The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

[The Smoking Man]

Groban, heaving and sweating heavily, takes a seat by the bar. When Doroga hands him the Thayan liquor, he smells it, winces, and pours a stream from a foot or so away from his head into his mouth. He swishes it around in his mouth, swallows, and seems much the better for it. "Well, friends! A good melee, no? I think I will take your sword's sorrows as my own, brother Ryn. You have the luck of the bear about you, I think, yes?" with that he raises the bottle in salute to the room at large, takes another drink, and then sets himself to the task of cleaning his sword and seeing to his armour.

Daurily (leaning wearily against the bar until now) stands up straight and takes in the conversation before her. "It seems," she says, putting her large sword back in its sheath and taking a deep breath, "That some explanations are indeed in order. Bring the mage and Captain Thraeg of the Riders here, and I shall awaken my father. I had hoped things would not begin this way... I had hoped..." she stops, sentiment obviously fighting for a place in her words, but losing to the soldier that dominated. She sighs, and begins to climb the stairs to the guest rooms.

Arhlo and his daughter are conferring with the stable hand by the front-door. Though they are shaken, they are unharmed, thanks to the decisive actions of the Inn's patrons. Before anyone leaves on their errands, Arhlo, after standing the table on the raised part of the common room back on its legs, stands atop it and makes ready for an announcement. Clearing his throat, the usually quiet man speaks: "Attention, friends. Though my establishment has never looked worse, my family and I must offer you our sincerest thanks for what you have done tonight. It seems..." (at this he closes his eyes a moment as a shudder creeps visibly down his back) "it seems some among us tonight meant harm to either my patrons, my neighbors, or both. When I opened this place, I swore an oath to the patron gods of the Harpers that no evil would be suffered within these walls. Tonight, I had a lapse in my judgement and vision, and would have paid the price were it not for you all. And so, my point: The lot of you eat and drink and sleep for free. Indefinitely. Would that I had some other treasure befitting those so noble as yourselves, but alas, my services rendered at a total discount are all that may be of use. Please, make this place yours for as long as you need to, and should you ever come through Ashabenford again, know that the offer stands." With that, Arhlo is helped off his table by his daughter. He smiles at her, and they go about the business of tidying up the Ashabenford Arms, starting with the brackish residue covering the floor near the fireplace.

Outside on the street, the air seems vaguely tense. A few townsfolk linger around outside the Inn's grounds, trying to get a good view of what's been going on inside. A drunken farmer, his son, and a local baker woman loiter outside and make inquiries to anyone who emerges.

Meanwhile, Riders and members of the Bears Errant mercenary company can be seen moving through the streets, making preparations and trying not to give away anything to the townsfolk that might upset them...

[Dragonsong]

He could lie, of course. He had worn many names in his life as he had moved from plantation to plantation, keeping up a false life long enough to open the gates from within and bring down his enemies. What did a name matter, anyway? He could be called anything and be the same man with the same scars and the same triumphs. Syllables tumbled on his lips, his tongue ready to spin another falsehood with the ease of slipping on a loose shirt. And then he paused. The truth, a true name, meant trust. He had not really trusted anyone in a long time. Not since he had lost Haldis...

He had taken a risk in trusting her that night, when she'd boldly approached his mistress's manor prepared to spread the joyous word of Lliira. Spies were sometimes sent among the slaves to see which were likely to ferment revolt; those judged dangerous adorned the spiked walls the following morning. But there had been something in that radiant face of hers, a pure honesty and earnest fervor, with which he had fallen in love. That had been trust. Looking at the others, fresh from a battle that had saved at least one life besides their own, he saw in them a little of what she had been.

Trust was a risk, a liability, but also a liberation from the half-life of a fugitive.

"Roen," he finally said, and a grin swept over him wider than any in years. "Roen Ravensperch, formerly of Dambrath, at your service." With each syllable his sense of elation grew, until not even the corpses or the blackened and bloodied floor or the promise of Dark Elves could taint the moment. Within his soaring heart he gave thanks to his Lady for bringing him out of a darkness he had not known he'd stumbled into. "An excellent idea, good sir Kavaren, and a generous one. Thank you." Accepting the hat, the young man settled it down around his ears.

If anything could have warmed his heart further, it was the reaction of Arhlo and his daughter to the battle. To give thanks in such a time, when their lives and livelihood alike had been in danger (and the latter even damaged), was a valuable lesson, and Roen felt a little humbled by them. He only offered a smile and a nod, too moved for words, then turned and headed back into the street. As he passed the threshold, he willed his mind to interface with the hat's magic, bending it to his desire. When his feet his the cobbles, a rotund, five foot tall merchant stood in his place, dabbing anxiously at his forehead with a cloth.

"It's... It's all right," he said, doing his best to disguise his voice even in a foreign language as the crowd outside hurled their questions at him. "A bit of a fire, is all. I'm off to fetch the riders. Oh dear oh dear, what a beastly night." Maneuvering through the throng of concerned people and making his way toward the rider barracks, he fought down a grin. He only wished he'd had such a hat as this years earlier, but perhaps that would've made him reliant. Regardless, he was unlikely to be recognized by any covert associates of the Thayans; he had practiced the art of disguise for over two decades, and this would only make it easier.

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia moves across the room carefully, allowing the subtle magic around her to clean the floor and purify the air of any blood, dirt, or smoke before she moves through it, leaving a trail of cleanliness behind her, along with the scent of freshly crushed pine. She makes an effort to move through the most sullied areas of the tavern, and her efforts make a dramatic impact on the appearance of things, though no amount of magic can wipe away the night's deaths.

She looks to Doroga as she walks, and she raise a brow in question, her lips curving into a slight smile. "May I request your company, sir, for my venture out into the evening darkness? I daresay I will feel safer with a gentleman such as yourself at my side than I would if I had only my own senses to rely on." She opens the door, peering out into the night. "The wizard does not live terribly far from here; we should not be gone long."

[TheDivineWind]

Instead of responding immediatly, a wide grin spreads across Doroga's face as he bows deeply, his arms spread wide.

"I would be happy to Perelia Laethia, wizard of Halruaa. Perhaps it will give us the opportunity to talk. I would like to propose an arrangement."

Doroga pauses there in his conversation, waiting to get moving before starting again.

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia peers into the darkness for a moment, her elven sight cutting through it far more easily than the humans; something she would have to remedy, if he was to accompany her. "One moment, please." She draws a small spring of faintly glowing moss from her pouch, and with a confident flourish she rolls it between her fingers, muttering a few quiet words in a foreign tongue. After a moment, the moss is gone, with only a faint glow remaining. She then lays her hand, gently, on the side of Doroga's polearm; and with her touch it begins to glow cheerfully, like a torch with no flame.

Satisfied that her retainer will no longer trip over a stone in the darkness and impale her, Perelia looks back to the less-crowded room, nodding politely before heading out the door, her strides long and swift, but still shorter than Doroga's. She waits a moment or two before speaking, her voice quiet and calm in the night air, and she speaks an answer to an unasked, but easily guessed, question. "So, Sir Doroga, you say that you wish to learn magic, or at least it has been implied by your actions. What, pray tell, do you know of it already? Do you have information general, or particular? What do you expect from arcane studies, and what aptitude do you posses for the Art, if you have attempted a spell? I ask not to stymie you, but to know where we should begin."

[Neth]

Neth listens to the introductions, entertained by the sound of the strange names and foreign phrases of courtesy.

At a pause in the exchange, she briefly touches her neck at the base of her throat. "Neth. I am from Rashemen. My grandmother eats figs." She catches herself on this part too late, and says as with an apologetic chuckle, "Sorry. Rashemi joke."

Quite willing to explain, or reveal anything, for that matter, that the strangers wished to know about her, Neth is nevertheless aware the present situation calls for swift action, and beyond a name to call out for aid or alert of danger, other details could likely wait.

As some of the others begin to head out, Neth strolls around to loom near the Thayans bound on the floor, looking pleased at their misfortune.

