Cailyn Drae
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Most Recent Posts
Undulations of power coursed through the Undercity, remnants of the energy that pulsated violently just several months ago still ripe for understanding, harnessing, collecting. It was difficult to ascertain how to control each strand, but nevertheless, the slow, methodical extraction of what lay beneath the recovering city would absolutely be worth the trouble. He would need to delve deeper into the Undercity, however, which would prove to be drastically difficult considering the amount of guards that the Grand Duke had posted at every entrance, grate and doorway.
Although...
He knew of the trouble that the Grand Duke faced. There were others who could sense the power he did, yet their purpose for harnessing it were malevolent, twisted. He had to find a way to thwart this new collective, one that could threaten the very fabric of a city trying to rebuild once again. He would answer the call put out by the Duke. Indeed, he would put a stop to whatever threat was lurking in the shadows and ensure that this mass of energy, of sheer cosmic force, would be utilized only for the stability of the Weave.
A broad shouldered frame seated in the northwest corner of the Blushing Mermaid rocked back against the seat it was in, eyes snapping open, breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes narrowed, breathing returning back to normal as onlookers expressed a gamut of reactions from apathy to chortling at what they supposed to be a staggering drunk choking on his fourth pint. There wasn't much that the frame could say to thwart their opinion: he sat at a round table with four other chairs surrounding it, all empty, seven tankards drained of any liquid that had once been in them and his sense of time was slightly...distorted to say the least.
"Never could snap back to it." The frame mumbled, reaching into the pocket of his black and grey trousers to find his time dial, a circular object slightly bigger than a gold coin powered by just one of his patron's many powers marked with various lines to indicate what time of day the user was currently experiencing, indicating it was mid-day. He had sat down, what, maybe soon after the sun was rising? A chuckle, remembering his purpose for being in this hole in the first place. A missive had been posted at the Basilisk gate, stamped by the Duke himself, asking for assistance in rooting out a major threat to Baldur's Gate and any of those who were willing and able to convene in The Blushing Mermaid. He had indeed met with a cohort of about six, including one Flaming Fist Commander named Lark, who informed the group of what the Fists believed to be worshippers of the very Illithids who sought to enslave the Coast. The worshippers had formed into two major groups, The Harbingers and The Conquerors, both of which were attempting to recruit followers with promises of a life free from the confines of a dying society as well as wealth, the latter of course being much more of a draw. Lark noted several skirmishes between the two groups in the Lower City and on the fringes of the Undercity, hence the heavier security in both areas. Those who had answered the Duke's call (them) were to, by any means necessary, find out more about these groups, their motivation for worshipping the Illithids and their source of funding and/or resources. Notably, Lark omitted a great amount of detail, such as how the Fists knew about the Illithid worshippers in the first place, what intelligence they had already gathered and whether or not the cohort would receive any kind of official backing from the Fists. Of course, the reward was enough for all in the cohort to accept the missive's directive without question (5000 gold was enough to fund an entirely new life, which, based on the appearance of his fellow adventurers, could use).
When the meeting ended, he had decided to descend into meditation as a way to do his own investigative intelligence, which apparently had led to several hours passing. It would be high time for him to leave, except for something...no, someone's presence was causing him to pause...
Ah.
From his table, he spotted a lithe figure come to the counter, her eyes visibly aflame from where he sat. Her stance was relaxed, yet coiled, tight, ready to shed blood at a moment's notice. Was this the one who posted the note? Or another wanderer that would imbibe, sit menacingly for a few minutes and then leave? The energy that her presence cast was unmistakably ominous, yet alluring, as if she simultaneously invited one's doom with all the pleasures of the realms. In other words, he found her captivatingly dangerous, a label he had come to understand to mean that there was something of import happening or about to happen. Her presence here was no accident, but how to discern if she was here on the same missive as him? A simple test: the classic "a drink is on me if you're willing to sit at my table".
After a server was notified and brought a glass of Debella's Vintage over to the lithe form, the frame waved, a half-smile crossing his features. Let's see if she would bite.
Although...
He knew of the trouble that the Grand Duke faced. There were others who could sense the power he did, yet their purpose for harnessing it were malevolent, twisted. He had to find a way to thwart this new collective, one that could threaten the very fabric of a city trying to rebuild once again. He would answer the call put out by the Duke. Indeed, he would put a stop to whatever threat was lurking in the shadows and ensure that this mass of energy, of sheer cosmic force, would be utilized only for the stability of the Weave.
A broad shouldered frame seated in the northwest corner of the Blushing Mermaid rocked back against the seat it was in, eyes snapping open, breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes narrowed, breathing returning back to normal as onlookers expressed a gamut of reactions from apathy to chortling at what they supposed to be a staggering drunk choking on his fourth pint. There wasn't much that the frame could say to thwart their opinion: he sat at a round table with four other chairs surrounding it, all empty, seven tankards drained of any liquid that had once been in them and his sense of time was slightly...distorted to say the least.
