Month: March 2019

When I was a child, my perspective of the world was greatly influenced by the songs my father, Fyn’Loer, sung to me: romanticized tales of glory and valor, from the many adventures he had with the great elven warrior, Tar’ron Balmaer. His songs brought my father fame and adoration in our city of Shar’Norl. It is likely you will still hear “Flight of the Owl-Bear” or “To Be Holding the Eyes of the Beholder” being sung in taverns throughout the city to this day. As a child, I would listen to his songs and imagine being at his side, as he and Tar’ron fought off demons or corrupt sorcerers that sought to prey on the innocent and defenseless.
My mother fell gravely ill when I was three years old, and passed away soon after – leaving my father to care for me on his own. He decided to give up life as a bard and opened a shop where he made and sold musical instruments of all sorts. He was skilled as a craftsman, and through his studies he was able to imbue his instruments with magical enchantments that granted abilities far beyond creating melodies.
Being well renowned, as he was, it wasn’t long before musicians and bards from every corner of Alduras came asking him to craft their instruments. After a time, he began to receive so many requests that he would only craft instruments for those who could pay top coin – unless it was a musician he truly admired.
Years later, on a trip with my father to deliver an enchanted lute to a nobleman in Bran’Dellin, our wagon was set upon by bandits as we left the city limits of Shar’ Norl. As they approached the wagon, I can remember my father slowly raising his hands – speaking in a calm and steady voice. “We don’t want any trouble boys. Me an’ my son are just making a delivery. There isn’t much of value on the wagon, but you’re welcome to what we got.” As he gestured to the lute to show what he had to offer. A nervous sniper hiding in a tree loosed an arrow – piercing my father’s chest. He looked down to where the arrow hit, and almost seemed confused as he saw the blood soaking through his tunic. His eyes turned back towards me and he opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words only a faint wheeze came out. The look in his eyes turned from confusion to a blank stare. His body slumped forward and rolled off the side of the wagon to the ground. One of the bandits on the ground turned and shouted up to the trees, “What in blazes are you doing, Mick?! He was just going to show us what he’s got to give!”
“Sorry! I thought he was grabbing for a crossbow!”
As they squabbled I saw what could be my only chance for escape. I grabbed the lute and jumped from the wagon; and ran as fast as I could.
One shouted, ”Get back here you little rat!” – But none gave chase.
After that day, my childhood was spent on the streets begging, stealing, and grifting to survive. I quickly discovered that the world is much more complicated than my father’s songs had lead me to believe – with no real heroes or villains who can clearly be seen to be good or evil. In certain circumstances, anyone can be driven to do bad things out of desperation, or do good things when they possess the means to do so.
I practiced day and night at playing the enchanted lute – which was now my only real possession, save ragged clothes on my back. I would play the songs my father had written on the streets for coppers and scraps of food. After a time tavern owners and inn keeps began to invite me to play at their establishments. For the next few years, this was how I got by.
One night an old friend of my father’s, Ter’Lyn Faerwick, was at a tavern where I was playing. He recognized me and offered to take me into his home. After years on the street, I finally had a place that I could call home – yet it didn’t feel like home. I was grateful to Ter’Lyn, but a large part of me felt resentment that he wasn’t my father – yet reminded me so much of him. Over time, memories of my father’s face faded and became smeared together with the face of this other person – this stranger – who tried so hard to be a father to me in spite of my resistance and misplaced contempt.
Ter’Lyn, like my father, was an accomplished bard and craftsman – and he took me on as an apprentice to teach me the finer points of lore and song. He taught me how to invoke emotion in a crowd, how to paint vivid pictures from words and melody – and how to control the magic imbued in my lute. Thanks to Ter’Lyn, I was soon one of the most sought after performers in my little corner of Shar’Norl – and for a time it was bliss.