"Powerful friends or not, we should move them out of here now, I think. Especially if we try to 'persuade' them later, and the curious ones outside may overhear their 'objections'. I still think the tower may be best for this. So long as Arhlo permits us, is this good, do you think?"

[TheDivineWind]

Doroga watches inquisitively as Perelia begins what he suspects are the motions of a spell. As she touches his weapon and it lights up, he has to restrain himself from jumping backwards. He clears his throat and smiles, partially happy that he can now clearly see, and partially to cover up his surprise, and accompanies Perelia.

After she finishes her question, he walks in the silence for a couple dozen seconds, recalling what he can of his time at home talking with the local wizard and figuring how to form his response, his brain still clouded with alcohol and his steps weaving slightly as he enjoyed the relaxing effects of a nice buzz.

"I come from a small section of Lyrabar on the outskirts of town. There I was apart of the local militia and did what I could to protect those in town. One of those other residents was a wizard of no great power, or so he would tell me, whom I enjoyed conversing with. During a few of the battles with the mountain orcs native to the area, I had a chance to see him at work, flinging fire and blue-white stars into the orcish ranks. Afterwards, I asked him about his skill, and eventually about it's capability for defense. Steel and cured leather are wonderful, but think of what one could do if they could turn that fire into a shield, and use larger, more effective weapons at the same time?

I learned later I was thinking small (he laughs). I met with him many times after that, taking notes as he answered my questions. He never trained me in any way except answering my questions. He seemed quite pleased that someone was taking an interest in his wizardry, and in the special tobacco I used to purchase from merchants, and we covered a wide range of subjects.

So, to answer your question, I would think I know the basics. I know that one can, with training, summon up the energy that surrounds us and channel it through formula created with words, gestures, and items which generates a wide range of different effects. That a wizard will record these formula in their spellbook so that they can call them to their mind after they rest. And I've even learned a bit of the planes, though it never got far past the fact that there are a number that overlap our reality... I still have trouble wrapping my mind around how that works.

I tried a few times actually, to call forth a plane of energy in front of me but I never had much luck, and only ever gave myself a severe headache. However, I never gave up and have been gathering what lore I can during my travels. I thought I once caused a spark of light in my hand when I was trying the shield again, but it may have been a trick of my eyes, with all the effort I had an intense headache.

It isn't much, but I find it a welcome distraction from my rigorous physical training regiments like I had in the tavern back there."

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia listened carefully and politely as the young man spoke, and she saw a spark of promise in him; though he clearly did not have knowledge of the intricacies of the Art, the fact that he had begun to master the willpower and focus aspects of magic were good indicators that he would in fact be able to call forth simple spells. And when he mentioned his physical training, she couldn't help but agree that it must have been rather vigorous-

And Perelia cut that thought short, shaking her head slightly in irritation as she did so. She noticed that he has stopped speaking, and she took a moment to collect her thoughts before launching into a casual dissertation on arcane magic.

"The foremost thing that you will have to keep in mind is that this is going to be difficult for you. An elven mage lives to a hundred years before we are allowed to select our specialization, and then it is another ten before we are considered prepared to enter the world; and most mages take longer than that before they actually do so, for good reason.

Your kind, however, pick up the Art with almost uncanny speed, so you should be able to master simple magics in a fairly short amount of time; however, without the proper training and, er, mental fortitude you may find truly profound magic outside of your grasp. Shields and dispelling are well and good, but I must stress the fact that if you wish to rock the earth beneath you and travel between the planes, you are going to have to dedicate years of your life to intense study and training.

That said, if it is combat abjuration that you seek, then it is abjuration that I will focus on. I myself am somewhat of a rarity among mages; a true generalist, a wizard that has eschewed the power of a specialist to retain the ability to draw on all schools of magic. The act of specialization is not one to be taken lightly, and yet most mages do. It is a twofold act; you select a single school that you feel is the greatest of the eight, and you pour your attentions and personal energy into the study of that Art. At the same time, you turn your thoughts and learning away from two other schools that you find weaker or less useful than the others.

The act is more than just a changing of your academic focus, though it is that; when you specialize you create a resonant link with your magical school, at the cost of utterly severing your connection with your two banned schools. You cannot use any magic of your banned schools, including that from magical items, though some powerful mages figure out ways to trick items into working for them regardless. I will also note that you can ban a third school for even greater focus, but I find that to be a bit shortsighted; most schools of magic have certain powers and abilities that simply cannot be replicated by the other seven, without the use of truly fundamental magics, such as the Wish spell."

Perelia takes a moment of pause before continuing; she is clearly enjoying this, and she makes sure to make plenty of eye contact, remembering that her best professors did just that. "I suppose I've spoken enough about that, and it seems to be appropriate to give abjuration some attention. Abjuration, as you know, is the magic of protection; but it is much more than that. It is magic of prevention, and repulsion, and negation. There are abjuration spells that can harm, but they are few and far between, and the harm is always a side effect, and after effect.

Know that if you focus on this magic, you must rely on other methods to harm your foes; and that with such a focus on protection, your offensive magics will be inherently limited. I suspect that you will not find that much of a drawback, with your skill at arms, but some foes need more than a blade to fell; it is for this reason that I use magic to harm as well as prevent harm. Now then, I have spoken long enough. Do you have any particular questions, or would you like me to show you some of the hand gestures and movements used in lesser protective spells?"

[TheDivineWind]

Doroga's eyes light up at the suggestion that she will teach him how to properly cast a spell, but he quickly catches himself and thinks for a moment.

"Defense is the main reason I am interested. From what you talked about earlier, I'm not interested in enchantment or necromancy. The gods and mages more interested than I can deal with the minds and life energy around us. I am a warrior. We use our skills to defeat what is ahead of us. *he then adds slyly* But I will have a skill at hand few warriors ever do.

That said, what are the other schools? I have learned of three so far today, and learned about one from the aforementioned wizard, evocation. That leaves four more to discuss."

He pauses for a few seconds then, grinning, he adds, "Then I would very much like to learn how to cast this shield spell you talk about. Or something easier to start with, if there is such a thing. As my old captain liked to say to over-eager recruits... Orc blood tastes sweeter when it isn't mixed with your own."

Doroga grins, "It's better to start simple and work your way up to the more difficult tasks."

[Keylac]

Ryn ponders Neth's suggestion for a moment, idly puffing away.

"I think we would do better to leave them in here, Neth who's Grandmother Eats Figs. At least until the others return. There are only three of us present, and I'd hate to divide us up further watching them. We can always move them before questioning them. However, you're right that we can better prepare." He nods his head in the direction of Ahrlo, still working to clean up what parts of the mess Perelia's spell didn't. "Why don't you ask Ahrlo if there's a good room or two we can move them too, once the others arrive. I'll get some things setup here."

With a twitch of his shoulders, Ryn rises from his slouch against the wall, taking a moment to tap the ash from his pipe into the fire before putting it away. Moving quickly, he retrieves his weapons, placing them on the Thayan's former table.

It takes a couple of minutes to strip the bodies, both live and dead, of their valuables, piling their equipment on the table next to his weapons. It's but a few moments more work to have them laying out in a row along the wall, putting the live ones on the end, half-hidden behind dead gnolls.

The work done, he sits at the table, taking up his bow and notching an arrow, chair titled back as he watched the prisoners and the door.

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia smiles as the bright young warrior speaks; he had potential in him, and the prospect of an apprentice of her own was an interesting one. "There are indeed abjuration spells that are more simple and straightforward than Shield; the most common of which is generally called Resistance. It lasts about a minute, has a standard three-second casting time, and it grants a small edge in avoiding danger and fighting off the effects of spells. It will be the first or second spell I shall teach you.

For now, however, it would be wise to teach you of all the schools of magic; and I warn you, you have asked a verbose person to exposit on a subject that she loves. I will, however, aim for brevity, as Noristour's tower is only a little further along this path. So. You know of Abjuration, and Enchantment and Necromancy hold no interest for you. You have knowledge of Evocation, you say; the magic of explosions, flame, and moving energy.

