1995-10-21
Recovered original text · preserved verbatim
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NEVERWINTER NEWS
Issue # 104
Week Ending 10-21-95
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FRONT PAGE
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Congratulations to Zarra Yorn for winning last week's News of the Realm
contest.
Zarra Yorn has earned the choice of 4 Pearls or Access to the GOH (Guild of
Heroes) WTG!
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While venturing through the caverns, NW Frost was beset by spiders. The
battle was quick and decisive except for a small scratch recived by Frost.
The poison was not enough to kill him, but a fever set in. Muddled thinking
began, and Frost became violent towards passerbys!
A call went up to all adventures to beat some sense into Frost. Those able
to do so would be rewarded with 3 pearls each!!
14 attempted, only 7 succeeded. The winners were:
vilanne
kh0lari
coslpsy
nightforge
ironweb
mordain
kymil nimn
While the fever has passed, and Frost become less violent, he still is
grumpy;>
Congratulations all!!!!
NW Frost
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The 1st GoH booth for October was held and everyone was slayful...err, I
meant playful ;>
In the slay living booth, many fell to the nasty spell. However, Skarrak
would stand tall as he recieved only 16 points damage from 2 casts to take
home 5 pearls.
Congratulations, Skarrak!
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Congratulations to Vilanne for winning the Location Hunt on October 17th! She
was the first to ESP me from the correct location of Galvano's
Brickyard...which is in the Warehouse District.
Vilanne has won 4 pearls and one free hour of online time for her
efforts..once again congrats!! ;D
NW Kregar ;>
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WWAI Final review....10-19-95
In First, with 30 points, is Gherkin II!!
First Place: 25 Pearls + 4 hours
In second, Dam1on, with 27 points!!!
Second Place: 20 Pearls + 3 hours
In Third, also with 27 points, but conceeded second to Dam1on, is
Blowfishks!!!
Third Place: 15 Pearls + 2 hours.
Also, the Random roll-off winner was Also Blowfishks, winning an additional 5
pearls!!!!
Thanks folx, that's the official:)
-Ulfy
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Magic Missile Booth 10/20
Unable to sleep and feeling the need for some excitement, adventure, maybe
even exercise... NW Ember called out for volunteers to help her test her
Magic Missile Dodging Skills....
Thanks to:
Deathg1ver
Vorpalix
Marknight
Kh0lari
Godd Send
Mech Havoc
Sol Kitty
Mansh0on
Mech Ember
Ssundoc
Jantyr
KF T1me
Darkpriest
Sagx
They all did a magnificient job, each casting 3 Magic Missiles! Winning the
contest was The Bonze with a cumulative 71 points of damage!
Congratulations!
- NW Ember ;>
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NEVERWINTER CALENDAR
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Be on the look out for those Mini Booths that seem to pop up out of nowhere!
Can you be at the right place at the right time when the NW calls for a
location?
Keep your eyes and ears open for these events! Watch for the banners!
New Player Tours:
October 22th Sunday 11:00 AM EST - Join NWA Legion for a tour of the Realm.
Those interested should keep an eye out for the banner telling where to
meet!;D
October 25th Wednesday 12:00 AM EST (Midnight) - Join NWA Blythe for a tour
of the Realm. Those interested should keep an eye out for the banner telling
where to meet!;D
October 26nd Sunday 12:00 AM EST (Midnight) - Join NWA Breaux for a tour of
the Realm. Those interested should keep an eye out for the banner telling
where to meet!;D
October 28nd Saturday 10:00 PM EST - Join NW Sparkle for a tour of the Realm.
Those interested should keep an eye out for the banner telling where to
meet!;D
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The Assassin
(Submitted by: Dismal12)
Trevor crouched behind the fallen tree blending in with the coming of
Darkness. He waited for his Target a strong fighter. Suddenly there was a
noise within fifty feet of him. His heart started to pound. This was it his
target is coming. Slowly he pulled out his throwing dagger and prepared for
an easy kill. The sound of footsteps became closer and closer. Sweat
glistened on his forehead as he stood up and looked to his left. Suddenly a
blast of cold air hit him full force. His tattoo flared as the group of ice
hit him. He rolled quickly to the left pulling out his other knife. His
tattoo had protected him from a magical attack but he needed time to cast the
protection spell again.. His mind raced as he looked around for his target.
There was another flash of light as he saw a great ball of fire coming
towards him. Trevor moved quickly to his right trying to avoid the fire ball.
He felt the searing pain of hot fire on his left arm. He thought quickly
keeping his cool even though the pain penetrated his being.Suddenly he heard
another chant and his countered with a silence spell. The chanting stopped
suddenly, something wasn't right. Had his employer lied to him, was his
target more than just a fighter. Slowly he faded into the darkness before
climbing a tree. From his vantage point he saw all of the forest including a
small town about a mile west of where he was. Slowly he climbed back down and
headed west.
Trevor arrived in the town a little over midnight the air was cool and
calm. He looked around no lamps were lit nor any houses had light except a
fire that burned unchecked in a fireplace. Trevor walked into the house
knives ready for anything but nothing was there. He put his weapons back and
made his way to the fire. It had a large pot over it. He began to stir the
brew slowly and the pulled out the spoon to taste it but to his horror there
was a finger in his spoon. He dropped it and quickly backed away.
"What is this place" He said aloud.
His mind worked through all the legends he had heard about a deserted
town that housed a powerful being that fed on the flesh of others. He scanned
the walls and out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. He rolled left as
a giant ax ripped through the air seconds later. He looked up the handle to
see what was working the weapon. He stared in horror as a reptilian creature
pulled the ax out of the floorboards and hissed at him saliva dripping from
its gapping jaws.
Trevor thought quickly and he summoned a spell Lighting shoot out
through his hands striking the lizard full in the chest. Trevor stood up both
knives drawn and ready. He looked to where the body should have been but
found nothing. He heard movement behind him and quickly rolled forward as the
blade of the ax came down inches away from his head. Rage came and it fueled
the fight. Trevor fought hard attacking and blocking the deadly swings of the
Lizards ax.
He knew he wouldn't last much longer if he couldn't handicap the lizard
somehow. Suddenly it came to him, light if his foe couldn't see the lizard
couldn't fight. If only he could cast a spell making the lizard blind
without the lizard counter spelling. Then it came to him attack with the
dagger and two spells.
Trevor threw one knife at the lizard who blocked it. Trevor now sent an
ice storm at the lizard. As he expected the lizard blocked the spell and now
was vulnerable he sent the blindness spell towards the beast. It worked the
lizard was blinded he saw his chance and charged the lizard slitting its
throat and knocking it into the fire. He was victorious.
Slowly he walked east towards the town of Nightsledge a new tome in his
grasp full of new spells. His target was gone and he wanted his money now.
A Fallen Friend
(Submitted by: HG Tarl)
The darkening sky outside Twilight Hall had the ominous look of a brooding
storm. The rolling gray clouds had already begun to release their heavy
burden of sleet-laced rain as Tarl hurried across the central courtyard
towards the main office of the Harper complex. Brushing ice pellet's from
his thick mane of sun-lightened hair, he quickly closed the massive oaken
door, shutting out the cold, howling wind and ice-cold rain. The missive he
clutched in his left hand was marked "Urgent", and came from the "High Lady
of Berdusk" herself, Cylyria Dragonbreast.
Not even stopping to remove his rain-drenched cloak, Tarl bounded up the long
flights of stairs, and was outside the tower office of the famous High Herald
in moments. Pausing to gently knock on her door, Tarl could hear hushed
voices within, "Enter HG Tarl", "Ye are expected" came the familiar, husky
voice of Cylyria, the "Silent Lady." Opening the door, Tarl was greeted by
the dark visage of Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun, Lord of Waterdeep as he
stood next the red-eyed Cylyria. Khelben always had an ominous appearance,
but this day, his look would have turned a Troll to stone. Crossing the
sparsely, but tastefully furnished office, Tarl bowed first to the High Lady,
then to the archmage, "How may I be of service M'lady?" "Your Missive is
marked Urgent, What is amiss?" "Tarl", Cylyria began, "I don't quite know
how to tell you of this,.... this tragic news..." her husky voice trailed
off, as she began to sob. Khelben reached out to brace the weeping High
Herald, and finished the sentence for her, "Tarl, we have lost a valued
Harper and a true friend", he began, "We received word this day that HG
Renik has fallen".