I soon found it wasn’t enough, though. Most of the songs I sang were not my own. And those that I had written were merely imagined exploits that never actually occurred, or banal re-tellings of tales known by everyone far and wide. I decided to set out in search of adventures of my own to become a great bard, like my father.
I left the gates of Shar’Norl, travelling east, not knowing where the road would lead me – and that excitement felt better than anything I had ever experienced. The exhilaration I felt upon leaving Shar’Norl did not last for long, though. Soon after I crossed the border into Gracia the weather turned, and the next week of travel brought horrendous rains and wind – which soaked through the tarp on my wagon, and ruined a good portion of the provisions I had brought. My spirits weren’t dampened, however. I had spent years in the gutters and was used to the feeling of being cold and wet -and what good adventure doesn’t have trials and hardships? I turned towards the north after passing through the foothills of the Wyrmshire Mountains, in an effort to avoid further onslaught from the storms of central Gracia’s rainy season. There was no escaping the storms, though, so I decided to stop to wait it out when I came upon an inn several miles outside of Riverdale.
The storms continued without respite day and night. The roof of the inn leaked constantly, and the winds blew through the walls as if they weren’t there. The conditions were easy to endure next to the constant boredom, though. There were no other guests in the inn and the only people to talk to were the inn keeper and his brother – both of whom I quickly found out were racist. The only reason they let me stay in the first place was because they liked coin just a little more than they hated elves. After two and a half weeks, the rain finally let up and I was once again on my way – heading north, past Riverdale.
I continued on for days, traveling through rolling countryside and thick forests – sleeping beneath the stars at night. I passed by Placid Lake – which was the setting of one of my father’s songs, “Turbulence Swirling Beneath the Placid Lake”. It was peaceful, but something seemed unsettling about it. Suddenly, there was a loud popping sound, and a wheel on my wagon broke. I quickly found that this was no accident, when 4 bandits rushed the wagon from behind the bushes lining both sides of the road. I was instantly transported back to the day my father’s wagon was ambushed and lost control – going into a blind rage. I looked at them and saw the bandits who had killed my father. It felt as though the gods were trying to mock me – making me relive the single event that had shaped and scarred me more than anything else ever had. I grabbed the dagger on the seat next to me and lunged, stabbing one of the bandits in the throat. I turned and slashed another bandit across the gut, but was quickly tackled by the other two – who both stabbed me in the back once I was on the ground. One knife pierced into a lung, the other through muscle in the lower back. They jumped onto the wagon and fled, leaving me for dead. With them went all of my possessions, save the bloodstained clothes on my back. As I lay there, struggling to breathe, I looked over to see the bandit I had stabbed in the throat had also been left behind. He was gurgling blood, struggling to draw breath. I could see the fear and regret in his eyes – and soon after, the realization that this was his last moment on this plane. He looked back at me and coughed out his last two words: “I’m sorry.”
I desperately tried to get to my feet, but the more I struggled the harder it was to breathe – so I tried to crawl. The world around me began to blur and spin, changing colors from red to black. I collapsed on the ground and lost consciousness.
I do not know what happened to me after that. I have a vague memory of seeing a very small woman and a tall man with a grey beard – and hearing wisps of music, but it may have been a dream. When I awoke, I was in an alley lying on a pile of straw, next to a sleeping dog. I asked a woman passing by the alley where I was. She looked at me incredulously, “Well, I’d guess you must have just been at the church last night by the looks of you.”
This just confused me more. “Church?”
Her disbelief seemed to turn to disgust “How much did you dream last night anyway? You seriously don’t know where you are?” I shook my head.
“The Dregs…Kell Na’Dar?”
“How did I get here?”
Her annoyance was palpable. “ How the fuck should I know? You look like you’ve been on a bender for weeks. You know, you lot really make me sick. You don’t do shit, but lay about rotting your mind – then you expect the rest of us to come and help you!”
She spit in my direction and shuffled away muttering.
I just laid there in pain, hungry, and disoriented -wondering what to do next.