Let us, then, speak of Conjuration, the magic of summoning and making. But first, I suppose, a minor demonstration may hold your interest." Perelia holds out a hand, and with a quiet spoken word a few bronze sparks seem to form in her palm, glittering gently in the light of Doroga's weapon. She flicks her hand gracefully, and the sparks fly out in a faint shower, rising up a bit before coming down on an area five feet deep and ten feet across, alongside the edge of the road. The sparks, as Doroga can see once he leans forward, have become four-pointed, wickedly sharp caltrops, each glimmering faintly and wickedly in the night. Perelia stands, watching them silently, and after almost half a minute they dissolve back into faint sparks, which themselves rapidly fade.

"That was a Creation spell, a subschool of Conjuration. Other subschools include Calling, which brings a real creature from another place; Summoning, which brings the image and facsimile of a body of a real creature into being for a short time; and Teleportation, which transports people and objects from one place to another, transporting them through the Astral Plane to do so. The Conjuration school of magic is exceptionally versatile, though its forte definitely lies in summoning and creating; powerful conjurers can also bring forth great clouds of acid or poison, and there are some conjurations that mimic the powers of the Evocation school.

The next school of magic is Divination, and it is a powerful school indeed. Divination may be the most important school of magic, in some ways; it is impossible to shut oneself off from the resonant energies of Divination, and when a wizard chooses it as his specialization he need only ban one other school. That said, the Divination school is perhaps the most limited of the eight; it deals solely and entirely with the gathering and discernment of information. Detecting other magic, reading magical writings, scrying, reading thoughts; it all falls under this school. Any wizard worthy of the title can prepare the Read Magic spell from memory, and it will be another of the first few spells you learn, both due to simplicity and because knowing it is an inherent part of the memorization process.

Next we come to the Illusion school, the school of misdirection, figments, lies, and imitation. Illusions can represent nearly anything, and a truly powerful mind can create illusions of such magnitude and complexity that they sunder the thoughts of lesser beings. On a more practical scale, however, Illusion is excellent for combat; the spell I used to protect myself earlier, the one that created four more copies of myself? That was an excellent Illusion spell, Mirror Image, and in my experience it can be more useful than Mage Armor for protecting oneself. Other common illusions are Invisibility, or the creation of false sounds and images. You would be surprise with the number of things a simple illusion can accomplish; imagine, for example, if you came across a pit in the road. After much time and effort, you get around it, and you continue on your way; only to fall into the real pit, concealed by a simple figment only a few feet from a false deadfall. It takes intellect and creativity to use illusions properly, but any wizard that lacks those two things should find another occupation.

And now we come to the last of the eight, Transmutation, the school of change and alteration. Transmutations have two limitations: they cannot create new matter, and they cannot create new energy. Beyond that, however, they are endlessly useful, and I cannot think of a reason to ever ban the school; though, of course, I did not ban any of them. Transmutation can grow you to twice your original size, something you may find uniquely useful with that weapon, or it can make your weapons more deadly or alter your body in some other way. Transmutation can make you stronger, smart, faster, more attractive, and even alter your race or body type, for short amounts of time. Transmutation is not as effective at harming living bodies as some of the other schools, but with it you can literally alter the landscape around you, and you can enhance your own form immensely; I suspect you will find much use in this particular school.

And now, my new friend, we come to the most magical part of this evening. Indeed, perhaps the most magical part of your life; for this secret I now whisper to you is the most important thing that I ever learned. You can specialize and ban, focus on and ignore the different schools of magic, and to do so is well and good. But I tell you now, Doroga; they are all, in fact, one and the same.

Each school of magic is but a piece of the Art, an incomplete and inherently part of a perfect whole. Each school is but a petal of a beautiful flower; and a flower is more than a pile of petals. The stem of magic, the part that is part of each of the schools and yet separate, is known as Universal magic. Universal magic is not well understood, and there are few spells that fall under that title; but the simplest, most useful spell in the world is one of them, and the single most powerful spell in the world is another."

Perelia holds out her hands, drawing back her sleeves to show that there is nothing under them. She then, with an exaggerated flourish, pulls a flower out of thin air, the movement too fluid and practiced for Doroga to properly see what happened. She gives him the flower, and it feels odd; flimsy, weak, brittle, and unlike a true rose should, though the smell of roses fills the air after he takes it. She then leans forward, pursing her lips, and with a gentle breath the rose dissolves into a reddish dust, twirling around the torchlight of Doroga's blade before vanishing into the night. She laughs, a beautiful, clear sound, and then she waves her hand at the road beneath them. The dust and dirt are slowly wiped away from the cobblestones, until a clean circle of glistening stone surrounds them.

"That is the power of Prestidigitation, of the least and greatest spell; the power of little magics, of tricks and minor seemings. Prestidigitation can do nothing that another spell can do, and yet it can do everything that other spells cannot do, everything too minor or simple. It fills in the spaces that other magic leaves behind, you see. Its grandfather, Wish, is just the opposite; it encompasses all of magic, and it can replicate and match the power of all but the very grandest of spells, and it can do more besides. Universal magic takes serious personal power and mental might to wield; aside from Prestidigitation, of course, which is traditionally the very first spell of every apprentice, followed by Read Magic. You have a clear aptitude for Abjuration, so I will mix Resistance into your learning as well.

I will say this, however; while you are learning magic, if that is the path you have chosen, you will not be able to make great progress with your skill at arms. Magical study is very rigorous and very time-consuming, and if you wish to succeed you will not be able to put the dedication into your bladework that it usually takes to become better; though you will have enough time to maintain your current level of skill, especially if you routinely test yourself in battle. Magic can be an amazing supplement to physical skill, but it will take time before it can fill in the gaps that your armor leaves behind. You will find, for a time, that you may struggle to balance your two areas of expertise. This is normal, and natural, and should not dissuade you; I can and will keep you safe until you can do the same for me."

Perelia holds out a slender hand, her movement suddenly formal odd, and you are struck for a moment not only with her age, which is great, but the age of her culture and peoples, the sheer immensity of the history behind what she has told you, the tales and times and tribulations of magic and mages and elves and wizards. She speaks a few words in High Elven, words that almost sound like a prayer, and then after a moment she repeats herself in common. "Will you devote yourself to the Art, and to all the honor and dedication that implies? Will you seek to become one with the Weave, and to use the power of your mind and magic to improve the world around you, and to bring harm only to those that call harm to themselves? Will you promise to not leave my company until I have deemed you prepared, or until you decide that the path of the wizard is not the path that you seek? Will you be my apprentice, Doroga?"

[The Smoking Man]

Noristuor's Tower:

Engrossed in arcane discussion, Doroga and Perelia suddenly find themselves stopped in front of the large demonic statue in the front yard of Noristuor's abode. The gargantuan gargoyle faces the tower, and Noristuor himself stands beneath it with his apprentice at his back, watching the young warrior and the elven mage with interest, not wanting to interrupt the important moment.

A smile flickers across his supremely wrinkled visage, and he leans on his staff as if he has nothing more important to do than to wait for Doroga to respond to the elf's prompt.

OOC:

Spoiler

Show

So basically, no rush! Just wanted you two to know that Noristuor is waiting patiently and will speak with you whenever you are ready.

The Rider Barracks:

As the flustery merchant approaches the gate of the Rider's barracks, his ears are alerted to a frantic conversation going on just within the grounds:

"Attacked?" barks the voice of Captain Thraeg.

"Indeed." intones a tired, old voice. "And in my own god's forsaken tent, no less. Something stirs tonight, old friend. I drove the bugger off, but not before attaining this," (the sound of stretching cloth).

"By Lathander's Light! It looks like poison, friend. Must have been a drow."