"What?" Tarl almost shouted, "How, Where, Why?" he stammered. Shaken, Tarl
absently went to the dark wooden liquor cabinet, and, removing a decanter of
Elverquist, poured all three Harpers a large measure of the strong Elven
wine. Handing a glass to Lady Cylyria, then to Khelben, Tarl downed his in a
single gulp. "Please", he said, his voice somewhat shaken, "How, and When
did this dreadful event happen?" "All we know", Khelben continued, "is that
he fell in a Triboar Death Match with the evil GammaDrac, two days past."
"We, the Lady Cylyria and I, would like for you, one of Renik's closest
friends, to journey to Longsaddle." "The Harper contingent there is small,
and will need your strength, courage and wisdom, during these trying times of
grief." "There is to be a memorial service", Khelben continued, "Ye must be
there within the next ten-day. "Yer local contacts are HG Quill, HG Shadow,
HG Lhaeo, HG Flaire, and HG Sharna, Renik's beloved Lady of the Silver Harp".
"Then I shall not waist any more time here" Tarl replied. His visage stern,
he bowed again to Khelben, and to Lady Cylyria. As Tarl turned to take his
leave, Cylyria kissed him lightly on his weathered cheek, whispering "Go with
Tyr's Blessing's Tarl, console the Lady Sharna, and give her this", she
pressed a small silver locket into his palm, "It may help with the grief,
that I too, have known". Tucking the locket within his Cloak, Tarl left the
somber Harpers, and headed back down the long stairs. "How fitting",
thought the weary Harper as he made his way back out into the blustering
storm, "The weather indeed match's me mood". Silently, Tarl made his way to
the stables to prepare for the long journey ahead.
HG Tarl.
The Dark Past
(Submitted by: DarkWolfCM)
The shaddowy man lead Darkwolf on. The night was absent of all sound,
his breath and the wind were all to be heard. The two came to a small cliff
along the river Neverwinter. There Dark dis- mounted onto a rocky barren
landscape, void of any descernable life. Dark knew not all of what was to
come, and what he did know he still didn't fully believe.
Above the night sky clouded over and out the moon and stars. In
absolute darkness Dark became uneasy. In the space of a few moments he mind
raced from fear to panic to terror. Then light returned. A little at first,
and an odd type of light. The rocks and air themselves seemed to emit a dull
glow of their own. Only due to his knowledge of the time was it that he
didn't think it morning.
The air was now a sickly green, like the weather prior to a great storm.
Directly ahead he noticed he noticed a shape. Not solid, nor imaginary. Dim
and ghostly. It began to move toward him. A man's length away it took a
definate shape, that of a man. The features exact likeness was not there but
Dark knew who it was.
Briefly he looked at the image, through it almost, then glancing behind
him at the large man who had brought him here, took a step forward. The
image examined him, cocking its head. It took on a yellow tinge and spoke,
"I am here, as art thou."
"But why?" Dark muttered.
"Art thou not glad to look upon me again?" It asked playfully.
"Thou art dead."
"Art thou sure?"
At this the ghost changed colors, from a brighter yellow, to pitch
black. "Ye would know about that wouldn't ye?" It's tone was no longer
playfull, but accusatory. "Ye know that, and in with that same thought ye
know why we are here," the image turned white. Dark became uneasy once
again.
"What send ye here to torment me?!" Dark cried.
"A God," the image turned red, "the God you have foresworn."
"Torm!! The God of loyalty," he searched the skies and rocks around
him for a sign, "it cannot be!"
"It is and ye said, ye betrayed me," the image was black once again,
"your own brother!" The image turned firery, then faded to a dull blue, "Why
Dark? How could ye do so?"
Dark, dazed and distraut, backed away from the image, "Stay back,
plague me not in life, thine ghost shall always haunt my mind!"
The image shimmered, and it became solid. Mifael touched himself in
disbelief. "Ye have offened the God to an extreme!" He began to smile, "I
am back, good brother." Dark stared open mouthed and wide eyed, struggling
for breath. His brother looked him over with his new eyes. "Ye have grown,
being a spirit does distort this reality."
"Torm does not do this," Dark breathed, slowly moving away.
"I do not care who has done it....it is done."
Here the wind picked up, at first disjointing hair, then causing one to
shift weight. Finally in a giant burst both were upon the ground.
Dark's eyes opened to a world of white, opposite him, his brother.
Dark stood, upon nothing. There was no up, no down, no shapes, no smells.
Dark took a defensive posture that he knew was useless. Mifael remained
sitting. "Come watch Dark, the Gods shall give us entertainment."
Dark maintained his rigid posture. Mifael shrugged. Near them a large
globe appeared. Soon images could be seen. The scene played out was one
Darkwolf knew well. Through it all he remained standing. When it concluded
he bowed his head. Lifting it he was again on the cliff.
"Remeber that?" As was his brother.
"Yes, it is forever with me."
"Know what you must do?"
"Of course."
"Then do it." Behind him a sword was pulled forth from it's sheath in
a long metalic chime
A Day in the Life of Karl
(Submitted by: BassMaven)
"Ouch! That hurts!"
"Well if you'd stop squirming," replied Karl's mother, "it wouldn't hurt so
much."
Needless to say, she thought Karl was--wait... if it's needless to say, why
am I saying it? In any event, the salve she applied to his burn wounds was an
old tribal remedy, containing such tasteful tidbits as--well, let's not get
into it, as you may have just eaten, or are planning on eating again, within
the next week or so.
But regardless, or irregardless of what her concoction contained, it did cure
and heal his wounds somewhat, even though the lingering odor DID put a damper
on his social life. (Questions such as "Is that Minotaur vomit?" usually put
an end to what might have been a pleasant dance and dinner.)
Then again, even without his questionable cologne preferences, Karl did not
have much of a social life to begin with. Ever since he began his new job as
bodyguard for that strange old man, he'd hardly had a free moment to pursue
such activities. But then again, no one had ever said the lot of a Cloud
Giant was all fun and games.
May be a few hundred years ago, yes. Back then all you had to deal with was
a few hapless humans, (or as they were so quaintly referred to then, as "The
other white
meat") and barring a few glaring exceptions (one of which involved a rather
pesky house thief and a large plant....) these were easily dispatched, and
utterly consumed. However, the days of "Fee Fi Fo Fum" are now long gone.
Due to a combination of circumstances, there was no longer such a thing as a
free lunch. First, the humans have become much bolder, and more numerous.
This in itself would not be too bad if they hadn't stolen such powerful
magiks as they must have acquired.
Even so, an organized reaction would have been able to trample such an
uprising. This, however, was not to be, as is evident just be looking at
Karl's own family. Karl's older brother, Kohl, has gone out into the woods
to find his "Primal Self." While his younger brother Kristoff went into
advertising, and after a huge vegetable company contract, he
uses his fortune to promote a "Kinder Gentler Giant" ideal.
So now the humans were everywhere, and Karl was relegated to simple guard
duty. He and three Dracolichs were supposed to hold off the horde of this
new and dangerous breed of pest. Dracolich's are dragons brought back from
the dead, however they do not always have all their faculties revived with
their bones. More than half of Karl's wounds were caused by one of the
overeager Dracs breathing fire on him in a vain attempt to flame-broil an
attacking adventurer. But such is life, and every once in a while Karl HAS
been rewarded with a tasty mage-morsel or fried-fighter.
<BAM!>
'Well, mother that'll have to do, I have to go back out there." said Karl.
The familiar thump against the wall informed him, of a fresh bunch of
travelers who'd come all this way for lunch, and he was not about to
disappoint them.
"Oh all right!" she replied, quickly closing Karl's shirt back up.
"And don't forget to bring back a cleric or two." she reminded him as he
headed out the door.
