22 Flamerule - Midsummer 1357DR
[Game of April 18th, 2003]
Jaran quietly raps on Delenn’s bedroom door. ‘Delenn? Are you ready?’
A lively young half elf in a clinging cotton dress opens the door and Jaran slides into the room. Delenn solemnly hands Jaran the hilt of a faintly glowing short sword. Jaran holds the luck blade high above her head and proclaims solemnly: ‘I wish that the dagger Leech were no longer attached to me, either physically or spiritually, without negative effect.’
Nothing happens.
Jaran slowly brings the blade down and looks at it skeptically. ‘Perhaps it is broken. You try it. It may be keyed to the original owner.’ Delenn grasps hold of the luck blade, and again recites: ‘I wish that the dagger Leech were no longer attached to Jaran…’
Again, nothing happens. ‘I guess there was only one wish stored within the blade. At least we know now for sure,’ Delenn states sympathetically. A wave of pain flows through Jaran surging from her cursed left hand, making her face drawn, and then she returns to her normal cool composure, ‘And now we are equipped with scrolls to raise our dead. I must return to the armorer to finish our trading.’
Elsewhere in Velen, a tall burly man stands over a gleaming blade which glistens with fresh blood. The image is reflected in the burnished red plates of his dragon scale armor. A stout dwarf steps up, ‘The blade will strike fear in the hearts of our enemies. It is well worth the gold.’ Jarl looks indecisively at his money pouch, ‘Perhaps the others have the funds to help me purchase it. We will talk after dinner.’ With the tinkling of a bell the shop door opens, and Jaran enters and steps up behind Jarl, her cloak whispering across the ground, ‘Ah, I was admiring that blade as well. It is at least as good as your current one. If we but knew what other powers it held, it may be worth the asking price. But it is late. We must be off to meet the others.’ Jaran haggles briefly with the store owner, and follows her companions into the street.
The motly band meets in front of the Merry Minstrel inn. Their demeanor is quite different between them, but they all look worn down from long travel on the road. Beneath the glistening armors and the color shifting cloaks is threadbare clothing, kept whole with patches and magical mending. Jaran steps forward, pulling her hooded cloak from her head, exposing her dusky grey complexion, ‘I have arranged a meeting with a bard who claims to know tales of the bronze dragon Haranoloksis. He is to meet us at the Seadog for dinner.’
‘I have also found out some information. A bard in a nearby tavern taught me a song named Haranoloksis and the Flying Flame, which tells of the bronze’s exile to a watery cave after losing a battle to a stronger dragon referred to only as the Flying Flame,’ Delenn says. Jaran’s lips thin, ‘That dragon is Balagos. The dwarves in the Starspire mountains claimed he laired up there. I believe Flanna’s scroll also makes reference to him. However, it is late, and we must be off to meet the bard.’
The Seadog is a well established restaurant built on a raised platform over the shore. As the party nears the front door, a lithe elf in fine apparel greets them. ‘Welcome, I’m Dorien Longfire. I’ve already reserved a table out on the patio for you.’ He leads the party through the small building to a patio overlooking the ocean. The sun is sharp and low, and Jaran squints as she takes her seat. A young, smart looking waiter arrives, and Dorien orders with authority, ‘1312 Dale Reckoning, Mulhorand’s Pride,’ then turns to the table, ‘What tale shall I spin for you?’
Jaran appraises the waiter briefly, then brings a frosty gaze back to Dorien, ‘We wish to hear tales of Haranoloksis.’
‘I know many tales of Haranoloksis,’ Dorien explains as he smiles cheerily, ‘but first, how about a barrel of Berronar’s Embrace for the dwarf.’ The waiter heads out, quickly replaced by another by our side. ‘I can tell of her lair,’ Dorien continues, ‘how you may find her, as well as what she likes to do. But before we start, lets order a round of lobster for everyone.’ Another waiter quickly slinks from the room.
‘The lair is somewhere underwater between the Race and the Starspire peninsula. Her lair entrance is only accessible under water, and tales say the lair is guarded by sea elves and very powerful underwater servants.’
He pours himself half the bottle of Mulhorand’s Pride, and orders some flowers to lighten up the table. ‘As I was saying, she doesn’t really like to be bothered, they say. There are many tales of adventurers who never came back. But some say, like many of the bronze dragons, she likes to polymorph into small animals, or sometimes even people, and go out and spy on civilization. If you know what to look for, you can see her walking the streets of Zazaspur, Port Kir south of Mosstone, and Velen, though Velen is rather far away.’
Dorien pours himself the other half of Mulhorand Pride and orders a second bottle of wine. Motioning to Jaran, ‘Would you care to try some?’