"I thought as much, until I fought the wretch. He had the sense to snuff my lamps before attacking, relying, obviously, on my one missing eye to do the rest for him. It worked... I saw nothing of him. But his fighting style... it contained none of the flourish taught at Melee Magthere. He was quick, but he was brutal."

"Indeed..." A long moment passes before either voice says anything. Finally Thraeg speaks up. "I've got our local herbalist inside, preparing healing magic. He'll take care of you, Karpike. Thank god you survived the attack... I'm not sure this defense could hold without you and your mercenaries."

The other voice grunts wryly, and Roen can hear footsteps on the gravelly path leading to the entrance to the main barracks, beyond the gate where Roen stands. A burly figure in heavy armour comes into view through the gate, heading for the door of the building. Thraeg comes into view next.

"Oi, you there! Off with you! Unless you've got a major crime to report, I'm busy!" Thraeg shouts, reminding Roen of his disguise.

The Ashabenford Arms:

As Neth and Ryn speak, arrange the captives, and share a drink with Groban as he helps Arhlo and his daughter with the cleaning, a tall, skinny, well-dressed man strides into the Ashabenford Arms bearing a small horn, on which he sounds three ascending notes, before making an announcement:

"Stand aside and lend your eyes, citizens of Ashabenford! High Councillor Haresk Malorn, Mayor of Ashabenford and Commander General of the Rid -"

The herald is cut off by a brusque shout and a shove as a large, well-groomed man in what can only be described as a work-house-coat emerges from the twilight of the threshold. "High Councillor Haresk at your service." he announces for himself as his herald rubs his bruised shoulder. "Now, Arhlo, you'd better explain what in the Nine Hells 'ave been going on here, or I'll revoke your brewer's license, so help me Tyr." He pauses to catch his breath (clearly winded from the walk from his residence) and surveys the room as he does so. "And who are these grubby foreigners. And why are those other grubby foreigners tied up and... dead. Eh? Cockatrice caught your tongue, Arhlo? Explain yourself, man! Why is an assortment of Ashabenford's most accomplished gossips and gainsayers crawling about my windows and doors long past suppertime, whining about some arcane barfight in what is supposed to be the town's finest establishment, eh? Eh!?"

Arhlo is taken entirely aback. His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish. He looks helplessly to Ryn and Neth...

[TheDivineWind]

Doroga listens intently, his eyes widening when Perelia conjures small metal caltrops out of nothingness, and again as they disappear, considering the possibilities without knowing the specifics. He spends much of the time deep in thought, absorbing what Perelia says.

Conjuration seems useful. Perhaps one could craft barriers with it, though they would be of limited use if they disappear like that. Still, summoning allies to fight along side me and clouds of acid are particularly useful.

Divination... useful to learn about things... Perhaps it could inform on the motions of the enemy, granting an advantage? Or one might be able to scout out a fortification ahead of time, which would be quite useful. I will have to ask more later.

Illusion could prove useful. To trick an enemy into attacking a non-existent target could lessen the burden on myself or others. Hiding traps or passageways could be interesting, but I might have to think about how useful that would actually be. It sounds more useful when planning ahead on defending a position, rather than immediate combat.

Now, there's a school of magic I can have interest in. Transmutation. To make myself larger and more capable, or improve myself physically, or even change into other creatures for a time? I could fly, quite possibly... That will be an important school.

Universal magic seems quite interesting too. I think I will end up learning much about it as time passes, Perelia seems quite focused on it.

Evocation is all destruction and, as she said, moving energy around to create those destructive results. Even without great skill though, I wonder how difficult it might be to use spells to control a battle. Launching fireballs is great, but if that could be turned to a shield, or a wall, it would be an easy step to cover a flank and hurt any who attempted to strike at it. Or those blue stars Bill fired.. what did he call it... a force spell? Those might be very useful.

He looks up to see that they have already arrived at the tower, and all three wizards are waiting for his reply. He hadn't realized they were close enough that the local wizard could overhear their conversation. I looked at each of them for a second, then back to Perelia.

"I would be honored to learn of... what did you call it... The Art from you, and become your apprentice Perelia Laethia, wizard of Halruaa. We shall see if I cannot manage both at once. I enjoy a good challenge *he grins*.

I would like to focus on Abjuration, and deny the schools of enchantment and necromancy. And I will consider your words about excluding a third school in order to further focus on Abjuration. Later, I will have to ask you more of Illusion and Evocation at a later time so that I may fully understand their potential advantages. The advantages of conjuration, divination, and especially transmutation are very clear to one like me.

However, for now I see we have arrived at our destination. *turning to Noristuor* Greetings Wizard. I only just missed your demonstration earlier, if you might be Noristuor. I am Doroga, from Lyrabar of Impiltur. Student of the guisarme, and as of a moment ago, apprentice of Perelia Laethia. My greetings to you."

Doroga gives a small tip of his head in respect to both Noristuor and Perelia as he says their names.

[Neth]

[slightly earlier]

Neth consents with a nod, and laughs at the title he bestowed, resolving to even the score in due time.

She itches a little yet, feeling exposed and trapped, and as though, if any danger was approaching, she'd want to see it approaching, and have situated herself in a secure place of advantage... but she also knew this was mostly from being unaccustomed to urban surroundings, and being a bit of a dexterity disaster, unable to rely on swift reflexes, and completely dependent on ample protection and ample warning to react.

But she was far from voicing any complaints. Not only did they arise from foolish things anyway, but she had put herself in this situation in the first place. If she'd wanted to always be able to watch her enemies from a lookout and be secure in her environment, she wouldn't have left the forest.

And where's the fun in that?

Her staff thumping the wooden floor with her steps, she meanders over to Arhlo, already missing the lovely scent of the pipesmoke that Deepingdale man, Ryn, had been enjoying. If he knew off the top of his head the strongest mint that grew in these parts, he could surely recommend the finest smokeleaf. She'd have to remember to ask.

"Your pardon, Arhlo," she says in a quiet, respectful way to the noble barkeep as he stoops to gather up some charred bits of what might have been a chair. "We have burdened you enough, I think. But we wonder if you keep here any hidden places," she asks, absently gesturing with her hand as she does when speaking a tongue not her first, having the paranoid assumption that she might not be fully understood. "And any chambers with... thick walls, maybe? We might have need of them, if you allow it. I will stay here with the rest to help keep guard until our other companions return, but we would like to know so we can be prepared when the time--"

[now-ish]

The sudden burst of noise is startling, and even after Neth realizes the intrusion is no immediate threat, she cannot dispel the tension in her muscles. Further annoyed by this leader's impatience with Arhlo, she furrows her brow and says firmly, "A child of four could tell you whatever happened here was not this man's doing. Your town owes him, and those you see here before you, a great debt."

Before mentioning anything more, she pauses, allowing Daurily, or the man named Ryn to speak to this commander if they wished. She expected they knew more of his role in the town than she, and therefore what best to explain to him.

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia nods silently to Doroga, and though her smile is slight her ears quirk up in a distinctly happy expression. She lays a hand on his shoulder for a moment, still silent, and then she turns to Noristour, granting the wizard a deep bow. "Wizard Noristour, I bring both good news and bad. The good news is that you have little to fear from Thayans; I encountered both the man that fled the demonstration today and several of his companions in the bar, and they initiated a conflict that resulted in the death of their leader by my hand, and the deaths of their gnoll thugs and a Thayan Knight at the hands of several upstanding folk that were in the bar at the time, including Doroga here. We still have two living Thayans, held hostage and relieved of any spell components or magical items.

I would have brought them here, sir, but the circumstances have made it such that it will be far more practical if you would accompany myself and my companion back to the tavern to discuss strategy and to interrogate the Thayans. It seems, sir, that there is a man in the tavern that is sought by the drow in this area, and that they will attack tomorrow to claim him; I see it as possible that the Thayans sought the same man. He is at the tavern, as will be several of the leaders of various lawful groups that seek to protect both him and the township."