The Flames of War
Part #1 of the Dark Chronicles
(Submitted by: Skaril PAL)
When the Realms were still young and Waterdeep was but a small trading and
fishing city, an evil stalked to the east. An evil of untold magnitude, not
some dark fiend from the Nine Hells or Abyss, just one man; some of the folk
even had said he was worse. With the DeathBringers, his hideous nightmare
army, behind him, they swept through the eastern Realms like an unchecked
scourge of black death. Gradually moving westward
The DeathBringers were scraped from the deepest bowels of Hell, long
forgotten tombs, and the Underdark. Two legions of undead beasts, numbering
well over 100 each legion, were ridden by wights with lances. From the
remains of the slaughters that took place, 666 zombies and 333 skeletons had
been animated, forming another 3 legions. The Dark One's elite were of the
Arch Devil, Belail's own. A company of the powerful black abishai, was on
loan from the Lord of the 4th Hell. The other more unique contributors to
the DeathBringers acted as officers and enforcers.
Pyrex, the ancient red draco-lich served as the mount to the Dark One. He
was a wyrm of the greatest size and demanded only the fairest of maidens to
devour. Nebiroth, an imp of the greatest size (almost 3 feet tall), also a
potent spell caster was always close at his master's side. Two beholders,
Thraxxeus and Ndotshi, also were firmly in withthe DeathBringers. A lich of
great power also acted as the army's professional magic user, she was
fanatically loyal to the Dark One and unflinching in the face of good. This
lich went by the name Kalimara, though undead, she fed upon the souls of the
army's victims to remain youthful looking. Zaxuz Vantraali, none could tell
where this white garbed elven assasin came from, but his work was flawless.
So confidant in his ability, he dressed in bright whites and silvers, "So
what if they see me coming, I'll still take the life I was sent for," he was
often heard saying with a sneer.
Though she only came out at night, Kjatriaana the vampiress, was a force not
to be
reckoned with. She was a warrior and wizardress without peer, her skills
were still no
match for the Dark One though. One of the Dark One's sisters also enjoyed
working in
the DeathBringers company. She had traded her humanity to become
Mephistopheles's daughter, Deemonia became her name. Still a comely female
with raven tresses and fair skin, she now sported small pointy devil's horns,
her once green eyes were red (and glowed when she was angry), and her once
even teeth became sharp even fangs with elongated canines.
The Dark One was a more than impressive leader, he was as strong as a giant,
wise beyond his age, smartly educated, an excellent tactician and field
marshall, his voice commanded notice and was impressive to hear, and he was
very handsome. Wearing black spiked plate armor, standing over 6 feet tall
and heavily muscled, Skrail the Vile Conquerer lead and organized the
DeathBringers. His blond-white hair and icy blue eyes were hidden by a helm
made of human skull and black steel. It was said that paladins could feel
his completely black aura well over a mile away, without even searching for
evil. At 22 he was reported to already almost be a death knight, his evil
was astounding. His twisted sense of honor and perverse enjoyment of other
beings' suffering was well-known, if not infamous. Skrail's tent was topped
with the many skulls of paladins he had slain with his bare hands. He dined
on the flesh of good dragons, which he hunted with obvious glee. Skrail and
his officers would dine to the horrid chorus of prisoners screams, while they
were impaled on thick stakes. He was very well versed in the many methods of
painful torture, also very well practiced. Needless to say, if his evils were
all recorded, they would easily fill 50 arch-mage's libraries.
"My brother, when are we going to assist my kind in bringing down the City of
Song? The saying goes, nothing lasts forever. My father guesses that unless
we strike soon, those damned elves will master new magics that would be
detrimental to my kind's survival," Deemonia's eyes blazed red, her red lips
twisted into a frown. She pounded the table for emphasis, a skull rolled off
to the floor. Skrail wore an impassive cold look on his face.
"Why would you have me attack them, what do I gain," he asked arching an
eyebrow. "Does Myth Drannor have anything I need. Or does it contain
something you want, my dear sister," he chuckled evilly.
"Great magic it has, magic of the Gods themselves," the she-devil said
imploringly. Skrail cracked his knuckles. "Immagine what we can..." The big
warrior raised a hand to silence his she-devil sister.
He nodded, "I realize all that. But I am no magic user, again your gain. The
magic weapons that are made there tend to be made for the pure of heart; I
see no gain
for either of us there. There is something else though, I assume you know
this too. Nebiroth has informed me that the demons are also moving to crush
that disgustingly
good society." Skrail grinned, after a moment his sister revealed her fangs
in a twisted
grin. Nebiroth flew into the tent, he landed on the table. Bowing deeply to
Skrail, then
slightly less to Deemonia.
"The deeemonss move noww. Wee aree withhh in a daysss travlee of Mythh
Drannnor," he said in a hissing voice. "They aree led by Grazzz'zzzt, he
iss..."
"Graz'zt?! Skrail, we must stop him, or take the city first!!" Deemonia
hissed, her eyes like embers. She pounded the table again, small cracks
appeared in the wood. The imp smiked, swishing his barbed tail.
"Easy my sister, I wouldn't let the demons get it before you. We'll handle
them, I'm sure we could get a few more devils to lend their power to our
cause. I have foughtwith demons before, it would do you well to remember
this, sister! Just because YOU ARE a devil dsesn't mean I AM A AN IDIOT WHEN
IT COMES TO DEMONS!!!!!! Remember I have delt with Graz'zt also," Skrail
slammed a bare fist through the table. "Summon my officers sister! Bring me
a woman Nebiroth, I need to relax! Get me a new table too, kill the slave
that made this one, it wasn't good enough." The imp flew off quickly to
satisfy his master's command. If he wasn't quick he could get hurt, that he
knew.
"...I will brother. I forget you are not inexperianced with demons, it is
just they are my kind's sworn natural enemies. As a devil, I hate them with
all of my existance.." Deemonia looked like she was going to continue, then
she paused. "I will summon the officers now."
"Thank you Dee," Skrail said cracking her a warm smile. "I have a hard time
staying angry with my younger sister. We will march after the meeting withmy
officers, there is no time to loose." Deemonia bowed then left to call the
officers to the Officer's Hall. Nebiroth flew back into the tent, pulling a
captured elfmaid with him. The imp had his tail wrapped around her neck,
using it like a leash. She had teary blue eyes, she apparently had been
crying recently. "Ahh!! Good pick my little friend, this one will do
nicely." Unwrapping his tail, Nebiroth quickly flew off.
Skrail PAL
The Golden Bow
(Submitted by: Lywnis)
"In the time of my mother's, mother's, mother's, mother, my people lived
among the dales and woodlands of the Kingdom of Iselin. Friendly were they
with the mortals of that land as their Kings were kind and just. Free to
live as they chose, they paid no tribute save serving the Crown as archers in
time of war. At the center of the kingdom was the Great Wood and in that wood
was Celadria their home and seat of their Lord. The beauty of Celadria was
without rival in that portion of our world, but even more amazing was the
Golden Tree that grew in a sacred grove within. It's origin unknowns, it
drew and focused the life energy of the surrounding forest. Taking that
which it needed to survive, it returned the unused portion in the form of
it's wondrous fruit. This fruit, when consumed by mortals, released that
energy, revivifying the flesh and extending their lifespan.
Needless to say, no thing was more coveted by the mortals of that realm than
the fruit of the Golden Tree. Their Kings, however, were wise and realized
the strife that would result if the fruits of the Tree should become
available to some and not to others. Therefore, it was decreed that no
mortal shall taste of this fruit.
Thus was peace maintained through many centuries. As with all things,
however, change must come. This change took the form of triplet sons born to
the last King of Iselin. Without true claim to the throne resting on anyone
son, their benevolent father decreed that upon his death, the kingdom be
sundered into 3 principalities. Thus was his will carried out, and the 3
sons took to ruling the lands that their father had gifted upon them. The
Great Wood, and Celadria, lying at the heart of the kingdom was thus
apportioned 3 ways with each son claiming rightful ownership to his portion.