Jaran pulls her left hand from beneath the shelter of her cloak. Grafted to her arm is a curving dagger which seems to suck the very light from the room. ‘I prefer to keep my wits about me when I have this attached to my hand,’ Jaran threatens. Dorien continues, unfazed, ‘I’m sure being somewhat of a mage yourself, you’ll appreciate the taste of Waterdhavian Arcana.’
‘So, this dragon is at least 1000 years old, if not more. We’ve been singing tales of her as long as I, my father and grandfather have lived.’ He pours himself about half a bottle of Waterdhavian Arcana, and the wine fizzes in his glass.
‘One last thing, legend says she’s the keeper of the Lifebringer sword.’ At this, Kalcryx leans forward intently. ‘The sword that’s said to reverse death. Said to bring the wielder, if he be of noble heart, to full health when he’s on death’s door.’
Dorien quickly glances towards Jaran’s untouched lobster. ‘Do you mind if I…you haven’t touched your dinner.’ Jaran leans forward, and with a lightning quick motion, stabs it with her dagger. Pulling out the tender flesh of the claw on the tip of her dagger, Jaran asks, ‘What kind of signs are there when she walks in human form?’
‘Unusual business dealings, often rare antiques are purchased. She’s somewhat of a collector. Strange people who walk into alleys and fly out as birds,’ Dorien explains.
‘Do you know anyone who has met her?’
‘Not personally, all I’ve heard are tales.’
‘Does she have a favorite food?’
Dorien smirks, ‘I would imagine evil things, evil people. She intervenes on pirate affairs, sinking ships with her mighty tail.’
‘Do you have any suggestions on how we might go about meeting her?’
‘Buy a boat, dive under water, or perhaps, if you wish to draw her attention, pirating. Even if it’s just pretending.’
A waiter strides up to the table, places the bill and smiles at Delenn, ‘Thank you for joining us for dinner tonight.’ At this, Dorien stands quickly, ‘I thank you for the dinner, any time you need more information, you know where to find me,’ and he disappears into the night.
Jaran picks up the receipt, glances at it quickly, and slowly passes it to G’kar. The dwarf looks at the total scrawled at the bottom and bristles, ‘If I ever get my hands on that bard…’
The balance is grudgingly paid, and amid much grumbling, the party heads back towards the inn. From the docks, the thin sound of men screaming is heard, and as one the five adventurers stop in the street. Flames rise above the deck of a large ship as it careens into the dock. A few sailors jump from the rail and fall to the dock, screaming for help. The ship continues to drift, and it’s name comes into view, the Pouncing Panther.
Kalcryx’s skin gleams bronze in the dancing light of the fire. He sprints to the edge of the docking ramp and shouts to the fleeing sailors, ‘What happened!’ A sailor calls back, ‘They’re attacking us,’ as he rushes away from the chaos. The top of a large shaggy head bobs just out of sight aboard the ship.
Jaran leaps astride her broom and soars above the ship. From this vantage point, the situation becomes clear. Several sailors are violently swinging rapiers at ten giant furry, horned humanoids. Dead bodies litter the deck, and the beasts are mauling the few remaining sailors. Many of the creatures have manacles around their wrists, the attached chains dangling uselessly below. A gaping hole looms dark in the stern of the ship. Fire is quickly spreading at either end of the ship, and the ship slowly drifts further from the dock.
With a loud battle cry, Jarl dashes up the ramp and leaps across a ten foot wide gap, landing safely on the boat. With his bastard sword out, he cleaves into the nearest beast. The beast roars in pain, and many of the foes turn towards Jarl. Lowering his horns, another beast charges Jarl with a ferocious, but the horns skitter off the tough armor. The beasts crowd around Jarl, looming over his tall frame, and they begin pummeling him with their fists.
G’kar rushes to join the fight, but then stops short before the growing gap at the ramp, shouting to a sailor still left on the ship, ‘Toss me a line and I’ll pull the ship in!’ Delenn follows and peers into the confusing melee. Four shining bolts stream from her fingertips and burst upon the thick hide of the nearest creature. The last of the sailors on board drop under the powerful fists and rending teeth of the beasts. Roars of frustration are bellowed from those surrounding Jarl, as they pummel his armor ineffectively. With an answering roar, Jarl fells one of the creatures and sets his attention on the next.
Kalcryx leaps off the ramp and clings like a spider to the prow of the boat. He skuttles up to the deck while muttering an incantation to detect evil. In his sight, a bright aura blazes around the beasts. A crackling bolt of lightning bursts from Jaran’s outstretched arms, searing two. At the same time, G’kar’s thrown hammer cleaves into the lightning, dropping another foe. Following Jaran’s example, lightning sizzles from Delenn’s hands, flying through three beasts engaged with Jarl and then splintering the main mast.