"Never could snap back to it." The frame mumbled, reaching into the pocket of his black and grey trousers to find his time dial, a circular object slightly bigger than a gold coin powered by just one of his patron's many powers marked with various lines to indicate what time of day the user was currently experiencing, indicating it was mid-day. He had sat down, what, maybe soon after the sun was rising? A chuckle, remembering his purpose for being in this hole in the first place. A missive had been posted at the Basilisk gate, stamped by the Duke himself, asking for assistance in rooting out a major threat to Baldur's Gate and any of those who were willing and able to convene in The Blushing Mermaid. He had indeed met with a cohort of about six, including one Flaming Fist Commander named Lark, who informed the group of what the Fists believed to be worshippers of the very Illithids who sought to enslave the Coast. The worshippers had formed into two major groups, The Harbingers and The Conquerors, both of which were attempting to recruit followers with promises of a life free from the confines of a dying society as well as wealth, the latter of course being much more of a draw. Lark noted several skirmishes between the two groups in the Lower City and on the fringes of the Undercity, hence the heavier security in both areas. Those who had answered the Duke's call (them) were to, by any means necessary, find out more about these groups, their motivation for worshipping the Illithids and their source of funding and/or resources. Notably, Lark omitted a great amount of detail, such as how the Fists knew about the Illithid worshippers in the first place, what intelligence they had already gathered and whether or not the cohort would receive any kind of official backing from the Fists. Of course, the reward was enough for all in the cohort to accept the missive's directive without question (5000 gold was enough to fund an entirely new life, which, based on the appearance of his fellow adventurers, could use).
When the meeting ended, he had decided to descend into meditation as a way to do his own investigative intelligence, which apparently had led to several hours passing. It would be high time for him to leave, except for something...no, someone's presence was causing him to pause...
Ah.
From his table, he spotted a lithe figure come to the counter, her eyes visibly aflame from where he sat. Her stance was relaxed, yet coiled, tight, ready to shed blood at a moment's notice. Was this the one who posted the note? Or another wanderer that would imbibe, sit menacingly for a few minutes and then leave? The energy that her presence cast was unmistakably ominous, yet alluring, as if she simultaneously invited one's doom with all the pleasures of the realms. In other words, he found her captivatingly dangerous, a label he had come to understand to mean that there was something of import happening or about to happen. Her presence here was no accident, but how to discern if she was here on the same missive as him? A simple test: the classic "a drink is on me if you're willing to sit at my table".
After a server was notified and brought a glass of Debella's Vintage over to the lithe form, the frame waved, a half-smile crossing his features. Let's see if she would bite.
While the encounter between Shadowheart and Sef had been playing out, Nuvyen sat crosslegged at the front door, eyes half-closed in a meditative state that could be entered by any trained in any of the Monk schools. This state of consciousness allowed for the Monk meditating to stretch the native Ki within them outward, to feel the various tendrils of energy that all creatures and objects emanated and detect changes in the normal resonance of one's environment as well as enhance their senses; in other words, a Monks meditation was an excellent threat detector.
Nuvyen felt a spike in energy coming from within the house, accompanying footfalls barreling towards their home in orderly, swift motion. His eyes snapped open, rising to his feet, fists clenched, feet firmly planted on the earth beneath. Sef materialized not too far out in front and was indeed trying to escape when Shadowheart ensnared him with a Command, the "priest's" eyes darting helplessly as he marched towards the front of the house.
"And doing a poor job of it, it seems!" A smirk came and went as he moved forward past Sef to address the now audible footfalls, four forms shimmering into view under the pale rays of moonlight that cast both a menacing and soft glow on the armored attackers. Two Tieflings, a dwarf and a human, all of whom wore the trademark armor of a Sharran assassin, their weapons of choice glimmering in bloodlust.
"Our Lady demands that you and the betrayer see the justice you escaped." One of the Tieflings hissed, the party drawing closer to Nuvyen.
"Is that what Shar calls our desire to not see the entire world enveloped in brutal, cold darkness?" A snort, hands coming closer to his face in a defensive position.
"Your mistress surely knows she sent you all on a fool's errand. This won't end well for any of you." The dwarf let out a cry of battle, charging forward first, blade outstretched above his head before attempting a downward cleave at the half-elf, Nuvyen darting to the right as the blade crashed into the ground, using the moment to deliver a powerful elbow to the dwarf's right cheek, followed by an open palm strike to the neck. The dwarf gasped, crumpling to the earth just in time for Nuvyen to feel a dagger whistle a few millimeters past his ear, the Tiefling who had spoken sprinting towards his position with another dagger, this one visibly dripping what Nuvyen assumed to be poison. The other Tiefling and human were heading towards the front door, prompting Nuvyen to shout aloud:
"Two headed your way! Be there in a minute!" He jumped backward a few feet, avoiding a potentially lethal series of blows from the Tiefling before delivering a side-kick to the weapon-bearing arm, then another kick, this one a jumping roundhouse in the direction of the attacker's face. The Tiefling managed to dodge the second kick, but the first dislodged the dagger. His attacker grimaced, lunging for her weapon, creating an opening which Nuvyen took, channeling his energy to dash forward before thrusting his right arm forward, fist clenched, a burst of purple light surrounding his closed hand to inflict not only physical, but mental damage as well. The blow connected, sending the Tiefling to the ground next to her dwarven companion, their bodies both still.
Now how was Shadowheart doing?