For a while, peace reigned, but as the sons began to age and fail their
thoughts turned evermore to the Golden Tree and it's fruit. Perhaps the
circumstances of their birth weakened them to temptation. To their mind,
ownership of the wood gave them the right to the fruit, but the edict of the
Kings was still in force. Though they plied my kindred with promises of rich
reward and undying friendship, they remained true to that edict. As my
kindred would not give them the fruit, one by one they determined that they
would take if for themselves.
"This bow was made from the wood of the Golden Tree. Sadly, like so many of
the things that we cherish it failed. Unable to penetrate the wood with
their forces the three Princes decided that they would destroy it. Little
did they know that in killing the wood they were also slaying the prize that
they sought to gain." Hemmed in, and facing the destruction of the forest
our kindred awaited their fate, resolved to die to the last rather than
surrender the Tree or their ancestral home. But in the summer of the 3rd
year of the conflict, the Golden Tree perished. So great was the destruction
wrought by the Princes that leagues of one time lush forest now lay barren
and burned. The passing of the Tree, though a heartbreak for these elves,
served to galvanize them. As they watched it's glow fade from the world they
resolved that it should become an instrument in it's own vengeance. Thus
was this bow and many others like it wrought from the sinews of that mighty
tree. Gear of war was prepared. Swords sharpened and mail reforged. Then,
as autumn faded to winter, did the last host of Celadria issue from it's
gates.
A fell and beautiful host it was. The city was emptied. Young children, the
old, the infirm, and a pittance of guards were sent north in the hope that
the upcoming battle would draw off any forces that might be used to hinder
them. Southward strode the grim elven warriors, lords, and ladies. Never
again would they see the City of Celadria.
Early the next morning the two hosts met. Along a stream bordered by the
charred remains of the beloved forest, the battle raged for the entire day.
Deeply did the lances of the mortals drink of Eldar blood that day. More
deeply, however, did the arrows and blades of our folk, enraged at the
destruction of their ancestral home, drink of the mortals. At last the
warriors belonging to the leader's war parties swept together on the
battlefield. Elsewhere, fighting slowed as both sides knew that this battle
would determine the outcome.
At the center of this knot strode my ancestor Petrio, armsman to the Lord of
Celadria. A master archer, he alone had withstood the day's fighting to
carry the last bow made of the wood from the Golden tree. It was at his
Lord's side that he watched 2 of the 3 princes slain, and in the end the last
unhorsed. As the Prince struggled to rise, the Lord, filled with battle lust
kicked him and sent him sprawling again to the ground.
Rolling onto his back the Prince opened his visor. Petrio, arrow knocked,
took aim, fired, and watched as his arrow was knocked out of the way by the
sword of the Lord. As one the fighting ceased and a stunned silence filled
the air. The Prince, was Ruthimias. The effects of the fruit now gone, he
was old and wrinkled. The breath of this scarecrow came in ragged gasps as
he defiantly eyed the Lord and his retainers. "Come then", he cried, "end
the life you have conspired to cheat me of. All we wanted is but what you
take for granted. Do not mock me!" Then for the first time Petrio, the Lord,
and all the elves knew what it was like to be mortal. One's life but a speck
of sand in the desert. They felt the cold hands of death reaching out for
them and knew the fear that it created. Anger was replaced instantly by
pity. Throwing down their weapons they resolved to fight no further. So
moved were the mortals, and so aggrieved were they at the sudden realization
of that which had been lost, that they too, cast aside their weapons. The
battle over, the remnants of the two hosts departed. The remainder of my
ancestors fled Iselin and settled at last in Graywood Forest. There they
have remained, living in peace for five generations. Petrio, however, did
not cast away his bow. The Lord, commanding him to take it as a reminder of
fair Celadria and what had been lost, also decreed that he should pass it
down from generation to generation to serve as a reminder of the blessing of
our immortality.
Unbecoming of Shroud
(Submitted by: UDL Shroud)
She had always been a thinker, and upon this, perhaps someday the blame can
be laid. They'd said she knew too much, learned too quickly. Very true. The
Cleric skills came to her easy and at an early age. Curiously she'd embraced
the light of good and the various Gods new her by name. Unconditionally she'd
served them and her heart was filled with love for all the races and all from
which the life arose. For ages, she was well and her
embrace of goodness brought health and extended life. Her soul was spared
from torment at mortal disasters she'd witnessed. No harm seemed to ever
befall her. The mortals noticed this, and began to whisper. At the same
time, the Lady Shroud reached the peak of her enlightenment.
...she had learned all there was available to learn.
It came to be then, in the winter of her 200th year a great storm from the
North. It showered the lands with ice and with it swarmed the mighty Frost
Giants and Snowbeasts. The heartier races of Orc fared better through the
harsh months and multiplied while the mortals became sickly and were starved.
Orc attacks became frequent. "Save us!" they cried to her as she sat in her
citadel and watched. Somehow, though the begged for their children, she
could not bring herself to raise a hand for their sakes. Their mortality
began to intrigue her for this was something she'd never pondered over at
length. Even as their strangled screams split the crisp icy air when the
Giants made their final attacks, she could not find compassion.
The fields of snow were stained red under the corpses of a hundred families.
Shroud walked among the dead, looking into each face and staring into their
sightless eyes. These people, she realized, now knew something that she did
not. Death. The cold wind took on a sharp bite and in a blink, Myrkul
appeared in the crimson field. Shroud stood before him, the only living soul
in the valley. A radience of good about her, though her pristine white robes
now displayed a hem of bloodsoaked complacency.
His voice like a high hiss, the god of Death addressed her. "How is it that
you live, I'd sought to take all from this valley." he questioned, and as he
spoke, scattered bodies one by one slowly began to raise themselves to their
feet. Their wounds still shiny with clotted blood, their spines cracked and
limbs grotesque. Their dead eyes still appeared sightless though they walked
and gathered about Myrkul and Shroud.
"Myrkul, what I seek is knowledge. I cannot continue in this life where all
is known to me. My desire is to embrace what has always repulsed me..... to
respect what I have held in contempt, love what I have hated and bear the
fruit of what wouldbe monsterous..... to wound what I have healed and
understand the realm beyond mortal sights. " says Shroud, her heart pounding
in her chest with both excitement and ultimate repulsion for what she heard
herself saying.
Myrkul motions outward and the army of slain villagers moves away to the
east. Then his fleshless face turns again to look at Shroud.
"I will give you to Diablo...." he hisses. Myrkul snaps his skeletal
fingers and the Lady Shroud drops the the bloodstained snow. Dead.
TORMENT
(Submitted by: Zarra Yorn)
A droplet of fetid water splashed onto putrid flesh, causing Jeric to flinch.
Jeric was in the ruins of his desolate and crumbling castle. Before him was a
hunched mass, writhing and leathery. It called itself Egtuazalrithtre, Jelic
preferred the term demon. The sound of thick skin sliding against stone was
audible as the creature slithered. Egtuazalrithre was a terrible sight to
behold, standing almost eight feet tall when hunched over. It's four arms
seemed to be able to move in all directions, as did its long, spindly tail.
The needle-toothed maw constantly drooled black acidic bile, splotched
discolored skin
constantly oozed a mucous-like substance, Jeric thought it would be the
perfect instrument.
Late that night while Jeric dreamed, the same reoccurring nightmare came just
as it had for the past two hundred and seventy six years. There he was, young
and unaltered. He was a powerful and infamous necromancer. In the beginning
of his dream he was feared as in life and he reveled in that. Then things
began to change, an unnatural, all consuming terror filled his body. He was
awake now, his eyes plastered open and staring intensely at an unknown thing.
What was left of his mouth was locked open. How he wished to scream. The fear
that filled every pour of his being caused him a sort of paralysis, he could
not blink, he could not scream, only lay there rigid and trembling. Fully
conscious, the nightmare would not cease. There where those eyes, those
horrible eyes! Bloodthirsty
and starring into him. They were held in place by bone and stretched, glossy
black skin. Then came the flashing of cold steel and with it pain,
unspeakable pain. His veins now bulged out on his blue tinted face, the blood
vessels in his eyes ruptured, after unknown minutes he drew breath. Not
really a breath but more of the raspy suffocated gasping sound of a dying man
breathing in life. Perspiration soaked through the mattress and onto the
floor as he began to regain control of himself. His heart that now slowed
would have burst many years ago, only powerful magicks kept him alive. Rising
shakily from his bed the sound of wet skin tearing away from the bed sheets
went unheard. Jelic staggered to the bathroom and peered into the mirror as
he did every time he woke. Looking back at him was a withered, mangled body.