Crying out for Clangeddin’s aid, G’kar bounds like a stout gazelle onto the ship and joins his companions. With Kalcryx’s powerful two-handed sword, G’kar’s swift hammer, and Jarl’s untiring bastard sword, quick work was made of the remaining few. Jaran, still hovering above the ship on her broom, upends a gleaming decanter over the fires, dousing them with an unending stream of water.
With the immediate danger abated, Kalcryx tosses a mooring rope to Delenn, who then dashes to wind it to the dock. G’kar, in an unusually nimble manner, leaps the increasingly widening gap between dock and deck with a second rope, and finishes securing the ship. Under the guise of examining the bodies, Jaran surreptitiously knocks off four of the creatures’ fangs. Delenn draws near, ‘These creatures appear to have the heads of bulls. Otherwise, they don’t seem much different from humans.’
A contingent of guards marches toward the ship. A well armored human stands forth, ‘We heard reports of a flaming ship striking the docks. Are you responsible for this?’ Delenn turns to face the guard, and with a gesture to the ship says, ‘The flaming part, no, unless you count that we put out the flames. We’ve secured the ship to the dock. We were out for a stroll, when we heard shouts. We came to help.’ Disbelief fills his voice as the guard surveys Jarl, ‘A stroll in full plate armor?’ Jaran stops examining the body and chimes in, ‘We recently arrived in town, we have only just made our lodgings in town. It looks as if these bull men must have escaped from the hold.’
‘Are any of them still alive?’ the guard asks.
‘No, they’re all dead. They had manacles on. Perhaps they were enslaved.’
The guard approaches the ship, ‘We will search the ship.’
Delenn glances around at the carnage on deck, ‘Do you want assistance?’ Jaran points out, ‘They were…eating the sailors…’ At this, the guard pales, ‘Why don’t you search the hold for us.’
Jaran, Delenn and G’kar descend into the cargo hold as Kalcryx arranges the bodies of the dead. The fell stench of unwashed animals permeates the air below decks. Broken chains sway on the wall where once they held the bull-headed creatures in place. Beyond, in a smaller hold, a small box lays on the floor, with twenty tightly stoppered vials within. Jaran picks out five vials, ‘I would be satisfied that this would be payment.’ G’kar nods silently, and the group heads back to the deck.
Jaran slips into the captain’s quarters, and quickly surveys the cramped room. A single bed is folded up against aft wall, and a mahogany desk faces it, bolted to the floor to prevent shifting during storms. Silently she pads to the desk, and with practiced hands she flips through the contents. Within a slim desk draw is a letter written in Common on fine paper with a broken seal: ‘Bring me the slave guards, the wall maze is almost ready. Sail past Velen and around the peninsula, there will be someone in Port Kir to take them to me. Do not feed them under any circumstance. -S’ Jaran frowns slightly, ‘I only hope this does not come from the high mage Silvia.’ The other rooms contain nothing of value.
Kalcryx looks up from his grim task, ‘I guess we should go see the wharf master?’ The guard shakes his head, ‘I suggest you come with us and I can introduce you to the watch master.’ Kalcryx gestures to the ship, ‘Well, right of salvage…?’ The guard scowls, ‘City claims salvage of the ship.’
‘If you think the ship is secured where it is, and you say there is nothing alive in there?’
‘Nothing that we found…’
‘Well, I’ll send my men to clean up the dead while I escort you to the watch master.’
The city jail looms large and bleak among the ramshackle wooden buildings lining the street. Deep within, the watch leader’s office swam with dust and stank of mildew. A rail thin man stood, his chair creaking pathetically. He eyes the group skeptically, ‘You’re not from Velen, are you?’ Delenn casually pushes her hair behind her shoulder, and says, ‘We only just arrived.’ The captain squints, ‘It’s very odd to have strangers keen to help in such a flaming matter.’ G’kar gestures with his warhammer, ‘We always try to help.’ The captain looks nervous for a moment, then continues while silently appraising the group’s equipment, ‘Well, some locals saw what happened and put in a good word. Unfortunately, we can’t offer more than a hundred gold for your help.’ Kalcryx taps his claw against his chin in thought, ‘It’s too bad if there’s no clear owner. We could take possession of the ship…’ The captain pauses, ‘You could possibly purchase the ship from the navy. I’ll put in a word. It would still cost around eight thousand. If you’re interested, come by in the morning.’