She inclines her head, and finishes her short explanation. "I understand that the hour is growing late, but it is of my estimation that the threat is both real and serious, and I can think of no one in this town better qualified to interrogate the Thayans or, at least, to be present at their interrogation, and to help plan our strategy tomorrow. Will you come with us, sir?"

[Dragonsong]

Lending intrigued ears to the conversation happening just inside the gate, Roen thanked the Goddess for his timing. If he could bring the mercenaries defending the town up to speed as well, or at least rely on the captain to do it for him, that would do much for the town's readiness. This talk of another non-Drow foe, however, was worrying; an agent of the Thayans, or yet another party with an interest in invading Ashabenford, possibly to seek out old Herlam as well? The young rogue had an uneasy feeling that he would find out all too soon, and the elation he had felt began once again to drain slowly away.

But there was work to be done, and to be done far from potential prying ears. "Captain, I do have something to report!" Dropping the semi-panicked merchant's voice as soon as he was close enough for the rider to hear a whisper, he spoke again, barely loudly enough to be understood. "It's the brave fool juggler again. I apologize for the deception, but we may be being watched. There has been an attack on the Ashabenford Arms, and not by the Drow. It seems that there are others going after the old man as well." He imagined how strange his voice must seem apparently coming from a throat that could not possibly produce it.

"The other guests at the inn, adventurers by the look of them, were able to defeat these attackers, and we've captured the survivors. I suspected you would know what to do, and could help us plan how to keep Herlam and those around him safe from threats both inside and outside the town. I overheard you speaking with a mercenary who also provides for the defense - sorry to eavesdrop - and I would ask that you both come to the inn with all possible haste so that we may discuss our options." Pausing to take a deep breath, for he had vomited forth this stream of words far faster than was comfortable (whispers eventually drew attention), Roen waited for the captain's response.

[Keylac]

From his seat, feet propped up on the table in front of him, bow still in hand, Ryn watches Malorn make his entrance, and his demands for explanation. When Neth pauses in her defense, looking at him, he decides to speak.

"Grubby is it, and foreigner to boot?" he mused, idly using the arrow to scratch his back before returning it to the bowstring. "You eat something disagreeable for dinner, High Councilor? It's pikestaff plain that Ahrlo did naught at all, at all to warrant you speaking to him in such a way. It's not often that he serves gnolls here, I'm sure."

A jerk of his head indicated the bar. "Why don't you try pulling that rod of office out of your arse and have a drink. We've already sent folk to fetch the Rider's Captain and the wizard Noristour, who asked that these folk" - here the head indicates the two trussed up captives - "be kept an eye on. I'd hate to have to explain everything twice, especially when I'm sure I know not that half of it myself!"

He pauses a moment, before his face turns serious. "You've my word that none died that didn't first try to kill others. My oath to Torm on it."

Solemnity over, the habitual smile returns. "Not that they were very good at it. I know; they tried to kill me first, for some maggot-brained reason."

[Neth]

At Ryn's retort, surprise and satisfaction spread over Neth's face. There were clearly two sorts of authority in any land — the widely-worshipped and the often-mocked; but one never knows when a whole population will get the two mixed up. To hear a man who called the Dales his home speak like this to the leader of a town was a relief. This made it clear to Neth that there lived at least some among these people who saw good sense and despised arrogance.

"What he says is true," she confirms to the councillor. "And when you know what has passed this evening, you will care much less about the reputation of your 'finest establishment'. Or at least for a short while you will forget that you care."

She gestures with a hand to the two captives. "We have dealt with these but there is worse to come. As this man said, when our companions return you will hear all the accounts you wish. But I would ask that you tell your man with the ugly flute to put it away or he will be looking for a new one tomorrow. There must be no loud things; you must send no flock of messengers fleeing from this place in a panic. We are all in danger, and it can come as easily from our enemies as it can from fools. And although we'd prefer to spare them for the enemies, our weapons work on both."

[The Smoking Man]

Noristuor's Tower:

Noristuor nods to Perelia and Doroga, and, after exchanging a few quiet words with his apprentice (who rushes back into the tower), approaches where you stand. "It is good that the Red Wizards were subdued. With some of them left alive, we should be able to piece together what their motives were, and what their presence here has to do (if anything) with the drow and the infamous Mr. Corkwill." He laughs his grating, impish laugh as he withdraws his gnarled pipe and a pouch of tobacco. "You know, Miss Laethia, Doroga of Impiltur, that these are perhaps some of the more interesting events to have happened here in some time?" he sticks his pipe in his beard-shrouded mouth, lighting it with a tiny blue flame that jumps from his finger onto he bed of packed leaf, "You know... I just love to see these things get under way. To meet those involved at the very beginning..."

Before you can ask the old Tiefling what exactly he meant by that, his apprentice comes huffing and puffing out of the tower, with Noristuor's staff and two large volumes under his arm. He hands the staff to Noristuor. The old wizard turns to the large demonic statue that stands between him and his front door, raises the staff, mutters a few words, and the base of the statue turns slowly. The sound of ancient stone grinding on ancient stone fills the tower's grounds, echoing across the nearby Ashaba river. The statue ceases to move when it is facing in the opposite direction as before - out, toward the main approach to Noristuor's property.

"Well then," he says, motioning for his apprentice to follow him and winking at Perelia and Doroga, "shall we?"

Almost back at the Inn, Noristuor stops, turning to Perelia. "Worry not, young mage. I have not forgotten what I had promised you in return for intelligence on the Thayan fools. But first let's see what old Herlam has to say, eh?" he winks, and moves toward the Inn. It strikes both Doroga and Perelia that his manner and energy seem to contrast anything either of you may have heard since coming to Mistledale. Something seems to be invigorating the old Tiefling. Schlep, his apprentice, seems unused to such playfulness and vim, and shakes his head as he chases after his master...

The Rider Barracks:

Captain Thraeg snorts and shakes his head as it becomes plain that it is in fact Roen beneath the cumbersome merchant. At Roen's brief concerning the events at the Ashabenford Arms, Thraeg's face becomes more and more inscrutible; hardening with each new disturbing fact. A true soldier, he doesn't waste time with superfluous questions, instead calling to the sentry by the door to the main building to retrieve Karpike of the Bears Errant double-quick.

He opens the gate and absently squeezes one of the black iron bars as he waits for Karpike to emerge. "You know, Ravensperch... there's something ugly happening here in Ashabenford. Something uglier than blood-thirsty drow, foreign opportunists and blades in the night... No, it's something bigger than all that. Something... something for the sages." His eyes regain their in-the-moment focus as his reverie is broken by Karpike's arrival. The old mercenary comes bearing a rolled up map.

"Figured these might come in handy. Got a map of the Dale and one of the town. No war's ready without a coin for the cartographers, eh, Thraeg? 'Least I think that's how Volo puts it in that one ballad of his... Anyhow, we should get moving."

And with that, the three of you make your way to the Ashabenford Arms, though slightly slower than might have been possible, had Karpike not been the recent victim of an unknown assailant - one that managed to land a blow or two despite the mercenary's many years of experience and training...

The Ashabenford Arms:

The High Councillor throws daggers with his eyes in the direction of Ryn, and then Neth, and then back at Arhlo. "Well then..." he says, as if ready to condemn you all to exile. He takes a deep, ponderous breath. "...I suppose I'll just have to shut my giant pie-pocket until the truth can be expunged from whatever murky proceedings take place, eh? Does that sound agreeable, Lords and Ladies?" with this the faintest curl of a smile plays in the corners of his mouth. He strides over to the nearest table, shoving his herald as he does.

"Arhlo! A tankard! My usual. Might as well finish it off if I'm to revoke your license, eh?" with this another half-smile.

Arhlo laughs the nervous laugh of one to whom even regular joculence does not come naturally, turning and gesturing almost hysterically for his daughter to fetch the High Councillor his ale.

