into combat, vowing to be his Protection, and granting him the Luck of The Horseman. How he withstood the shrieks of the banshee over the Tower Of Luck, and flew into the face of one of the terrible whites.He will be given two rewards. First a magic buckler shield, so that he may still wield his sword when he needs to. But he will also receive my first honor of knighthood - the Samular Badge of Courage. A small finely woven flag my crimson and gold colors with the silver Samular crown in the field, it is pinned on the left shoulder or breast. When he wears it, it is as if he is within sight of my Banner cavalier ability and gains its benefit. [+2 buckler; +2 morale bonus on fear saves and +1 morale bonus on attacks made as part of a charge]

  Captains Fallon and Arina shall be called together, for their rewards are the greatest and were earned together. To Fallon I will give a magic ring, enchanted to protect him in battle, and a similar ring shall be give to Arina, but one whose magic is not as strong. Then, I will Knight them into my service as nobles, giving them each a second ring, a Tarm signet Ring, and ask them to rise as nobles in the Tarm family. [ring of protection +2, and +1 respectively. As a game note, Captain Arina responded by taking the last name "Tarmsman", while Fallon declared he was now known as "Sir Fallon Waggner Tarmsman, Captain and First Knight to the Lord Horseman Samular Tauren Tarm".]

My mind wanders.My hands ache to grip Arcanum and sink it's bite into Frostburns flesh. Any inactivity seems to lead to restlessness. I feel time either slipping away or coming to an end. Its good to have Briar in the Keep again, Perhaps she can help me find sleep tonite.

Executive Orders

Cortland Andrus, Avatar of Gond, believed with all his heart that the way and modernization of the Wonderbringer was a good and noble faith that not only inspired creativity and innovation in people, it symbolized a prosperous civilization and industry. The preservation of Gond’s domains and his teachings of Apprenticeship: the passing along of knowledge or skill so that it may be used to enrich the lives of others—was more important now than ever. Facilitating the process of apprenticeship all but guaranteed that invention would increase exponentially and the its knowledge would live on forever. Cort believed the future and prosperity of mankind relied on the preservation of civilization, invention, and knowledge—sans the sin of pride, instead embracing acts of generosity.


Sitting in Piergeiron’s parlor, Sai Andrus and the Paladinson listened to fixedly to Carmichael Hawkwinter, Avatar of Helm speak at length about his efforts at revealing subversive religious sects in Waterdeep. In the wake of the Time of Troubles several would-be cults and silver-tongued clerics, in possession of a divine aspect or two created a lot of havoc heralding 'Fate and purpose' awaiting them and their followers in Waterdeep.


Organized crime is in fact, Sai Hawkwinter went on to say, spreading as charismatic individuals whose personal empire and influence control such items like foodstuffs, alcohol, and spice trade become powerful black marketers. While Waterdeep attempts to ration food, people turn to alternative methods to feed their families.


"However I feel, my good Lords, that the riots and loss of Deepwater Isle Prison is the greatest immediate threat to the security of the city and its people. I and the Church of the Vigilant will devote every available resource to ridding the city of this alleged Corruptor from the lesser planes… with your leave Sai Paladinson." Carmichael said plaintively.

"Granted, though you know you do not require my approval to evacuate an outsider from our good realms." Piergeiron said trying to keep the meeting between friends cordial.


"He asks because it requires the death of inmates who are wards of the state Sai." Cortland observed openly.


"It is unfortunate but unavoidable." the Avatar of Helm admitted coldly.


Piergeiron sighed and said, "you offer wise council Sai Hawkwinter, but we will nevertheless adhere to more civilized practices. Subdue the people who offer resistance, but respond to deadly attacks in kind are we clear?"


"Yes Sai, you are both wise and kind thank you." said Brother Carmichael resolutely. Offering them both the Protection of Helm the tall powerful man left the two old friends in silence.

“First Knight.” Piergeiron said in an elevated voice summoning Armult Tesper who was at guard outside the office door. Piergeiron and Cortland exchanged uneasy looks, both knew what was next—leadership was difficult; many people of Waterdeep would not like the Paladinson’s next decision.


“Sai,” was his only response to the summons. Cortland only sat in silence as icy rain began to beat on the office’s window.


“I am executing Executive order: Fire-brand,” Piergerion said with absolute authority. “Begin stockpiling weapons of fire: fire-brands, weapon crystals, magic rods. The city will also be purchasing weapons of fire from the public for use in defending the city from the White dragons. Waterdeep is prepared to offer fair market value for the weapons. Legal counsel has drafted the order, the initiative begins immediately.” He handed the Knight a sealed scroll. “See that copies of this are disseminated to Ward Civilars and read publicly at every hour.”


“By your command Sai Piergerion,” The First Knight said with practiced servitude and promptly retreated from the office.


The two men, Piergerion and Cortland sat in silence for many moments both taking occasional sips from their coffee. Winter lighting flashed and thunder rolled refusing to let any silence linger.


“You know,” Cort began. “People are not likely to relinquish the only weapon they have to fight the Whites. For some folk it is all they have.”


“If they do not, I will mandate the stockpiling efforts. We cannot lose the city my friend. These weapons of fire, be they weapons or alchemy, could be the only thing stopping Frostburn from dominating the north.”