Back in the tavern, a heated discussion can be heard over the din of the general crowd. G’kar rests his hand lightly on the table, gently touching his warhammer, ‘As much as I despise the sea, we will need some sort of transport to the dragon’s cave. And it will reduce our travel.’ Jaran pushes her cloak aside, carefully marking the size of her gem stash, ‘But we are all suffering from lack of coin.’ Delenn’s eyes twinkle with delight, ‘Perhaps Gaelon would be willing to help.’ Jaran arches an eyebrow, then gives a curt nod, ‘Waukeen will always aid the cause of trade and the pursuit of wealth. I’m sure he would be willing.’ The discussion devolves into planning for food, equipment and crew for the ship, and soon Delenn tires. ‘I’ll…see you in the morning,’ and she carefully adjusts her slitted skirt and makes her way towards Gaelon’s home.
Jaran wakes in the early morning to the sounds of soft footfalls in the hallway. With a measured step she slips from the bed and peers through a slim crack in the door. Seeing Delenn, she smirks and opens the door, ‘How did your night go? Has the halfling agreed to help?’ Delenn smiles softly, ‘I was quite convincing. It appears that his family, his church and he will all want equal shares, but we will get payment for most of the boat, as well as cargo to ship.’ Jaran nods, ‘That seems fair. We will need to find the rest of the coin on the morrow then.’ The door slides shut, and Jaran falls back into a fitful sleep.
As the sun breaks over the prow of the ship, the group gathers to break fast in the common room. A decision is quickly made to find a wealthy mage to purchase some of the more rare components acquired during the last several battles. At G’kar’s suggestion, they head to the edge of town to a sturdy stone house by a sheer cliff hanging over the sea. With a subtle shifting of her décolletage, Delenn raps loudly at the door.
The door whisks open, and within stands a tall, pale man draped in thick red fabric embroidered with a garish motif. Flourishing his hands, he intones, ‘Who requires the estimable services of Delganar, the Magnificent Wondrous!’ At this, flame wreathes his hands and dances on his fingertips. Delenn pretends to be amazed and bats her eyes in admiration. Delganar ushers the group into the dark interior of the shop, where vials and scrolls are pushed into dangerously unstable piles.
Jaran tiptoes carefully around a ominously glowing vial, ‘We have rare spell components we wish to sell.’ Delganar gathers his robe dramatically, ‘I am always in need of more items for my experiments, more reactants to fuel my concoctions.’ Jaran opens a small bag at her waist, ‘We have two mature adult dragon canines.’ Delganar’s jaw slackens in disbelief, ‘What color? How much?’ From the small bag, a five foot long tooth emerges, ‘They come from a large green dragon,’ Jaran says, and with a bit of uncertainty asks, ‘2000 gold each?’ Delganar narrows his eyes shrewdly, ‘1500.’ Jaran haggles, ‘1800. They are in fine condition.’ Delganar capitulates, ‘1500 in cash, with the rest in trade.’ Jaran nods curtly, and Delganar disappears into a back room, returning with a nondescript bag, ‘Do you have a receptacle for all this?’ Jaran opens her own bag wide, and with a tinkling sound, a large flow of golden coin streams from Delganar’s bag. Kalcryx and Delenn quickly pick out two smoky green potions with the symbol of a transformation engraved in the glass.
Back at the docks, Kalcryx and Gaelon arrange payment for the ship. The dock master places the gold in an iron bound chest, ‘You will have to provide a manifest and indicate a trading company before you set sail.’ Gaelon beams, ‘The ship will be named the Silverfoot Sailor.’ Kalcryx smiles slightly, ‘Then we shall sail under the name of The Silver Sails Trading Company.’ The dock master files away the paperwork, and Kalcryx and Gaelon head to the ship.
The rank smell of drying blood and stale sweat fills the air on board, occasionally sweetened by the faint ocean breeze. Though the dead have been removed, puddles of brown ichor still mark the deck. After a day of vigorous cleaning, the ship begins to become habitable. Jaran stops the flow of magical water and sets down the decanter with a weary sigh. ‘At least the guards left the furniture and equipment,’ she remarks to Delenn. ‘They were too lazy to check below decks, I suppose. We will need some method of propelling that Greek fire if it is to be useful though,’ Delenn replies as she sits slumped on a barrel, ‘It appears that Kalcryx and Flanna have managed to hire a good crew already, so we may not have time to find something.’