As the team returns from the Hammersong Smithy, they return the pendant to N’alen from Avar. N’alen accepted the pendant, saying that their debt was paid, and proceeded to move in next door, forcefully. The team then prepared for a nice day or rest and relaxation, but life has a way of intervening. The team was visited by not one, but three callers that day in rapid succession.

Let’s start at the top, shall we?
1. There was a note attached to the door frame with a bat shaped throwing knife with the message, “Midnight, Old Town Market” from, who we can only assume, the man who called himself ‘The Night.’
2. Milo from the Saints told us that Garver was holding a meeting at the Abbey about a series of mysterious deaths around 8 pm.
3. A drunk asshole of a courier dressed in livery vomited in the apartment while telling the team that Avar requested their presence head of the time previously discussed at the Bearded Wench, but only an hour after the meeting with Garver.

After checking in Garver ahead of the meeting, Ash’rahm learned that the pair of halflings whom are generally with Tall John were found overdosed on a drug called “The Dream.” He encouraged the team to be at the meeting despite the times being very close to other engagements the crew had on their schedule.

Taking all of that into consideration, the team went on a shopping trip disguised as recon. While Geddon and Ash’rahm waited outside the Old Church, Maliston and Fynius went inside to see what delights were available. The clergy were selling a drug called “The Dream” that seemed very similar to the substance that Olan had made, if not more potent. The two grabbed a sample to study and investigated those at the Old Church who were partaking. When the team returned to their room they analyzed the samples and realized that they were created by some magical means.

The meeting at the Abbey was an official declaration of War against the Clergy. They have been dealing drugs on the turf of the Saints and several people have ended up dead because of it. The Clergy were also allied with the Slum Snakes and the Dead Eyed Crows, so the assembled group of Saints was reminded to not travel alone and to be on their guard. Maliston approached Garver after the meeting and relayed the information they had already gained to him and told him of his contact with Olan. He requested papers to get to the North Commons in order to look for Olan and find out any more information. Garver agreed and ordered the team, who was new enough to be not be noticed, to investigate as much as they could.

After the meeting at the Abbey, the team rushed to the Bearded Wench in order to meet with Avar. He informs those assembled that the job had been moved forward and was tonight. There was a delivery of magical cargo that would be delivered by the college to a ship named “Sweet Mary May” which was scheduled to head out to Bok’Tor at the first light of the next day. The team was told to retrieve a pendant with a blue crystal with the symbol of an eye for Avar and whatever was left would be sold off and the team would receive 30% of the profits. Avar, in his infinite generosity also said that the team would be allowed to keep 2 items of their choice. Avar gave the team two scrolls in order to aid them in their task. One, a scroll of invisibility, the other a scroll of dispel in order to open the crate, which would be magically sealed. He let them know that they had until morning tea the next day to get the items to him at the Smithy.

The team took their leave and proceeded to the docks in order to do recon. They learned the the ship had room for the team if they wished to book passage, but Ash’rahm figured that trying to stealing several items from a ship filled with guards and passengers would be much more difficult. He suggested to the team that trying to intercept the college’s vessel would be a much simpler bet, and if they deemed the college’s vessel to be too well guarded, they would try the other plan.

The crew manned their ragtag vessel and headed out onto the Kell. After a bit, they saw the vessel from the college, which was helmed by an older student, two younger ones, and a set of burly rowers. Ash’rahm had his doubts, but the team urged forward. The burly half-orc rowed with all of his might in order to catch up with the boat while Fynius and Maliston slung spells at the unsuspecting mages. While the Bard’s sleep spells only knocked out the mage in the back, the others retaliated in turn by sending a fireball at their boat. Maliston’s fog spell bought the team enough cover to try and board the vessel. While trying to protect the smaller members of his party, Ash’rahm fell at the hands of one of the boatmen after felling the other. That same boatman ended the life of Fynius shortly after. Maliston and Geddon finished off the rest and tried to abscond with as much of the gear as possible and sinking the college’s ship in the Kell with their friend’s bodies after saying their goodbyes.

Once they returned to the apartment, they remembered that N’alen seemed to be a fallen priest of some sort, so they begged him to try and save their friends. N’alen warned them that there would be a terrible price but the team agreed. N’alen requested items that were important to both Ash’rahm and Fynius and started the bizarre ritual. Ash’rahm’s soul was ripped from the veil and placed into the body of a male Drow, while Fynius found himself in the body of a male half-orc. N’alen then branded both of them and bound them to his dark lady, Azerot. He told them to get some sleep as it would be the last restful sleep that they would ever have again and to await further instructions. He told them they would have a busy next few days and that he had guests coming soon.

To be continued…