Nuvyen felt a spike in energy coming from within the house, accompanying footfalls barreling towards their home in orderly, swift motion. His eyes snapped open, rising to his feet, fists clenched, feet firmly planted on the earth beneath. Sef materialized not too far out in front and was indeed trying to escape when Shadowheart ensnared him with a Command, the "priest's" eyes darting helplessly as he marched towards the front of the house.
"And doing a poor job of it, it seems!" A smirk came and went as he moved forward past Sef to address the now audible footfalls, four forms shimmering into view under the pale rays of moonlight that cast both a menacing and soft glow on the armored attackers. Two Tieflings, a dwarf and a human, all of whom wore the trademark armor of a Sharran assassin, their weapons of choice glimmering in bloodlust.
"Our Lady demands that you and the betrayer see the justice you escaped." One of the Tieflings hissed, the party drawing closer to Nuvyen.
"Is that what Shar calls our desire to not see the entire world enveloped in brutal, cold darkness?" A snort, hands coming closer to his face in a defensive position.
"Your mistress surely knows she sent you all on a fool's errand. This won't end well for any of you." The dwarf let out a cry of battle, charging forward first, blade outstretched above his head before attempting a downward cleave at the half-elf, Nuvyen darting to the right as the blade crashed into the ground, using the moment to deliver a powerful elbow to the dwarf's right cheek, followed by an open palm strike to the neck. The dwarf gasped, crumpling to the earth just in time for Nuvyen to feel a dagger whistle a few millimeters past his ear, the Tiefling who had spoken sprinting towards his position with another dagger, this one visibly dripping what Nuvyen assumed to be poison. The other Tiefling and human were heading towards the front door, prompting Nuvyen to shout aloud:
"Two headed your way! Be there in a minute!" He jumped backward a few feet, avoiding a potentially lethal series of blows from the Tiefling before delivering a side-kick to the weapon-bearing arm, then another kick, this one a jumping roundhouse in the direction of the attacker's face. The Tiefling managed to dodge the second kick, but the first dislodged the dagger. His attacker grimaced, lunging for her weapon, creating an opening which Nuvyen took, channeling his energy to dash forward before thrusting his right arm forward, fist clenched, a burst of purple light surrounding his closed hand to inflict not only physical, but mental damage as well. The blow connected, sending the Tiefling to the ground next to her dwarven companion, their bodies both still.
Now how was Shadowheart doing?
Nuvyen listened to Sef's story while every so often looking towards the woods north of their home, eyes narrowing to try and catch a glimpse of anything suspicious. No doubt he would have issues seeing anything out of the ordinary until the Sharran assassins wanted to be revealed; he knew all too well how well trained they were in skulking before their assumed kill (even Shadowheart had gotten the jump on him a couple of times with how quiet her steps could be). While Sef attested that he had made it more than a mile before getting to their home, Nuvyen found it difficult to believe that the Sharrans couldn't catch up to someone wounded and with such an important mission. Wouldn't they have wanted to murder Sef before he could deliver the missive? And wouldn't a priest of Selune, no matter how potentially inexperienced, be able to heal himself enough? Maybe that's how he got to their front step...and yet, he was convinced that Sharran blades inflicted some kind of ailment that didn't permit the victim to be healed of any kind (Gale had called the condition "Bonechilled" and Nuvyen had been on the receiving end of that magic several times in battle; not fun).
His thoughts on the matter came to a halt as his love looked up to him, handing him the letter and asking for his input. Nuvyen looked over the letter himself, scanning the pages for any discrepancy, but found none. It was moments like these, the very, very rare moments when he wished that they had their telepathic link still intact from their unwelcome cranial guests so he could communicate his doubts. A subtle, hasty frown flashing across his face would have to be enough before he responded:
"It appears you've succeeded on your mission in getting us the missive, for which we're grateful. The least we could do is give you a roof over your head and company that won't try to stab you to death until morning."
"You would offer me that? A kindness indeed." Sef managed to straight up against the front wall of the house, a grateful smile tainted with what Nuvyen thought was malice flickered.
"I would be most appreciative. The assassins were not too far behind and if Shadowheart is correct about my bleeding, they could be here sooner than we realize." Those last few words sent a shiver down the Monk's spine, his Ki vibrating in alarm. Something was drastically off, but Sef's exterior self nor his story could be proven as false. He and Shadowheart would have to coax the truth out carefully. Thankfully, he and his partner were adept at this process through experience.
"Indeed; please, go inside and down the hallway to the second door on your left. You can rest there for a while before you make the trek back to Baldur's gate."
"I am most grateful. The Moonmaiden bless you." Sef gingerly walked through the front door, Nuvyen closing it behind the priest before waiting a few seconds, then motioned to Shadowheart, taking her in his arms, whispering as quietly as he could:
"Something's off with him. I can play decoy outside with our owlbear friend and meditate, see if I can't detect the assassins before they come and try to discern why my Ki was disturbed so greatly if you want to go inside and survey his actions...or wait out here with me. Won't have much to say to you while I'm meditating unfortunately." A chuckle.
"Unless you can think of a better way to handle this odd and unfortunate interruption to our evening?"