The councillor, having been brought his drink, seems to remember something of dire import half-way through his first gulp, almost spilling it. "And you!" he says to his herald, "You heard the woman. Get that thing out of sight or suffer the wrath of a tasteless outlander!" proving his skill at both placating and playfully insulting simultaneously. He then turns back to his drink, huffs impatiently, and waits for the promised audience with those involved, making impatient affectations of gesture and voice every few moments, just for good measure...

OOC:

Spoiler

Show

So, unless Perelia and Doroga and Roen have anything more to say to commanding townsfolk they escort to the Inn, feel free to describe your entrances to the common room and introductions to the High Councillor. After that, the real proceedings will get under way. Daurily and Herlam have not yet emerged from the upstairs rooms, but some quiet shuffling seems to indicate that the old adventurer will be ready for his public soon.

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia nods graciously to Noristour, the motion almost a curtsy, and then she looks back to the door of the inn. "Do not concern yourself with me, master. I have faith and trust in you. Now then, allow me to do the honors."

She then opens the door smoothly, stepping inside and rapping her elven bow-staff loudly on the wooden floor. "Announcing the master wizard Noristour and his apprentice." She steps aside, giving the tielfing the opportunity to come through the door and enter the room.

[The Smoking Man]

The Ashabenford Arms:

With all present, the Ashabenford Arms looks much as it does on a steady night, save that on a usual night the common room is not so quiet, nor are all eyes usually glued to the staircase leading to the upper rooms.

The High Councillor, his herald, Captain Thraeg of the Riders, Karpike of the Bears Errant, Noristuor, Schlep, Perelia, Ryn, Roen, Neth, Doroga, Groban, Arhlo, Tsasha. Save for a quick conversation between the High Councilor and Thraeg, all are silent, sipping drinks or picking anxiously at helpings of Arhlo's stew.

Just as the wait seems unbearable, footsteps can be heard coming from the stairs. Daurily appears first, washed of the stains of battle, looking more the doting daughter than the warrior despite the unmistakable presence of her sword at her back.

"Finally," exclaims the High Councillor, throwing up his hands and standing, "I understand age, m'dear, but this has been ridiculous." Along with their Councillor, Thraeg and Noristuor also stand to receive Herlam.

The old man emerges from the stairs. He stops by the bar to lean and regain his balance. As he does so, glossy green eyes survey those gathered before him. Undaunted, he continues his slow shuffle to the front of the room, where he stands beside his daughter. He is dressed in the (now ill-fitting) remnants of his adventuring days: a mithril cuirass emblazoned with the crest of Mithril Hall; a fine scimitar of ornate design; a cloak of elven make; boots that seem to change colour to match their surroundings; several rings and amulets that positively hum with arcane and divine energy; a thin, knotted staff that makes a surprisingly loud and clear tok with every fall; a compact, clearly well-warded spellbook hanging from a silver chain at his side with an embroidered component pouch to match; a sash of various potions and elixirs; bracers of steel pressed with dragon motifs...

On a younger man, thee things would have inspired awe - but there's something in the way Herlam carries himself... something desperate in his eyes that make him seem pathetic; even more so beneath the layers and layers of adventuring equipment. The man looks to Daurily, who takes a step forward and addresses the room:

"We are... grieved to learn that our presence here in Mistledale has brought about such danger for the good people that dwell here. We had not meant to bring our troubles to your doorstep," with this she nods graciously to Arhlo, "Nor did we mean to upset the peace." this time addressing the High Councillor and Thraeg. "If you will allow my father to explain himself unharassed, it is our hope that... some solution might be found that would see Ashabenford and its people safe, and my father... unharmed. But enough from me. If you would suffer a tired man to recount a story that might illumine present circumstances, we would be honoured and most grateful. You have my word as a Purple Dragon of Cormyr that, should you wise elders deem it fair and right, we will leave you."

Daurily then looks to her father, who steps forward as she steps back. His hands shake as he takes a long several seconds to clear his throat. Finally, with a voice stretched thin by age but retaining a surprising strength and depth, he begins to speak: "I am Herlam Corkwill of Mersember, and I will keep this as short as I can. It is not my wish to waste more of your time. As I do not broach gross impositions on myself, I will not expect any of you to."

"It is my understanding that several parties have made themselves known this night, parties who wish to take something from me. It is true that I have made as many friends as enemies in my lifetime, just as it is true that I have traveled the realms from Cormyr to Amn to Waterdeep, form Waterdeep to Halruaa, from Halruaa to Dambrath and Rashemen and Thay, and from the east back to the Heartlands and the cities of the Sea of Fallen Stars and the Moonsea. I have tread the Underdark, fought for and against many of the greatest powers known to the Realms. I have triumphed and... and I have lost much." He pauses to blink away sentiment, and continues. "Years ago, after I thought my adventuring career all but over, I found myself desperate. My investments were failing, my abilities waned, and I found myself... very much alone. That is, until a friend of mine, the famed halfling thief Fallohar, came to me with one final adventure; one final test of our mettle. Our sources had it that a great and immensely valuable tome of Netherese arcana was being held in the great library at Candlekeep. The book, known as the Karsusian Codex, was apparently a difficult thing to ward - to enchant against thieves and wrong-doers. This, we thought, would be our final triumph. A glory to end all glories. We would steal it - the only ones to steal such a thing form Candlekeep and live! - and gain what power we could from the thing, and then..." he stops, his voice wavering in shame, "And then we would sell it."

This causes the High Councillor to snort wryly while the rest shake their heads. Noristuor seems enraged, and interrupts Herlam before he can continue: "Sell it? The Karsusian Codex? You truly are a madman and a knave, Herlam Corkwill! How could you be so... so deluded as to think -"

Karpike stands and cuts the wizard off. "Not now, Tiefling. We will let him speak first. Let's not go to battle before the enemy's in the field, eh? That's how good people get hurt." He turns to Herlam. "Continue, old friend."

"No. The wizard is right, Karpike. We were damned fools to think we could get away with such a thing. Two of us! Only two, and not to mention out of practice... it was hopeless, but we were desperate. We watched Candlekeep for weeks, collected all the intelligence we could. Fallohar even managed to bribe one of the apprentice scribes into aiding us. When the time came, we thought ourselves brilliant. We made it past Candlekeeps wall, it's first wards and defenses, and into the keep itself without being detected. It was in the inner libram that we were betrayed. The scribe, Yagran, had become scared that we would fail and sold us out to the guards and sages. Neither Fallohar nor I were prepared for the consequences. We fought bravely, but in the end Fallohar was overwhelmed by the guards, and I, badly wounded, fled the fight. Attempting to make good my escape, I came across the Codex itself, and quite by accident. Alerted to our presence, one of the sages had taken up watch by the book, and confronted me as I entered the chamber. The sage, for all his years, bested me in combat, subdued me, and was poised to finish me off. I... I admit that I begged for my life. Whether out of compassion or cruelty, the sage gave me another option. He agreed to let me live, should I submit to a curse." Here he stops again and closes his eyes. He steadies himself on his staff, takes several deep breaths, and continues.

"It was, of course, no ordinary curse..." Herlam goes on to describe how the sage took his journal from him (his most valued possession - his legacy to the Realms) and did something to it. What, he does not know, but he does remember the words the sage said to him before he left Candlekeep that night: "Start from the beginning, Herlam. Prove your life a worthy one - prove that you are capable of redemption, and it shall be yours. Prove that you are more than your shadow makes you out to be. Free yourself from your darkness, and there is no curse. Until then, suffer, and know that should you fail to redeem yourself, your soul will be forever bound to the Materium - that you will never ascend unto the Higher Realms that await all others. Now go."

Herlam then describes the curse itself. He tells of how his memories began to leave him one by one; how his journal, now bound to him by the curse, began to perplex him. Its pages would trade words, switch languages, go blank some days and others would be full of cascading words and even images from his past. He went to the Harpers, the War Wizards, all his old friends, teachers and contacts for help. None could lift the curse. Herlam discovered, with much bitterness, that the only way to undo the curse would be to follow the sage's instructions.