Jelic had no skin, only scar tissue covered the bones he had. Infected rashes
and puss oozing sores covered him. The wounds that would not heal left their
mark. Slivers of his skeletal frame at random locations had been removed.
Deep puncture wounds in his abdomen constantly leaked foul liquid. His eye
was misaligned and malformed, seriously impairing his vision and caused a
continual migraine. Sections of his spinal cord had not fully grown back yet
and his damaged nerves constantly reminded him of this. "I must be patient,
after all it has only been two hundred and seventy six years. Eventually I
will be whole and the pain will cease. I have come a long wait..." He thought
with disgust. Jelic glared at his reflection the same thoughts poured into
his mind, "Zarra Yorn will feel what it is to live like this for what she has
done to me!" A fit of coughing broke his thoughts. Angered, Jelic turned from
the
mirror and made a shaky gesticulation with his deformed hand. A sense of
excitement filled him like electricity, today he would relinquish his soul to
the Demon in return for it bringing Zarra back to him alive.....
The demon perched motionless on the ceiling as Jelic entered. The parchment
in Jelic's gnarled hand caught it's attention. Dropping from the ceiling the
demon landed with castle shaking force and snatched the parchment from the
startled Jelic. Egtuazalrithre inspected it carefully, the parchment was in
fact the written pact it had been waiting for.
"Sign it!" Egtuazalrithre boomed as rotting breath and spittle washed over
Jelic. Jelic sneered at the demon, no teeth nor gums but only chipped bone of
his upper jaw. "I will sign it fiend!" Jelic managed to spit out before he
was overwhelmed with a fit of hacking. Jelic stretched out his incomplete,
withered arm as the beast shoved it into his claw-like, boney hand. The
parchment was stained and tattered as Jelic rubbed two of his three digits
together causing rancid flesh to peal away from the tip. Smearing the matter
that spilled forth, he signed his name to the pact as Egtuazalrithre did the
same. "It is done!" the fiend roared outstretching its four arms. "I will
bring you this feeble Drow priestess and after that I shall have your soul!"
It bellowed while vanishing with a thunderous boom.
Zarra slipped through the unknown passageways of the Underdark. Her movements
defined grace as she nimbly navigated the myriad of tunnels in search of the
party of dwarves that had been reported to be traveling towards the Drow city
Rilauven. Suddenly she stopped. Something was not right she thought as she
slowly dropped into a
defensive crouch with flail and wand in hand. A defining explosion was
followed by a charging mass of leathery, bat-like wings, needle-teeth and
talons. There was no time to react as Zarra was run over into the ground. The
creatures weight pinned her as it bit deeply into her shoulder. Four sets of
dagger-like talons tore away her robes and flesh in ribbons before she could
react. Pain shot though her shoulder and lines of fire burned her wounds.
Zarra's eyes flared crimson as primal ferocity took control of her. Twisting
her head to the side she bit a chunk from the creatures face as her one
adamantite limb closed on it's wrist crushing the bones. The demon hardly
noticed as its tail snaked underneath her and around her supple throat. Zarra
grabbed onto the fiends ribcage and dug her bladed fingers between the ribs.
Then closing her hand into a fist she tore away crushing ribs, tearing away
an ample amount of flesh and bone. She was about to reach into it's organs
when her head was jerked back by its tail. Her oxygen was cut off by the
strangling tail as it continued to savagely strip her flesh off. She slipped
the enchanted finger-blade under her own skin and severed the tail from
around her throat. Zarra hissed as she lunged with bladed fingers towards his
eyes trying to gouge them out. The beast caught her adamantite arm at the
wrist and pined it to the ground. Then it forced Zarra onto her chest
covering her arm with her body. A taloned hand grabbed the shock of white
hair and pulled her head back. Then a sledgehammer blow sent Zarra into
sudden unconsciousness.
She awoke in a cold dank place. The algae covered stone gave of a strong
scent of mildew. The stone chilled Zarra to her bones. Her eyes glowed a dull
red as she looked about her prison. There was no light but that is what she
preferred. Slowly she inspected herself and assessed the damage that had been
done. She could barely move her left arm, uncountable claw marks covered her,
a couple arteries had been severed, every inch of her body was bruised and
sore. With the exception of her left arm it was nothing she thought. She
began to heal herself but when she tried to chant the syllables necessary
there was only silence. First she thought that the demon had removed her
vocal cords
then she realized that the silence was of a magical nature. Slowly she stood,
pain shot though her. A wicked smile grew on her sculpted features as she
reveled in the pain with a silent growl. Swiftly she moved to the stone door
and crouched. Calling upon the powerful magic enlaced in her adimantite
appendage she slammed the palm of her hand into the stone door. The door
crumbled into small pieces as she had expected. Looking out the door she saw
two figures discernible by their body heat. One was human and the other the
beast that had brought her here. Moving though the doorway a rush of subtle
sound hit her. Immediately she began chanting as the two figures froze. An
alien and indescribable sound escaped Jelic's half mouth. Her turned to the
demon and stared wide eyed. Egtuazalrithre merely stood there unmoving
looking back at the disfigured necromancer. "Kill her!!!" he shrieked panic
flooded. The demons bellowing laughter was it's only reply as it warped and
faded from sight. Egtuazalrithre had done his service and
now was entitled to Jelic's soul, he was sure that this Drowess would deliver
it for him. Zarra released her spell, holding Jelic fast. Purposefully she
move methodically towards him, her eyes glowing blood red. "Why have you
brought me here rivvil?" Her words slow
and deadly. He did not answer and that is when she smelt it.... fear. Probing
his mind she discovered Jelic's plans while he stared horrified at her. She
walked over to him and peered into his eyes. Millimeters way from his face
she glared burning her features into his memory. Then slowly she slid behind
him dragging her hand lightly across his chest
and shoulder. Standing behind him Zarra whispered into his ear, her words
caused something inside him to snap. A scream like a thousand tormented souls
escaped his mouth. It was that sound that Zarra considered the sweetest
music. It was hard to cast as he continued to scream but she managed to
teleport herself and Jelic back to the deepest, most forbidden depth of House
Faen Tlabbar where she would make his previous torture seem like enrapturing
pleasure....
Malla Yathrin Zarra Yorn Faen Tlabbar
Malla Yathrin d'lil Arach-Tinilith
Quarthen a lil Ultrin Ilharess Shyntlara
Valsharen Dalharil d'lil Valsharess Nedylene
Jabbress d'Slakromstraken Wevrelltearcell
Ust Dalharil d'Faen Tlabbar
Ust Qu'ellar d'Rilauven
Lady In Mourning - Part II
(Submitted by: HG Sharna & HG Tarl)
A thundering crackle of lightning in the sodden sky above Twilight Hall
marked the arrival of an ominous, brooding storm. Heavy rain had already
begun to fall from the ashen sleet-laden clouds, releasing their burden upon
Tarl Cabot as he sprinted fervently across the flagstone courtyard of the
renown Harper complex. Arriving at a weathered, yet solid oaken door, he
brushed a layer of crusted ice pellets from his thick mane of reddish-brown
hair before pushing his way into the central chambers of the hall. Once
inside, he secured the heavy door behind him against the howling wind and
icy rain just as another bolt of lightning danced across the sky
transforming night into day.
"Ye Gads!" he snapped harshly, looking down at the dampened missive he
clutched in his left hand bearing the wax seal of the High Lady of Berdusk
herself, Cylyria Dragonbreast. "It must be a serious matter indeed for
M'lady to call forth a man out of his comfortable bed on such a night."
Then, without stopping to remove his rain drenched cloak, Tarl bound up the
long flight of circular stairs three at a time, praying to Tymora, Goddess
of Good Fortune, that the weather was not a harbinger of ill tidings to come.