His thoughts on the matter came to a halt as his love looked up to him, handing him the letter and asking for his input. Nuvyen looked over the letter himself, scanning the pages for any discrepancy, but found none. It was moments like these, the very, very rare moments when he wished that they had their telepathic link still intact from their unwelcome cranial guests so he could communicate his doubts. A subtle, hasty frown flashing across his face would have to be enough before he responded:
"It appears you've succeeded on your mission in getting us the missive, for which we're grateful. The least we could do is give you a roof over your head and company that won't try to stab you to death until morning."
"You would offer me that? A kindness indeed." Sef managed to straight up against the front wall of the house, a grateful smile tainted with what Nuvyen thought was malice flickered.
"I would be most appreciative. The assassins were not too far behind and if Shadowheart is correct about my bleeding, they could be here sooner than we realize." Those last few words sent a shiver down the Monk's spine, his Ki vibrating in alarm. Something was drastically off, but Sef's exterior self nor his story could be proven as false. He and Shadowheart would have to coax the truth out carefully. Thankfully, he and his partner were adept at this process through experience.
"Indeed; please, go inside and down the hallway to the second door on your left. You can rest there for a while before you make the trek back to Baldur's gate."
"I am most grateful. The Moonmaiden bless you." Sef gingerly walked through the front door, Nuvyen closing it behind the priest before waiting a few seconds, then motioned to Shadowheart, taking her in his arms, whispering as quietly as he could:
"Something's off with him. I can play decoy outside with our owlbear friend and meditate, see if I can't detect the assassins before they come and try to discern why my Ki was disturbed so greatly if you want to go inside and survey his actions...or wait out here with me. Won't have much to say to you while I'm meditating unfortunately." A chuckle.
"Unless you can think of a better way to handle this odd and unfortunate interruption to our evening?"
The tavern had grown eerily still as Iris and her squadron put a fearsome display of power in full view of Jove and his would-be assistants in assault, the door to the establishment slamming shut moments after Iris began to speak. Olosse himself had a few chills creep down his spine as he felt the power of his private guard begin to bristle with eager anticipation; indeed, he had actually been looking forward to seeing his guard (especially Iris) in full action, but her showmanship (showwomanship?) did the job well enough, Jove's once intimidating tone softening considerably:
"Ffffine, well and good." Olosse frowned.
"And here I was thinking that you all would get a very personal demonstration of why the Shadowguard of Ishmeldia is the most feared honorguard across the Continent. Ah well, maybe you and your motley crew will get the opportunity to watch, not participate." Olosse sheathed his dagger as he commanded:
"Stand down, Shadows. No blood, tonight...fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it." The tavern returned to it's grimy decor, door swinging open again.
"Now, let's return to the subject we were discussing in such a civil manner: the plot against Rakuhor. What might be the issue?" Jove grunted as he began filling tankards, sliding them down the counter to slightly trembling servers who frantically skittered off to fulfill Iris' request.
"Rakuhor has been making a lot of enemies lately. Horde's numbers are scattered, thinning. Old man thinks he can muscle the Iron Collective out of not just Manka, but trade ports all along the coast." Olosse cocked a brow.
"This is news to me."
"Think the old saw would want his shiny new trade partner to find out that the once proud Horde of Vadrudor is being relegated to strong-arming port guards and under-table deals? No no, liege, you're just the sword he wishes to wield." A pause, Jove's voice descending a few decibels:
"And the Bludless? They're just common folk, like me, like all the folk in here who just wan-" A sudden gurgle emerged from the tavern owner, foam and spittle flying out of his mouth as he seized violently, eyes rolling into the back of his head as a bluish light enveloped his massive form. Olosse jumped back, hand reaching for his dagger as the patrons and the prince watched in disgust as the bluish light turned crimson red, incorporeal hands forming out of the light and snapping the spine of Olosse's former conversation partner. All at once, the body collapsed to the floor, a lifeless heap.
"SORCERY!"
"MAGIC!"
With similar cries the patrons fled to the door, crashing into each other as they scattered nearly in unison, their panic echoing in the streets. Olosse, however, stood silently, mind racing.
"My, my; this is beginning to get far more complex than I imagined...or wanted." He motioned for Iris, wherever she was, to come to his side.
"My dear, you of all people should recognize the kind of magic at work here." While magic users were far and far between, his father had demanded that all three of his children study the annals of the Continent when it came to magic, knowing full well that the very, very few who could manipulate the fabric of the supernatural had brought the world to the brink of utter annihilation save for the intervention of other magic users, both groups fading into the ether over time. It was chilling to think that a magic user was present in the city, let alone one who was skilled in Evocation or the art of manipulating light, matter and the elements to create whatever they wished.
"Do you sense anything nearby in the shadows?"
"Ffffine, well and good." Olosse frowned.
"And here I was thinking that you all would get a very personal demonstration of why the Shadowguard of Ishmeldia is the most feared honorguard across the Continent. Ah well, maybe you and your motley crew will get the opportunity to watch, not participate." Olosse sheathed his dagger as he commanded:
"Stand down, Shadows. No blood, tonight...fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it." The tavern returned to it's grimy decor, door swinging open again.
"Now, let's return to the subject we were discussing in such a civil manner: the plot against Rakuhor. What might be the issue?" Jove grunted as he began filling tankards, sliding them down the counter to slightly trembling servers who frantically skittered off to fulfill Iris' request.
"Rakuhor has been making a lot of enemies lately. Horde's numbers are scattered, thinning. Old man thinks he can muscle the Iron Collective out of not just Manka, but trade ports all along the coast." Olosse cocked a brow.