On the eve before the ship sets sail, G’kar, Delenn, Kalcryx and Jaran head grimly towards the temple of Tymora, goddess of good luck. Within the towering edifice, a young acolyte greets them and offers blessing. ‘With a heavy heart we bring you something,’ G’kar begins, ‘Are you familiar with Duchess Yisthra Steelheart, the so-called Lady of Luck?’ The young man looks puzzled, ‘No, I’m not familiar with her.’ G’kar’s countenance darkens, ‘Unfortunately she’s dead, and we have her body.’ The acolyte looks sympathetic, ‘We can of course arrange for burial rights.’
G’kar draws the man aside in an uncharacteristically discrete fashion, ‘It is a matter of honor that I speak with your high priest about this matter. Her death was orchestrated by an unknown evil.’ The acolyte nods and leads the party into a small but lavishly appointed room. An older gentleman at the desk looks up as the door opens. The acolyte explains the matter briefly, gesticulates, and leaves the room. ‘Sir, we were unwitting tools used to assassinate the Lady Steelheart. We delivered a necklace at the behest of a dying man’s final wish. As we gave it to her, her servants turned into evil grey beasts who placed the cursed necklace about her neck and turned on us,’ G’kar explains gravely, ‘We tried everything to save her from the strangling necklace to no avail. We wish to entrust your church with the body, in hope that the matter may be investigated. We came with nothing to hide, we are not assassins.’ The high priest folds his hands solemnly, ‘I shall have to contact my superiors. No questions will be asked if you leave the body with us.’ G’kar motions Jaran forward, and the High Lady’s body is carefully extracted from a strangely small magical bag and laid out upon a nearby bed.
Three days after the minotaur rebellion, the Pouncing Panther is bustling with crew and resting deep in the water with full cargo in her holds. Upon her prow, blue paint glistens pronouncing her new name, The Silverfoot Sailor. High above on the main mast, a new flag of deep blue with embroidered silver sails snaps smartly in the wind. Protective glyphs glow slightly along the ship’s railing, causing the small ship to stand out among the drab naval ships in port.
After three days of uneventful sailing along the coast towards Asavir’s Channel, ugly grey clouds begin to form on the horizon. On the morning of Midsummer, Flanna bounds happily out of bed, and as she announces her birthday to her friends and crew, a bright flash of lightning illuminates the sky and rain begins to darken the deck. Delenn looks to the sky with puzzlement and then frowns, ‘I suppose it’s only fitting that we receive such a sign of ill fortune on the six month anniversary of our adventuring together.’
As the waters get rough, the crew takes shelter from the storm within the cabins. G’kar and Jaran remain on deck to keep watch. Hiding in the glare of the rising sun, several spherical creatures float towards the ship, bobbing on the rising swells. G’kar and Jaran squint at the harsh light, and just make out the waving motion of crablike pinchers and the reflection of a giant eye. Several more emerge from the water, surrounding the ship, and they begin to float towards the deck.
With a muttered incantation, Jaran directs her hand to the sea and an explosion of ice envelopes two of the floating eyes. G’kar yells mightily and with a hurl of his hammer drops another of the fell beasts into the deep. Jarl, Delenn and Kalcryx burst from the cabin and quickly take action against the strange beings. Magical lightning, ice and cold crackles in the silence of the morning. Protective wards flare brightly as the beasts draw near, coating them with a fine fur of frost.
One eye floats comes close to the hold and as its gaze turns towards Jaran, a blinding cone of light surrounds her. She jerks slightly and then stiffens. Pincers flail in the air and strike at Jarl. A mouth filled with vicious tiny teeth gapes wide beneath the eye and rips at Jarl’s armor ineffectually. Jarl scowls and swings his sword with force, cleaving the eye in half, spewing viscous fluid everywhere. Arrows and missiles of glowing force whistle through the air, puncturing giant eyes with a sickening quiet squish.
The last eye draws its pincers together with a clash and a startling blue ray streaks towards Kalcryx. Kalcryx’s muscles constrict and he falls to the ground twitching, a rictus grin on his face. G’kar and Jarl corner the beast and smash it into the deck.
The door to the crews’ room opens and the first mate stands with weapon drawn. Jarl’s head whips around, ‘Back inside until we’re sure it’s safe!’ The mate looks at the carnage on the deck and shuts the door. Jaran and Kalcryx quickly come around from their stupor.
Delenn prods a corpse with the toe of her boot, ‘Do they look edible?’ G’kar grunts, ‘They look like they would taste like crap.’ Jaran massages her temple, ‘The rather resemble crabs.’ ‘Not crabs,’ Delenn says, ‘but some kind of beholder. Sea beholders, maybe.’ Jaran sighs, ‘Well, we’d best get this place cleaned up.’
As the crew grimly roll the beholder corpses off the deck, the sun reaches its zenith on Midsummers day.