The Journal of Herlam Corkwill
Chapter One: Night of the Red Wizards
It is the last day of Flamerule in the year 1372 DR. Ashabenford has had trouble recently with marauding drow, but recently this problem has lapsed. It is a busier than usual market day as a result, and the stalls that line the streets are pushing up against one another. They are full of wares from the North, the Sword Coast and the lands of intrigue, as well as from other of the Dales. The streets are fuller than usual, and the din of haggling, arguing merchants, laughing children and the town cryers is thrumming on at a fever pitch.
For foreigners, today is not a day to get a good feel for the rustic city's usual pace. Town elders stand in their doorways, shaking their heads in wonder, having not seen a day this busy in perhaps a decade. The Riders of Mistledale are lucky that the drow threat from the forest has abated somewhat, as their hands are full with pick-pockets, foreigners, and merchants arguing over street-space for their carts.
On top of all the hustle and bustle, the sun seems preternaturally hot today, made all the worse by the almost complete lack of breathing room in the central squares and main streets of town. The most exotic merchant in town at this time is a textile seller from Calimshan who also sells the enchanted fans his wife makes (at an exorbitant price) to those afraid of heat stroke.
A mercenary troupe from the Sword Coast North has been permitted to set up an arena and archery range just north of town, where they are allowing those possessed of martial prowess to enter contests of might and skill.
The town's resident wizard, a grumpy Tiefling named Noristuor, is holding a small contest of arcane showmanship outside of his home on the river in the north part of town. This extremely uncharacteristic act of community has drawn almost every local mage who didn't have anything better to do (and even a few that likely did).
In the midst of the buyers and sellers clustered in the west part of town, a woman outfitted like a mercenary or adventurer can be seen handing out small pieces of parchment to those of the adventuring persuasion. Most of the adventurers who receive the parchment laugh and scoff upon reading its contents, throwing the note to the ground with comments like, “Hah! That old braggard? I pity the poor souls who agree to any of his foolishness...” and “Not in a thousand years!” followed by “Not even if Elminster himself threatened to turn me into a gnome!”
It seems whomever the note pertains to, they have something of a reputation. The Dalefolk who receive the note from the sword-carrying woman can be seen with groups of curious foreigners huddled round, regaling them with wild tales and mockery. Before you have time to ask one of them what the scandal's all about, the woman in leather armour with the sword at her back approaches you. She is stern looking, with dark brown hair tied back at a severe angle. She approaches you with one of the notes and says, “Please, if you seek adventure and gainful employment, take the time to read this.” and then moves on to the next adventurer, ignoring those who mock her after reading her note.
The parchment reads thusly:
Well-met,
I am Daurily Corkwill, daughter of the famous adventurer Herlam Corkwill of Marsember. If you have heard or read of my father's deeds, or have heard the rumours of his temperament, know that they are, by and large, true. I have approached you on this day to ask for your assistance. My father is sick. The healers say that he has a year left on Toril, before the gods above take him. In Spring this was true, but with the heat of summer upon us and the rigours of the road weighing heavily on him, I fear my father has less time than even he supposes.
To the point. As any bard will tell you, Herlam is a difficult man of changeable fortunes. He has basked in glorious and profitable triumph as often as he has stared down the ugly face of inevitable defeat. He has seen many things, ranged far and wide, and has made as many friends as enemies. He has learned the secrets of spell and sword, song and stealth (as the ballad goes), but now, good travellers, he is helpless. He is afflicted in mind and manner, as well as with infirmities of the body. He rages at his misfortunes, and wishes only to finish his business...
Please, if you can find it in your hearts to aid an infamous greybeard who once wandered the same paths you yourselves do, meet my father and I at the Ashabenford Arms Inn, just north of the market's main crossroads, on the left hand side. Come after dark. We have a private room on the third floor. Ask the barkeep.
May Tyr and Mystra defend and lend wisdom,
Daurily Corkwill, former Purple Dragon of Cormyr.
Sundown is not for another five hours yet, giving you some free time beforehand should you decide to heed the request in Daurily's note. The shops are open, the taverns are flowing with drink, and the entertainers and contests have no shortage of audiences and participants.
The Realms await!
OOC:
SpoilerFeel free to do/participate in whatever you like! And in case anyone wants to start doing PC to PC interactions, I'll rule that you can all notice each other if you wish (seeing as you are likely some of the only adventurers in town that didn't laugh and throw away the note). Before entering either of the contests, please make sure all your stats are completed on your sheets! Other than that, there's a map of town on Page 135(I think) of the Campaign Setting manual.
Also, anyone from Cormyr, the Dalelands, the Western Heartlands, the North or the Sword Coast can make a Knowledge Local check to find out more about Mr. Corkwill and his reputation.
Can't wait to see people's first posts! Please let me know in the OOC thread if there's anything you'd like me to explain/describe/clarify.
Enjoy! :smallsmile: And expect regular posting by me. Depending on work it may not be every day, but it will always be better than weekly at the very, very least.
TSM.