"This is news to me."
"Think the old saw would want his shiny new trade partner to find out that the once proud Horde of Vadrudor is being relegated to strong-arming port guards and under-table deals? No no, liege, you're just the sword he wishes to wield." A pause, Jove's voice descending a few decibels:
"And the Bludless? They're just common folk, like me, like all the folk in here who just wan-" A sudden gurgle emerged from the tavern owner, foam and spittle flying out of his mouth as he seized violently, eyes rolling into the back of his head as a bluish light enveloped his massive form. Olosse jumped back, hand reaching for his dagger as the patrons and the prince watched in disgust as the bluish light turned crimson red, incorporeal hands forming out of the light and snapping the spine of Olosse's former conversation partner. All at once, the body collapsed to the floor, a lifeless heap.
"SORCERY!"
"MAGIC!"
With similar cries the patrons fled to the door, crashing into each other as they scattered nearly in unison, their panic echoing in the streets. Olosse, however, stood silently, mind racing.
"My, my; this is beginning to get far more complex than I imagined...or wanted." He motioned for Iris, wherever she was, to come to his side.
"My dear, you of all people should recognize the kind of magic at work here." While magic users were far and far between, his father had demanded that all three of his children study the annals of the Continent when it came to magic, knowing full well that the very, very few who could manipulate the fabric of the supernatural had brought the world to the brink of utter annihilation save for the intervention of other magic users, both groups fading into the ether over time. It was chilling to think that a magic user was present in the city, let alone one who was skilled in Evocation or the art of manipulating light, matter and the elements to create whatever they wished.
"Do you sense anything nearby in the shadows?"
Nuvyen's brow shot up in response to the owlbear's commotion, chuckling.
"Well, he'll have to learn how to be more of a vegetable consumer if he keeps eating everything in sight." As he drew within a foot or so of his partner, he thought he saw a flicker of apprehension flash across her eyes while asking if things had gone alright. He smiled, nodding as he took her into his arms, planting a soft kiss before telling her:
"Nothing wrong, love. Scratch and I got...distracted in Soubar by the chapel." He would tell her more over dinner, but why make her worry even more? Besides...
"I also was waiting for our favorite alchemist to arrange something for you." Removing himself from their embrace, he withdrew the arrangement of orchids from the satchel he had carried, placing the bouquet in her hands.
"Not exactly easy to find these beauties in this area, but apparently Lurcena had been working on growing these in her basement and when I told her that these were your favorite flower, she wanted to put something together for you so you could try and grow them here." The understated yet beautiful arrangement seemed to compliment and frame Shadowheart just right, especially with the orange hues of sunset reigning over them.
Goodness she was beautiful.
Not wanting to gawk for too long (and make her feel a touch embarassed), he took the satchel back into his right hand, casually brushing flecks of dirt off of Shadowheart's robes with a smile.
"I'll start on dinner if you can get BOTH of our animals in line." Scratch barked in the direction of the wooded area that led farther north in the direction of Waterdeep, tongue lolling.
"I'll leave you to it."
---
Evening featured a pleasant dinner and a fire in the hearth afterward, the half-elf looking over some of the documents he had pulled from the chapel of Bane, grunting in disapproval at the dogmatic declarations of cruelty, murder and strife that Bane was willing to advocate for in the name of...chaos? Power? The pursuit of both made Bane and the other chosen Three look like petulant children that sought to upset the lives of mortals for no other reason than to prove they had power. Although, Shar made the chosen Three look literally like child's play; while the latter almost brought Baldur's Gate to it's knees, the former would seek to swallow the entirety of the universe in complete blackness. Shadowheart had shared her studies about Shar and contrasted them with what she was learning about Selune, prompting gratefulness for his love's newfound devotion to the Moonmaiden and horror towards what Shar was willing to do to all who accepted her embrace.
He sat up in the high-backed chair he currently occupied, placing the last of the documents on a nearby end-table, about to see if Shadowheart wanted to take an evening stroll when he heard a sharp bark emanate from Scratch, the canine moving swiftly from the living area to the front door, barking again. A shock of adrenaline ran through his system, shooting out of his chair and half-sprinting to the door, swinging it open to find...nothing. He refocused his gaze to scan farther in the distance, taking a few steps out of the home and turning to the woods to find a figure shambling towards them.
"Shadowheart, we've got company!" As the figure came closer, the near full moon's light cast a glow to illuminate the figure's features: a human, male, about five foot, eight inches, garbed in what once were gracefully white robes now stained with crimson and beige, earrings in both ears with what looked like-
"Silverstars...a priest of Selune...hells!" Nuvyen ran to the priest and quickly offered a supporting shoulder, the latter slumping against Nuvyen's frame, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"He's wounded! Where do you want me to bring him?"
"Well, he'll have to learn how to be more of a vegetable consumer if he keeps eating everything in sight." As he drew within a foot or so of his partner, he thought he saw a flicker of apprehension flash across her eyes while asking if things had gone alright. He smiled, nodding as he took her into his arms, planting a soft kiss before telling her:
"Nothing wrong, love. Scratch and I got...distracted in Soubar by the chapel." He would tell her more over dinner, but why make her worry even more? Besides...