Arriving short-winded outside the tower office of the famous High Herald,
the young Harper paused to regain his compose. When his breath returned, he
vowed - one more time - to curtail his nightly wenching and consumption of
meade in the taverns and fest halls of Berdusk. As he prepared to knock, a
familiar intonation beckoned him from within the chamber.
"Enter Tarl Cabot," came the refined husky voice of Cylyria, the Silent
Lady. "Ye are expected." Tarl opened the door and was greeted by the dark
visage of Khelben "Blackstaff" Arunsun as he comforted the seated, red-eyed
Cylyria, seated behind her imposing hard wood desk. Khelben, the Lord of
Waterdeep, was well known far beyond the walls of his southern Sword Coast
city for his unsmiling, ominous appearance, but on this day, his look would
have turned a troll to stone.
Tarl quickly crossed the sparse, but tastefully furnished chamber that was
heated by a large stone hearth in the center of the room providing the
occupants with both heat and a soft amber light. To the right of the
glowing fireplace, a regal tapestry was suspended from open cross beams in
the ceiling. The striking embroidery depicted the Harper signet, a crescent
moon and silver harp surrounded by stars within a circle. Directly beneath
the tapestry stood a small round table where the High Council of Heralds met
to discuss Harper activities within the realms.
Removing his cloak, Tarl hung it beside to hearth to dry and moved towards
an empty high-chair at the council table offered by Cylyria. Bowing first
to the High Lady, then to the archmage, Tarl eased his large and weary frame
into the proffered seat and began to speak. "M'lady, how may I be of service
to thee? Your missive requesting my presence at Twilight Hall, although
marked urgent, is unclear as to the purpose. What is amiss?"
"Tarl," Cylyria began politely, her voice lacking its usual warmth and
gaiety. "Forgive me for summoning thee on a such a tempestuous night. I
do not know quite how to tell you of this . . . tragic news." she stammered,
her voice trailing off as she began to weep. Khelben reached out to brace
the distraught High Herald and finished the sentence for her in one, cold
stroke. "HG Renik is dead!"
"What!" Tarl almost shouted, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach.
"How? Where? Why?" he stammered.
"We received word only this evening that Renik has fallen," Khelben replied,
"and much of the details are still unknown. All we are certain of is that he
fell in a Triboar death match with the evil Gammadrac, two days past."
Visibly shaken, Tarl placed his elbows on the edge of the table and slumped
forward, resting his head in his hands and covering his ashen face.
"We have lost a valued Harper and true friend this black day." Khelben
continued, moving to a dark, wooden liquor cabinet and removing a decanter
of Elverquist and three silver goblets. Returning to the table he poured
all three Harpers a large measure of the strong Elven wine. Tarl snatched
the goblet placed before him and swallowed the liquor in a single draught.
"We, Khelben and I," Cylyria declared, declining the goblet of wine from
Lord of Waterdeep, "would like for you to undertake a journey to Longsaddle.
The Harper contingent there is small and as one of Renik's closest friends,
will need your strength, courage and wisdom during these times of grief."
"Of course M'lady," Tarl nodded to Cylyria who sat motionless and managed
a frail smile while the steady river of tears that flowed slowly down her
face betrayed her true emotions. "I shall leave at first light."
"There is a memorial service," Khelben added, "and ye must be there within
the next ten days. Your local contacts at the Harper Hall in Longsaddle are
HG Quill, HG Shadow, HG Lhaeo, HG Flaire, and HG Sharna, Renik's beloved
Lady of the Silver Harp."
"Aye," Tarl uttered recalling the letters he had received from his childhood
friend divulging his love for the fair lady Sharna. He certainly seemed
very happy. Why then would he enter a death match with some obscure, run of
the mill evil? "I beg your leave then." he said to the Herald, "I shall not
waste another minute here in Berdusk."
His demeanor stern, Tarl pushed himself up from the chair and bowed anew to
Khelben and the Lady Cylyria. As he turned to take his leave, Cylyria stood
and kissed him lightly on his weathered cheek, whispering "Go with Tyr's
Blessings Tarl. Console the Lady Sharna, and give her this." Taking Tarl's
clenched fists in her small, delicate hands, she easily pried open his
fingers and placed a small silver locket in the center of his callus scarred
palm. "It may help her cope with the grief, that I too, have known."
Tucking the locket within his cloak, Tarl kissed Cylyria's outstretched hand
and left the somber Harpers to their mourning. His descent down the long
flight of stairs was much slower this time, the energy strangely dissipated
from his body. "How fitting," he thought to himself as he reached the
bottom and opened the oak door that led back into the flooded courtyard.
"This weather indeed matches me mood." he declared loudly stepping into the
incessant rain and howling wind, "and things could not possibly get any
worse."
In the sky above Twilight Hall, a tumultuous barrage of lightening was
discharged from the ever thickening layer of foreboding black clouds sending
reverberations that could be heard all the way to Neverwinter.
Return to Mirabar
(Submitted by: Nabu Tabu)
30th day of Ches in the year 1341, Dalereckoning
Tiny motes of white light flickered over the garden pathway. The
sparkling pinpricks broadened, expanded, and finally coalesced into the form
of a boy no more than 8 years old. The boy's facial expression and stance
indicated disorientation.
"Welcome, Nabu, my good lad!" I said, smiling and laying hands on his
shoulders. "I am Osiron. My brothers and I are glad you are here!"
The youth looked up at me with questioning, hazel-colored eyes. His
gaze indicated recognition of my priestly green robe and its yellow
crest--two hands with palms turned upward--a symbol of the god of knowledge.
Still, I must have appeared quite odd to him, with my pale, wrinkled skin and
remnants of silver hair. How unlike the boy's smooth, brown skin and pure,
white mane. Furthermore my simple robe contrasted sharply with the finery of
his purple and chartreuse garments.
"But, sir, where is here?" he asked in a youthful tenor.
Pleased by his inquisitiveness, I smiled and replied, "You are in
Neverwinter at the Temple of Oghma."
"Neverwinter? But how? I was with my mother at our home in
Mirabar...."
"Yes, she sent you here."
"Why?"
"For your safety, my boy. Now come, you will learn much!"
I led young Nabu Tabu inside the temple to my office chamber adjoining
the main altar. I sat behind my desk and motioned for the boy to sit facing
me. Settling in, Nabu looked about at the tomes and scrolls lining the walls
and asked, "Is this a library?"
I chuckled and answered, "No, it is the high priest's study...my
office."
The youth held my gaze for a moment and then spoke, "Honorable sir, why
was I sent here?"
Impressed by the boy's manners, I nodded. "Allow me to explain."
I told him about the grave danger facing the citizens of Mirabar, and
Nabu replied that he knew his parents were helping to defend the region from
enemies. At that moment, a young cleric, Hitote, entered and delivered a
scrolled message. After reading, I dismissed Hitote and said to Nabu, "This
is bad news for Mirabar and, I fear, for your parents."
The boy waited for me to continue. "Nabu, at this temple, our mission is
the pursuit of knowledge. However, sometimes knowledge brings pain. What
I'm about to tell you will be painful."
The lad's face showed he was prepared. "This message tells of a
mystical barrier that has been raised about Mirabar. No doubt, it is the
doing of your parents' foes."
"Then my parents...are dead?"
"We do not know that." I sighed, "Unfortunately, from now on, we will
know nothing of what transpires inside Mirabar."
"You must send me back!"
I shook my head. "I am sorry, Nabu, but I cannot. Your mother sent you
here by means of a mystical portal. Only she had the key to open it, and the
portal is now closed." The boy's eyes implored me. "Nabu, you want to help
your parents, I know that. But, at this time, you cannot."
Extending my arms toward him with palms upward, I continued, "Your
mother wanted you to learn our way. Now you must honor her, your father, and
all of Mirabar." Tears welled in Nabu's eyes, and he placed his hands in
mine.
I smiled. "You will be safe here. You will have purpose. And you will
learn much. Someday, Oghma willing, you may learn of a way to return home."
1 Ches, 1381 Dalereckoning
"Master Osiron! Edification and enlightenment to you!"
Startled, I looked up from my tome to see Nabu Tabu standing in the
doorway of my office, smiling broadly. It had been nearly a year since last
I had seen him.