Eventually, he made an attempt, with the aid of Daurily, to retrace his life. This attempt, however, ended in failure. Herlam has grown too old and weak and wracked by the curse to travel. And that is how they came to Ashabenford, where they resolved to find a group of young adventurers (such as he was when he first left Marsember) to take up his mantle and, at least in the name of adventure, set about proving that his life was indeed a worthy one.

After the explanation, Herlam stops to consider something for a moment, his wrinkled brow furrowed. And then: "None of this, it occurs to me, explains why the drow of Cormanthor or the Red Wizards of Thay might pursue me. Perhaps they wish to uncover the secrets of the curse for themselves, or perhaps they think I know something or recorded something of value to them in my journal. Whatever it is, you will have to ask them. All I can say with certainty on the matter is that the curse was most powerful... the working of truly ancient magics indeed." He pauses one last time, ready to make his final plea.

"And so, good folk," he says finally, tears running unbidden down his face, "I ask that you help me, an old fool, to redeem his immortal soul. Please. I... I beg of you... Do not leave me to damnation!" and with that stumbles back onto a stool. Daurily moves to comfort him followed by Arhlo's daughter. Daurily eyes the room for your reactions to her father's desperate plea...

OOC:

Spoiler

Show

Say whatever you like! As big or as small as you deem necessary, but at least post your willingness/unwillingness/reservations about Herlam's proposed quest. You have some time to react, as the important NPCs in the room are still mulling it over and talking among themselves.

Once the declarations for or against the mission are made, Noristuor, Thraeg and the Councillor are going to want to talk about the Thayan prisoners and what to do about the drow attack.

TSM

[TheDivineWind]

Doroga listens patiently through the old man's story, silently amused at the audacity of his desire to achieve glory one last time. A sort of parallel to some of the customers of his fathers back home.

After the old man finished, Doroga speaks up only a handful of seconds later.

"I will help." He looks around at some of the odd looks from across the room, thinks for a second, then replies, "I want to know the story. It seems interesting. It is also an opportunity to make my own. For me, this is an easy choice."

After a moment of silence, he looks over to Perelia and remembers his new position. For a second, he almost begins to speak as if to amend his words, but decides against it, closing his mouth and silently waiting for her response.

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia looked to Doroga, her face calm, placid, and she thought for a moment about the man's words. Though he was younger than her, a lifetime younger than her, the man had much the same... mileage, she supposed. He was her apprentice now, both technically and in truth, but his mind was sharp and strong, and she had little doubt that he held more wisdom than she did; insight beyond knowledge had often been one of her shortcomings. She took the knowledge that had been imparted to her, the knowledge of who this man was and what his request meant, and then she smiled.

"I have read tomes and books beyond counting and thought, studies scrolls, listened to dissertations and lectures, observed spellbooks, and communed with my own thoughts.

I learned more about power and magic during the fight we had with the Thayans that I have during any random year of my life. I learned more about the structure of the Weave, of the movement of energy, by actually taking my magic and forcing the world to accept my will as law. I will take up your quest, and I will use it as an opportunity to become the greatest mage this world has ever seen."

Perelia pauses for a moment, and she looks to the others around her. "I would rather not do it alone. The greatest mage is incomplete without the greatest thief, or warrior, or spellsword, or druid, or whatever else you all may become. Let us trace the life of a great man; and, no offense, let us learn how to avoid his fate as we step towards our own destinies."

[Neth]

Of all the wonders locked in Candlekeep, this particular druid would probably be more drawn to its candles. More than one weighted meaning in the old man's story was lost on her. His torment was not. In his eyes clung all the desperation of the unfortunate souls Neth had imagined in her childhood when storytellers in crackled voices summoned their hapless wanderers, shapeless horrors, and faces in trees — until the harmless chatter of midnight creatures in the woods became the whispers of hunting demons, and no sleep that night contained any peace. She'd since encountered her share of frightful things less alive than she, and other products of the darkness, which some Rashemi call "the unfriendly tricks". But she had never heard of words twisting in a book, memories spilling from the head, and a soul bound to where it is now, for the rest of time, unless it can prove it has not lived too foolishly. And what is too foolishly? Haven’t we all been fools? Anyone in this room might've once been careless enough to step on the wrong foot or piss in the wrong stream and ended up like this man because someone was vexed. His was a mighty crime, which may have deserved a mighty punishment, but Neth did not think anyone deserved an endless tortured existence. As she listened to the man's tale like a child by the fireside, her stomach clenched itself tighter, and the thoughts froze her with dread.

After some consideration, Neth speaks. "I am no one of great skill. I know the ones of great skill say this too. But spend a day in the wild with me and you will know it. I am already on a search, though what I seek might come with anyone, friend or stranger at any moment. It is impossible to know where to look, and I may never complete the dajemma. But next to yours, this is no curse. Your suffering is great, friend, and if I can help you somehow, I will do it, whether it lead me to my umathi or away. With the consent of these who have already chosen to take the hunt, I will go with them to help. If I cannot help, I will leave."

"But anything else of this can wait, I think. The drow are approaching. I and others here may need quick rest if there will be new fighting. Is there any trap we can make for these enemies, or do we pass the night and let the battle come?"

[Dragonsong]

Roen listened quietly to the old man's tale, and his mind was drawn further from the impending attack by each word. Herlam had clearly done worthy things in his long life; it intrigued the young southerner to hear his own homeland mentioned, and lands beyond as well. But for a single act, and a failed one at that, this curse had been laid down. Roen could only barely suppress a bark of bitter laughter. Cursed for stealing a book? The rogue had spent his entire life stealing at a minimum. He had led a bloody revolution, murdered a woman in her bed, remorselessly looted the corpses of the fallen.

If this was to be Herlam's punishment, how much more severe would his own be?

"Lady," he breathed, "When the Harpers came, I thought I had been delivered from the land of sorrow. But what have I seen since I came out of that place? Violence, theft, and misery. Where is Your joy? Is there a place for it in all the world?"

In his life, he had met a number of people who claimed that the gods spoke to them. Some said they heard divine commands whispered on the wind or in the creaking of trees. Others had dreams, visions that guided them each night. The priestesses of Loviatar had seen omens in the broken flesh of a whipped slave. Roen had never been so blessed. If the gods had tried to speak to him he had been unable to hear them, or perhaps he simply did not know how to listen. But he had met a woman who had been the mouthpiece of her goddess, who had brought him to Her with her own mortal words.

Haldis was gone now, but those words lingered in his mind in place of the silent deities. There's always joy to find, she had told him, but sometimes we can't see it through life's shadows. But that's our failing, not an excuse. It only means that we have to make our own joy. The memory of her voice, her confidence, her unfailing smile brought a smile to his own face for a moment. He could not hear Lliira, and that might never change, but he had been blessed with a teacher of Her ways. Despite all that had happened over the course of the day, his original plan had been best. Heal Herlam. Bring him joy.

He could not change what he had done. But he could do what he knew he was meant to do.

"Truly," Roen finally said, "life is strange. But I am here for a reason, I know it. I do not think I will become great, or that my story will be told when I am gone. I know only that this is not merely a worthy cause, but the path to which I have been guided, and I will follow it to the very end. I swear on the soul of my beloved that I will do all that I can for you, Herlam Corkwill." She would want that. She would be proud. He could see her somewhere above, her face shining like the dawn, offering him a smile and a nod.

"But I agree, we must think of the Drow for now. We must make certain that they have no reason to attack this town after we are gone, whether because we have moved Herlam and they know it or because they have not the numbers to try again." He punctuated the final statement by pulling out his crossbow, nocking a bolt, and testing the metal point, a droplet of blood falling from his finger to the burnt and stained floor. Whatever his regrets for the violence of his life, he could not stop now. His fighting skill would be needed; by his blade and arrow, a greater evil would be prevented.