"I also was waiting for our favorite alchemist to arrange something for you." Removing himself from their embrace, he withdrew the arrangement of orchids from the satchel he had carried, placing the bouquet in her hands.
"Not exactly easy to find these beauties in this area, but apparently Lurcena had been working on growing these in her basement and when I told her that these were your favorite flower, she wanted to put something together for you so you could try and grow them here." The understated yet beautiful arrangement seemed to compliment and frame Shadowheart just right, especially with the orange hues of sunset reigning over them.
Goodness she was beautiful.
Not wanting to gawk for too long (and make her feel a touch embarassed), he took the satchel back into his right hand, casually brushing flecks of dirt off of Shadowheart's robes with a smile.
"I'll start on dinner if you can get BOTH of our animals in line." Scratch barked in the direction of the wooded area that led farther north in the direction of Waterdeep, tongue lolling.
"I'll leave you to it."
---
Evening featured a pleasant dinner and a fire in the hearth afterward, the half-elf looking over some of the documents he had pulled from the chapel of Bane, grunting in disapproval at the dogmatic declarations of cruelty, murder and strife that Bane was willing to advocate for in the name of...chaos? Power? The pursuit of both made Bane and the other chosen Three look like petulant children that sought to upset the lives of mortals for no other reason than to prove they had power. Although, Shar made the chosen Three look literally like child's play; while the latter almost brought Baldur's Gate to it's knees, the former would seek to swallow the entirety of the universe in complete blackness. Shadowheart had shared her studies about Shar and contrasted them with what she was learning about Selune, prompting gratefulness for his love's newfound devotion to the Moonmaiden and horror towards what Shar was willing to do to all who accepted her embrace.
He sat up in the high-backed chair he currently occupied, placing the last of the documents on a nearby end-table, about to see if Shadowheart wanted to take an evening stroll when he heard a sharp bark emanate from Scratch, the canine moving swiftly from the living area to the front door, barking again. A shock of adrenaline ran through his system, shooting out of his chair and half-sprinting to the door, swinging it open to find...nothing. He refocused his gaze to scan farther in the distance, taking a few steps out of the home and turning to the woods to find a figure shambling towards them.
"Shadowheart, we've got company!" As the figure came closer, the near full moon's light cast a glow to illuminate the figure's features: a human, male, about five foot, eight inches, garbed in what once were gracefully white robes now stained with crimson and beige, earrings in both ears with what looked like-
"Silverstars...a priest of Selune...hells!" Nuvyen ran to the priest and quickly offered a supporting shoulder, the latter slumping against Nuvyen's frame, breath coming in ragged gasps.
"He's wounded! Where do you want me to bring him?"
Placeholder post!
Olosse's brow shot up at her first request, staying fixed in surprise at the second. He chortled, eyes sparkling.
"Did you...did you just ask to go shopping, Iris?" Another chortle, this time a bit louder.
"Oh of course! We must make sure you appear up to snuff, which won't be very difficult given who you'll be around." Thankfully Rowena did not stir at the slightly derogatory comment about Vadrudorian aesthetics.
"It's a good ploy, of course. Many will be on guard around you, especially with the reputation the Shadows have among the general populace, but if they get to see you unfettered from...that-" He motioned at her uniform.
"They'll absolutely be more spirited, maybe even let slip a few things we can file away for later. To think that Iris, my stalwart defender, will be my companion. I'm tickled." Olosse walked to a nearby dresser, opening the heavy wooden drawer at the very top.
"But I'm afraid we'll have to go through business first, won't be? I'll need you to look very Shadowy and menacing if it comes to it. Find the two other guards that are probably around here somewhere and meet me down at the Vikar's Light. It's in the Victory quarter, closest to the harbor and the least civilized part of the capitol. When I arrive, follow me inside and do not engage with anyone until I say so. I'll need to grease some palms and spin a few lewd yarns, so I'm not expecting trouble, but if we do, I'll be sure to let you know." Olosse withdrew garb fit for the occasion: a blue short-sleeved shirt with a ruffled collar and sandals that had trails of dirt stuck to the bottom. The pants would stay on. His eyes caught Iris once more, drawing closer to her and putting a hand on her shoulder.
"I can't thank you enough for all you've done so far. The dirty work of politics is unseemly at best." A smile.
"Which is why I cannot wait to see you in a ballgown. I'm suspect you'll enjoy the night off from blood and villainy...although I suppose you'll be encountering the latter tomorrow night, just more dressed up."
The Vikar's Light was a two-story building assembled with wooden planks, nails and apparently a lack of geometric awareness. The tavern's walls weren't properly rectangular or square nor did the building sit level, but instead sloped upward almost 30 degrees ,providing a very strange seating arrangement inside where tables stood at odd angles and dartboards mounted on the peak of the slope were there for the sport of seeing who could actually make five darts stick in a row. The trappings of a seedy tavern (dirt, soot, fluids of a questionable nature, sweat, etc) were all present, Olosse's nose wrinkling upon entering. It had been at least a year or so since he had come to visit Malaya, wondering silently if she was occupied (and he hoped she was. He wouldn't want Iris to see his more...well, hopefully she was busy).