"Nabu! Ho-ho! Seeing you raises an old man's spirits!" Nabu was a
robust figure, an adventurer in his prime, and clad in the finery of his
homeland with the symbol of Oghma over his heart. I rose and we greeted each
other, first by joining palms, then by hugging.
"Your deeds have pleased Lord Nasher and brought favor upon this
temple," I said.
Nabu smiled and remarked humbly, "The pursuit of knowledge is its own
reward." Then his expression darkened. "But now I pursue a personal goal,
and I've come to ask for your aid."
Nabu revealed that he had learned all he could at Neverwinter's training
halls, and Oghma, pleased by his study of the mystic arts, had once again
granted him a full complement of clerical spells. "I am ready to return
home," he said. "Please help me to succeed."
Smiling, I said, "I have waited for this day." Gesturing to a shelf on
the wall beside my desk, I explained, "Here is information collected to aid
you in your quest." During the next several hours, we pored over
manuscripts, runes, scrolls, and maps, all related to the legends and lore of
Mirabar.
When we finished, Nabu Tabu thanked me and took his leave. As I watched
him head out of Neverwinter to the east, I prayed that Oghma would grant Nabu
his heart's desire.
30 Ches, 1381 Dalereckoning
This day I received a letter from Nabu Tabu. He writes:
Most honored Master Osiron,
I completed the long, dangerous journey from Neverwinter to the mystic
barrier surrounding Mirabar. True to our maps, the barrier lies along the
northern border of the Longsaddle region, far east of Neverwinter. At the
end of a winding, verdant path, there is a gate with a sign saying "To
Mirabar". However, as you warned, the gate door cannot be opened nor
circumvented by any physical means. Believe me, I tried! Whatever magic
bars the entryway is powerful indeed.
Knowing that a spell cast by one sorcerer may be undone by another, I
cast Dispel Magic and Knock spells to sunder the mystic barrier.
Disappointingly, my spells had no apparent effect. But, suspecting that the
barrier may be a double or triple lock, I cast two more Knock spells from
scrolls I'd collected for just this purpose. Sadly, the barrier remained
intact, impervious as ever. Whoever created the rift surrounding my homeland
is a far mightier mage than I.
Seeing my quest end in failure, I dropped to my knees and fell into
meditation and prayer. At length, I sensed Oghma's will. At the foot of the
gate that bars me from my homeland, I rededicated my life to the pursuit of
knowledge and the service of good. Perhaps, by helping others, I will earn
Oghma's favor and, someday, learn of a means to return to Mirabar.
Edification and enlightenment to you, Master Osiron. Your humble
servant,
Nabu Tabu
I looked up from Nabu's letter and gazed out of my window to the setting
sun. Conflicting emotions washed over me: sorrow for the dashed hopes of an
8-year old boy; pride at the man he'd become; and hope that our patron god
would someday reward Nabu for his faithfulness.
However, at that moment, I sensed Oghma's presence as strongly as ever I
had before. The god of knowledge spoke to me of the barred gate to Mirabar.
Oghma said, "To be opened only by those from beyond."
Moerby & the Mubbles
(Submitted by: YKSS)
Moerby's feet dragged as he walked past the Windycliff's inn. He was on his
way home to Neverwinter from Port Llast at nearly four in the morning. He
stopped. He decided to rest in the inn for tonight and continue tommorow
morning. He dutifully tossed five gold coins to the innkeeper and went
inside. He could hear a party going on in the next room, so he laid down his
pack by the door and prepared to rest.
Crash!! something rattled the wall next to him. "Young dwarves," the
innkeeper explained. "Never been above ground before. They're seeking their
fortune. Probably going to go after a dragon and get themselves killed."
His eyes twinkled.
Moerby was not amused. He had been on the run for the past few weeks since
he had sent a sleeping imp as a wedding present to the daughter of Kurth. He
had assumed that when the imp was discovered the bride would scream and it
would be killed instantly by the attendees, but instead the couple thought
that some nercromancer had given him the imp as a slave. The imp was not
pleased to be captured by Moerby, nor was he pleased to find himself a slave.
Unfortunatly, the imp knew Moerby's identity, and had done
something to send the armies of Luskan after him. What the imp told the
captains of Luskan he did not know, but the chaotic human had had his plans
laid back as he had been hiding out for the last few weeks. Normally Moerby
would have joined the dwarves and institue more chaos by trying to stir up a
fight or perhaps slipping something in the drinks or something else, he was
very resourceful. Not tonight.
He entered the room. The dwarves had been consumimg mead. Moer wondered
just how much of the mead they consumed compared with what had been spilled
on the floor, the walls, the ceiling,...THE CEILING? how had they managed to
do that?
"Hail there!" cried Moerby. "In what brave adventurers' presence am I?"
"We are the Mubble clan!" declared one dwarf. "We are the brave adventures
from Mubble Mountain to seek our fortune!"
There were drunken cheers from the dwarves. "Yes, you must be brave to come
to Windycliffs," Moerby continued, "now that the vampire is loose."
"Vampire??!! There is a vampire around here?" "Let us at 'im" "Let's get 'im"
"to save the [hic] citizens of Windcliff!" "Onward Mubbles!"
The dwarves rushed to their feet. The sudden action was too much for two of
them, and they passed out. Another one fell under the feet of his comrades
as they rushed out of the room. The remaing fourteen dwarves charged out of
the inn and ran full speed into a passing porters bearing statues to the
temples of neverwinter for resurection. They scattered about running every
which way. Moerby chuckled. The townspeople probably thought that an orc
horde had come down on them. He turned in.
He was wakened by shouts of a human and the drunken dwarves. He grumbled to
himself and set out to find the cause of this latest interuption to his rest.
He found the dwarf horde at the main intersection of town. The dwarves were
holding the mayor of Windycliffs at bay with their axes and hammers (which
weren't being held too steadily). Some of the dwarves also carried torches,
which weren't being held too steadily either. No doubt the tropical climate
of Windycliffs had kept it from being ablaze this moment.
"What is going on here?" demanded Moerby of the dwaves.
"See here!" one of the dwarves cried. "Gaze on the triumph of the Mubbles!
We have captured the vampire!!" Cheers erupted from the assembled dwarves.
"If I may ask, brave one, how do you know that this is a vampire?" asked
Moer.
"Well, we heard this noise," (`how, over the pandamonium you were making
yourselves?' thought Moer) "It sounded like flapping, and when we looked,
this suspicious looking fellow was here."
The dwarves cheered again. "Let's be off with his head!" cried one. "Aye
aye!" cried the rest. The dwarf who had spoken advanced on the mayor, his
axe swingingmeanacingly.
Moerby thought "If I get the mayor out of this, perhaps he will reward me."
"Wait!" he called to the dwarves. "You can't kill a vampire by chopping off
it's head. It is an undead creature, and if you chop off it's head it will
only come back again."
The dwarves stopped. "Well what be you thinking we do with him?" one
demanded.
Moerby smiled. "The only way to kill a vampire is to drive a stake of ash
wood through it's heart. You must go find an ash tree to kill the vampire."
The dwarves stood looking at each other. Finally one pulled out a scroll and
studied it. After a while, he spoke. "According to Volo's Guide to All
Creatures and Plants of Toril, a vampire can only be slain by driving an ash
wood stake through it's heart, or by keeping it out in the light of the sun
which will cause it to turn to dust. However, it is not known for certain if
the sun meathod destroys the vampire or allows it to rise again, so the
prefered method is driving a stake through it's heart." He rolled the scroll
back for several quiet minutes, then continued: "The ash tree looks like
this." He showed his comrades an
illustration. "Notice what it's leaves look like. If we find a tree with
leaves like this, we have found an ash tree."
The dwarves scattered every which way to find a tree with leaves like the
picture. Even the ones holding the mayor were caught in the excitement.
"Good luck," thought Moerby. Where would the dwarves ever find an ash tree,
especially in the dark? He approached the mayor. Before he could open his
mouth the mayor spoke. "I know you," he said. "You're the one who locked the
town hall during the sewing and knitting competition last year and set rats
loose. Get out of my sight before I have you thrown in the dungeon."