[The Smoking Man]

*THE FOLLOWING IS RYN'S NEXT POST, AS SENT TO ME BY THE MAN HIMSELF*

Ryn had long since relaxed his vigilance, at least a degree. The arrow had gone back in it's sheathe, and the bow now lay on the table, with most of his weapons. His pipe and beer had reappeared, and he had sat smoking throughout, as he listened closely to Herlam's tale, face expressionless. When he finished speaking, Ryn listened in turn to the others, idly rubbing his scar in thought. For several seconds after Roen finishes speaking, he remains like that, gazing at Herlam.

Without any warning, he suddenly bursts out laughing. “Truly, you folk are mad! It is the result of spending too much time philosophizing or thinking on magic. Dalesfolk know the dangers of that, preferring to leave that to crazed old men like Elminster, while we remain safely ignorant. We pursue saner endeavors, such as fighting Zhents and hunting mountain lions. I suppose I must be mad too, or else I would never have left home in the first place! Sad, isn't it, that I have been infected with your outlander madness?”

Turning back to Herlam, Ryn grins. “Then again, Herlam here was mad himself, to leave his safe life as a fisherman, become an adventurer, travel to all those strange lands, and – most insane of all – to try to steal a book from Candlekeep itself! So perhaps it is best that we are mad, or else how are we to follow his path?” Here, Ryn nods. “I will help you, Herlam Corkwill, that your tale not end in sadness. Perhaps then it will inspire madness in more young fools, and these realms might see such great folly again! How else are heroes found, after all?”

He leans back, propping up his feet on the table, staring at the ceiling with his grin still plastered on his face: “We're all doomed of course. Probably end up feeding the fishes in the canals of Marsember, if we even make it out of the Dales alive. Or, given Marsember, the eels.”

His grin grows wider: “If we survive Marsember, bandits will see to our end, I'm sure. Slit our throat for a copper, neat as could be. Take our boots in the bargain.”

Wider still: “That's assuming the drow don't get us. Our bodies will probably end up buried in the rubble of the town, burnt beyond all recognition, never to see our homes again.”

Wider: “This is going to be so much fun!”

[The Smoking Man]

The Ashabenford Arms:

Herlam seems overwhelmed by the proceedings, but waves Daurily and Tsasha away as they move to help him. Arhlo brings him a glass of his favorite wine to sooth him, which he sips at readily.

Daurily moves to the front of the common room to make a brief statement: "Thank you all for your honesty and your charitable offers of help. We would gladly accept it. I know, though, that this mission cannot be undertaken before the Thayan captives are dealt with and a plan is concocted to defend against the drow. Please, allow me to assist in whatever way I can."

And a little later, after much to-and-fro between the High Councillor, Captain Thraeg, Karpike and Noristuor, the Councillor takes the floor. He scans the room again, his left eyebrow cocked in scrutiny and mock disdain. "Well," he says, "As amusing as Mr. Corkwill's tale was, its implications belie its entertainment value. I am not a cruel man... and as such I am not in the business of selling out my town for the sake of an old man. That being said, I am not a cruel man," he grunts a quick laugh, "And I see the the value in keeping the secrets surrounding this man from those who would abduct him. Furthermore, Karpike here vouches for Corkwill's honor, and as much as it pains me to admit, we would likely be enslaved or half of us dead were it not for Karpike's help and that of his Bears Errant. So... work what plans you will, and none here will betray Corkwill -" at this Noristuor snorts loudly and shakes his head "But know that my citizens and my men will not be put in harm's way. Our concern is the defense of the town, and while Herlam and Daurily are here, that includes them." He stops to sigh loudly, wring his hands. "I had better not regret this. Now, get planning."

And with that he strides back to his table to listen to the plans of the PCs. Captain Thraeg, Karpike and Noristuor wait as well.

OOC:

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So, things to decide on:
- What to do with the Red Wizard captives.
- What to do about Otythir's encoded letter.
- What the plan is going to be through the day tomorrow, and when the drow attack.

[Neth]

As the councillor retreated, Neth rose from her seat, not in the way of someone making an announcement, but just stretching out of a stifled position. Gyl shook himself off her arm and clung to a nearby chair-back for a perch. He had been huddled far off in seclusion since Perelia mended his wounds, but was then lured back to the commotion upon hearing Ryn's carefree laughter, for where there is laughter there may perhaps be drinking.

After shaking off a minor lapse of fatigue and an unintentional yawn, she glances at the Thayan prisoners and says with a half-straight face, "We have all been rude, I think. All this talk and we never let them say anything. Maybe now is a good time to make a break in our talking and give them our attentions. I know we must be quick with our planning for the drow, but maybe our guests can make it easier for us. Who knows what wise things they might give us if we ask kindly?"

[Keylac]

Still full of good cheer, grin still on his face, Ryn finally looks down from the ceiling, looking at Neth as she talks.

"True, too true, Neth. I've an idea about the drow, as I'm sure others do, but one thing at a time." He seems to ponder the prisoners for a moment, before smiling, evilly. "I think it would be best to talk to them one at a time. Here, Groban, Roen, come with me, eh?"

With that, Ryn puts his feet down and rises. A quick stride brings him to the tied Thayans, and he grabs the man, easily hoisting him up and passing him to Groban. Next, he grabs the the gnoll corpse that's most intact, before turning to the kitchen. "Ahrlo, I've a need to borrow your kitchen for a moment. There's more knives in there." Striding along, grin still plastered on his face, he heads into the kitchen, bringing the gnoll and a chair. Signalling for Groban to put the Thayan in the chair, he motions Roen and Groban away for a moment, and starts to whisper a plan to them.

"Here's what I think we should try, if you're agreeable. Roen, far be it from me to accuse a man, but it seems to me that you've a gift with your tongue and wit. I'm afraid I've no talent for falsehood, being a blunt, simple man from the Dales. If you could be after asking the questions, I'd appreciate that. First though, when I give the signal, make sure he's awake and take off the blindfold and gag, so he can watch me and Groban before we start talking to him."

He then turns to Groban, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Groban, I need you to hold up the gnoll while I "question" it. Pretend you think it's still alive. When we're done with that, just scowl at the Thayan. A great, bowel loosening, titan-worthy scowl. Think you're up to scaring the piss out of him without talking?"

"As for me, once I'm done with the gnoll, I'll just sit here and smile at the Thayan... while playing with some of Ahrlo's knives. Sound good, my friends?"

OOC

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So, assuming Roen agrees, I was planning on pulling a Sean Connery from Untouchables and "killing" the gnoll for refusing to talk before he (with his good charisma) questions the Thayan. I realize that I don't know what the letter says, but I figure Prellia can tell us soon enough, and we can ask more pointed questions. The others can go ahead and question the woman why we're doing this, and then we can compare their stories, or we can wait till the man has spilled his guts. Sound good?

By the by, if I seem like I'm rushing it, it's because I don't want to delay folks while I'm away from the computer.

[RaggedAngel]

Perelia watches Ryn's rapid improvisation with a faint smile; she was glad that the man had gone into action before her, because she had intended to simply torture the captives. They were malignant, malicious, and cruel; she knew that to be true, for the deepest creeds of the Thayans taught that such things made one strong, that such things were the heart of magic.

Perelia could have spat. It was such a horrible fallacy that it sickened her to think of it. It poisoned the hearts and minds of mages of such potential, to have that evil forced into their thoughts and hearts. And it was evil; perhaps not the profound evil of the hells, but a poisonous, vile evil all the same. She would have lost no sleep in bringing pain to the Thayans, given that it was for a just cause and with good intent.

Ryn's ploy, however, was cunning, and it would keep the blood off of their own hands, if only metaphorically speaking. It also gave her some time to discuss a more important matter with Noristour. She went to the old wizard, Otythir's encoded letter in hand. "Sir, I have some small skill at the decoding and translation of obscure texts, but this defeats me; all I can get out of it is the names of Herlam and his daughter, and the words "Thayan", "drow", and a few other smatterings. Could you look upon it yourself, to see what you can determine?"