"Well, our favorite piece of royal scum comes to visit after all this time, eh?!" A man with massive forearms and an even larger chest stood behind the bar, face flush with heat and activity, beard wagging.
"Jove in the flesh! Wonderful, wonderful, the place hasn't lost the crust yet!" A few chuckles from the regulars as Olose sauntered to the bar, the duo clasping hands with the former's right hand finding itself occupied with a handful of coin, earning Olosse a grateful nod.
"How long will you be gracing us with your presence till you go to visit-"
"Oh hush, hush, Jove, let's talk business for a minute." Olosse leaned forward, Jove mirroring the liege's posture.
"What in the bloody continent's name is going on at the docks, Jove?" A grunt as the large man leaned back, shaking his head, motioning to the tavern.
"A people oppressed, your liege, a people tired of it's oppressors."
"Here here!" Some of the regulars echoed.
"So much so that your children are commodities?" A grimace.
"It's better than what they have here." Olosse's hands gripped the counter.
"You're doing this on purpose?" Jove leaned forward again, forearms on the counter.
"Whatever you heard about the docks isn't all it seems. The Altans-"
"The bloody pirates?!"
"Keep your voice low, your liege." Olosse remained silent.
"One and the same, the Atlans offer us safe passage, families and children alike, from here to the Isles." The Isles of Manka were a part of the Iron Collective, a small cluster of land masses about 50 leagues off the coast that have been a haven for pirates, mercenaries and other ne'er do wells, but also a great place for those who want to hide .
"What could be so important to enact such a scheme?" Jove shook his head.
"Can't say much."
"Sure you can. With enough co-"
"No amount of coin in the world is going to stop what's coming to that blight Rakuhor." Chairs scraped behind Olosse as several men surrounded him.
"We know what you're here to do, Prince; call it off and get out of the city now. Stay, and your mother won't be mourning just your fa-" Olosse withdrew a dagger strapped underneath his shirt from it's holster hanging on his lower back and lunged over the counter, tip at Jove's throat.
"I dare you to finish your sentence." The prince hissed, eyes aflame.
"You won't...leave here...alive..." Jove's adam apple danced against the blade held at his throat as he smiled, the crowd of men closing in on Olosse.
"Shadows! We're in for it, tonight!"
"Did you...did you just ask to go shopping, Iris?" Another chortle, this time a bit louder.
"Oh of course! We must make sure you appear up to snuff, which won't be very difficult given who you'll be around." Thankfully Rowena did not stir at the slightly derogatory comment about Vadrudorian aesthetics.
"It's a good ploy, of course. Many will be on guard around you, especially with the reputation the Shadows have among the general populace, but if they get to see you unfettered from...that-" He motioned at her uniform.
"They'll absolutely be more spirited, maybe even let slip a few things we can file away for later. To think that Iris, my stalwart defender, will be my companion. I'm tickled." Olosse walked to a nearby dresser, opening the heavy wooden drawer at the very top.
"But I'm afraid we'll have to go through business first, won't be? I'll need you to look very Shadowy and menacing if it comes to it. Find the two other guards that are probably around here somewhere and meet me down at the Vikar's Light. It's in the Victory quarter, closest to the harbor and the least civilized part of the capitol. When I arrive, follow me inside and do not engage with anyone until I say so. I'll need to grease some palms and spin a few lewd yarns, so I'm not expecting trouble, but if we do, I'll be sure to let you know." Olosse withdrew garb fit for the occasion: a blue short-sleeved shirt with a ruffled collar and sandals that had trails of dirt stuck to the bottom. The pants would stay on. His eyes caught Iris once more, drawing closer to her and putting a hand on her shoulder.
"I can't thank you enough for all you've done so far. The dirty work of politics is unseemly at best." A smile.
"Which is why I cannot wait to see you in a ballgown. I'm suspect you'll enjoy the night off from blood and villainy...although I suppose you'll be encountering the latter tomorrow night, just more dressed up."
The Vikar's Light was a two-story building assembled with wooden planks, nails and apparently a lack of geometric awareness. The tavern's walls weren't properly rectangular or square nor did the building sit level, but instead sloped upward almost 30 degrees ,providing a very strange seating arrangement inside where tables stood at odd angles and dartboards mounted on the peak of the slope were there for the sport of seeing who could actually make five darts stick in a row. The trappings of a seedy tavern (dirt, soot, fluids of a questionable nature, sweat, etc) were all present, Olosse's nose wrinkling upon entering. It had been at least a year or so since he had come to visit Malaya, wondering silently if she was occupied (and he hoped she was. He wouldn't want Iris to see his more...well, hopefully she was busy).
"Well, our favorite piece of royal scum comes to visit after all this time, eh?!" A man with massive forearms and an even larger chest stood behind the bar, face flush with heat and activity, beard wagging.
"Jove in the flesh! Wonderful, wonderful, the place hasn't lost the crust yet!" A few chuckles from the regulars as Olose sauntered to the bar, the duo clasping hands with the former's right hand finding itself occupied with a handful of coin, earning Olosse a grateful nod.
"How long will you be gracing us with your presence till you go to visit-"
"Oh hush, hush, Jove, let's talk business for a minute." Olosse leaned forward, Jove mirroring the liege's posture.
"What in the bloody continent's name is going on at the docks, Jove?" A grunt as the large man leaned back, shaking his head, motioning to the tavern.