Just then a cry was heard "Your days at at an end, vampire! Out of the
darkness charged a dwarf, holding a freshly chopped tree trunk like a
battering ram. Too late Moerby remembered that dwarves could see in the
dark. Moerby quickly pulled a wand from his belt and aimed it at the dwarf.
The dwarf was almost to the mayor when the levitation spell struck. The
dwarf sailed into the air with a startled cry. Curses came from every which
direction as the dwarf was thrown about by the winds the gave the town it's
name.
"What happened?" one of the other dwarves said in awe.
"The real vampire carried your friend away," explained Moerby. "No doubt to
bring him back to it's lair to kill him."
"Don't worry Hal, we'll save you!" shouted a dwarf. The rest joined in, and
the whole clan charged the way they thought their comrade's cries were going.
"Get out of my sight you!" shouted the mayor. "And never come back!"
"You don't seem very grateful," remarked Moerby, trying to sound injured.
"And don't be pretending that this was none of your doing either rouge. Get
away Isay!"
Sighing, Moerby heaved his pack on his shoulders and walked off.
*****************
The imp was growing impatient. He had developed a plan for getting back to
his home in the nether planes, but the plan was long in developing. Tonight
it seemed it was finally coming to an end. He had convinced the stupid
son-in-law of Kurth to invade Windycliffs, where he knew that cursed Moerby
was. He was midly concerned that by this time Moerby had left Windycliffs
and would not be caught in the invasion, but that didn't matter much.
Revenge on Moerby was secondary. The primary part of his plan was to get the
stupid son-in-law of Kurth to open the interplanar gate to the imp's home.
He had told the
gullible human it was for renforcements from the nether planes to aid in the
invasion. In reality the imp was planning on dissappearing into it the
moment it was opened. There was a lound boom as Hal and his stake/battering
ram fell through the top deck and the deck below that into the room where the
imp was.
Then Hal plowed into him, driving him through the wall. The wall, which was
unfortunatly the hull. A giant crack ran nearly stern to step from the hole
Hal had created. Then the hull split, the water rushed in, and the ship
tilted over over the imp, whose wings had been all but shredded on his
passage through the hull, condeming him to drowning.
The Coming Storm
(Submitted by: FrankSense)
Not to long ago in the days of the Seven Moons I met with a young and
inspiring lad. I had not paid particular attention to his appearance on the
road ahead or which direction he came from. It seemed he had been there for
some while before I took notice. His fair hair was well groomed for someone
on the road and his cloths were remarkably clean. I could not help but
wonder why he had drifted to the side of the road as we approached the
distant gate to Neverwinter. The group of holy men we had slowly been
catching up to paid no heed to two more travelers joining their winding
caravan. They were apparently headed for the safety and security of the city
walls as they moseyed through the territory seeking a night's respite under
the protective watch of the city guards. After all, there are thieves about.
Meanwhile two veteran soldiers assigned the nights duty at the gate talk
amongst themselves. "Great! A group of holy men is just what we need to liven
up our day," griped the guard known as Draign as he clenched his teeth in
obvious perturbation.
"Just calm down," said Grimthr, his partner-in-arms. "A group like that?
They're on some sort of pilgrimage. You know there has been an increase of
thieves and pickpockets in this area, and...", lowering his voice, "..who
knows what else, given our orders for extra security from the Lord Nasher!"
"Bah! You're making more of this than you need. Dream on! It's only one
more thing for them to get on our backs about."
"I wouldn't call a special meeting of the College of War Wizards nothing!
Sounds like serious business to me. Why else would he have ordered the city
closed to all non-registered magic users? I'll bet it has something to do
with the unseen menace that is lurking in some of our neighboring districts.
You've heard the rumors."
"Ahem! Business," he nods to his partner as the first of several travelers
approaches. Grimthr straightens his somewhat stiff frame and approaches the
oncoming arrivals. "Stop in the name of Lord Nasher," he bellows in his best
bass voice of authority. "Who goes there?"
The lone young traveler approaches the gate, seemingly unthreatened by the
harsh tones of the veteran of the watch. "It is only I, Pip, son of John
Freeman, of Shimmervale. I've come to Neverwinter to offer my services in
ridding the land of the terrible evil that has beset it. Rumor has it that
your citizenry is gathering force to deal with it," he concluded with an
hopeful and optimistic air in his voice.
Then Draign, having been observing the thin, clean clan lad's actions,
frowned,moved forward and stepped in. "Grimthr, here, reminded me that there
are some thieves and pickpockets in the neighborhood." He pauses, looks at
Grimthr, and then back to Pip. "Could be you are trying to pass yourself
off as a traveler!"
"Well, good sir," gulped Pip, a bit shaken, trying to regain some control and
avoid a potential night in the dungeon for vagrancy or some other charge, "If
I should happen to see any, I will be sure to let you know, civic duty and
all. And if you'll kindly allow me to be on my way, I'll put in . . ."
The two guards closed in on the smaller newcomer to the gate, gently forcing
him backward until his back was against the massive wall with no place else
to go, the cold surface of the stone chilling Pip to the bone through his
simple farmer's garb. Grimthr continued saying, "Funny, seems I recall a
pair of pickpockets from some vale, I think Shimmervale. You any kin to
them, punk?"
"You must be mistaken!" insisted Pip, not really answering the question and
disliking every moment of the encounter more and more. "I'm just the son of
a farmer, and . .."
"Do you know what we do to suspected pickpockets in Neverwinter?" asked
Grimthr, balling his gauntleted clad hand into a fist that he held tauntingly
close to the young traveler's nose. "Do you know what we do?", he repeated.
"Oh, Good! A quaint local custom for the amusement of guests?", I
interjected in a menacing tone. My well practiced eyes gazed at both of the
weathered guards and my words penetrated smoothly yet forcibly deep into
their minds, "Why don't you attend to the oncoming holy men who would like to
enter this fair city."
Then at that moment, not completely sure why, the two guards seemingly forget
about Pip and turn towards the approaching group of holy men. "That must be
the holy men. I'd better go meet them and set things in order for their
arrival", Grimthr said, heading towards the crowd. He turned back just a
moment to say, "It was a real pleasure meeting you, master Pip. Enjoy your
stay in the city."
"Thank you, good sir. I'll be sure to pass word that the guards on this
watch are always
courteous and well mannered as well as diligent," I said smiling towards Pip
who was regaining his color.
Looking at me as if seeing me for the first time, Pip finally got words past
his tongue, "So then, I'm free to enter the city?"
"Yes," I replied, "while the guard's attention is diverted. Let's move."
The youth took a deep breath, regained his confidence, and followed me
through the entrance of the city. We could still overhear the taller guard
doing his duty, barking, "Now see here, pilgrim, hold on and wait your turn,
or you'll . . ." as we entered the city proper and turned away from the gate.
Some Helpful Hints For Weary Adventurers
(Submitted by: Conskill)
Some Helpful Hints For Weary Adventures (SHHWA's)
One of the most helpful tips is travel in a group. I know some egotistcal
warriors might think that is unnessascrey waste of exp/the loot. (remeber all
"stuff" after a battle is spilt 50/50 25/25/25/25, 331/3 / 331/3
/331/3...whatever), but think of it this way, Its better to get half of the
exp, gold, ect, ect. Then none at all.
Also (This is not really a game hint...think of it as public relations) stay
IC!!! (in char) Also keep comments, fights, bad talk, and the rest IC unless
maked like this "OOC stop fallowing me, I mean it! this is a PVP area!"
Upgrade...this might sound stupid but some people don't get it...they see it
this way "why should I give up my +2 leather armor for plate armor?!" (I'm
pertending that this guy is a newbie fighter)...becasue even without the +2,
the plate armor is better Morle of the story: just becasue it have a number
at the end does not mean it's better then other equitment
Last but not lest, when NW guys offer a quest...try to complete it...not only
is it fun but those extra hours/perals don't hurt
Well if I have nothing better to do (and the paper publishes this artical)
I'll be back with some more SHHWAs
Conskill (wizard for hire)
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