"A people oppressed, your liege, a people tired of it's oppressors."
"Here here!" Some of the regulars echoed.
"So much so that your children are commodities?" A grimace.
"It's better than what they have here." Olosse's hands gripped the counter.
"You're doing this on purpose?" Jove leaned forward again, forearms on the counter.
"Whatever you heard about the docks isn't all it seems. The Altans-"
"The bloody pirates?!"
"Keep your voice low, your liege." Olosse remained silent.
"One and the same, the Atlans offer us safe passage, families and children alike, from here to the Isles." The Isles of Manka were a part of the Iron Collective, a small cluster of land masses about 50 leagues off the coast that have been a haven for pirates, mercenaries and other ne'er do wells, but also a great place for those who want to hide .
"What could be so important to enact such a scheme?" Jove shook his head.
"Can't say much."
"Sure you can. With enough co-"
"No amount of coin in the world is going to stop what's coming to that blight Rakuhor." Chairs scraped behind Olosse as several men surrounded him.
"We know what you're here to do, Prince; call it off and get out of the city now. Stay, and your mother won't be mourning just your fa-" Olosse withdrew a dagger strapped underneath his shirt from it's holster hanging on his lower back and lunged over the counter, tip at Jove's throat.
"I dare you to finish your sentence." The prince hissed, eyes aflame.
"You won't...leave here...alive..." Jove's adam apple danced against the blade held at his throat as he smiled, the crowd of men closing in on Olosse.
"Shadows! We're in for it, tonight!"
Just so that I can have a reference point:
Elturgard: forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Eltur…
Church of Selune: forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Churc…
Monk abilities: dndbeyond.com/classes/monk#ClassFeatures
Elturgard: forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Eltur…
Church of Selune: forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Churc…
Monk abilities: dndbeyond.com/classes/monk#ClassFeatures
"Come on, give it up."
Nope
An exasperated sigh.
"You can't actually expect me to throw something like that."
Yes!
Another sigh.
"Just...come here." The stubborn creature ambled to the sigher, tail wagging furiously as it dropped the fragment of an Order of the Companion chestpiece, more than likely belonging to one of the many paladins that fell during the mysterious plague that occurred in this area not a few years ago. His deep green irises ran over the scratches and cracks, silvery black hair ruffling slightly as he shifted forward, running his hand over the solid white coat of who he considered to be one of his closest friends (Gale was slightly miffed by Scratch's place in the pantheon of friends, but then again, the wizard did enjoy giving Scratch belly rubs, so maybe they had formed an understanding).
"What a reminder." The half elf mumbled, tossing the chestpiece aside. What was it a reminder of, he wondered. The amount of suffering and death that this part of the Coast had seen over the years? Maybe the idea of a massive plague and people panicking in the streets hit too close to home; after all, it had only been six months since Baldur's Gate had withstood one of the most disastrous events in it's history, almost coming close to becoming the origin site of the final Grand Design (or at least, he hoped. Please by the Seldarine, no more Illithids). There were times even at home, sitting by their hearth in the quiet evenings, that memories surged back, threatening to drag him back to where he was only six months ago: trapped in that blasted pod, no memory of how he had gotten there, only knowing that his life as a monk in the Open Hand cloister had suddenly been upended.
He chuckled, rising from his once prone position. Maybe that's how his family had felt when he left Baldur's gate at the ripe age of 20 to discover the world, leaving behind his parents and younger brother to pursue a "purer" way than that of being minor nobility in Baldur's Gate. His father was grieved by his decision especially, seeing as Father had expected him to succeed him in his position as Assistant Chancellor of trade, wanting his work and sacrifices as one of the first High Elves holding position within the Coast. He had argued with Father before he left, railing against materialism, social caste systems and alienation from the self. It was all so moronic now, to not have just had an honest conversation with his father, who now along with his mother and younger brother occupied graves in the city as a result of a Bhaal cultist murdering them in broad daylight not too long before they arrived in the city (a legal missive had come from the family's lawyer, who received the travelers in the city and confirmed every horrid detail). No doubt Orin had ordered the attack to spite him, just like she tried to spite all of them. A vindictive smirk crossed his lips, knowing that the abomination was gone from this life for good.
He felt a gentle nudge at his leg, the half-elf looking down to see Scratch's tongue lolling out, eyes sparkling.
"You're right; no use dwelling on the past. Besides, our lovely Shadow is going to be wondering why it took us so long to retrieve ingredients for dinner." Indeed, he had set out when the sun was at it's peak, but now it was beginning to creep down towards the horizon. Their patch of happiness was located in-between Baldur's gate and Elturiel (or at least, what's left of it), but there were several small villages that dotted the path and Soubar, a walled town that was the most thriving in the area and had the best shops for the concoctions that he and Shadowheart created in the kitchen and alchemy lab (while not as good as his love at alchemic creations, he was getting the hang of it). Soubar was only about an hour's walk from their home, but maybe it was the detour to the chapel of Bane that he sidetracked him (no, not maybe, definitely). He hadn't had the courage to investigate the chapel until today, he and Scratch poking around the abandoned building to find little of value except for a few manuscripts written by zealots of Bane that outlined the god's teachings on cruelty and murder along with the chestpiece that Scratch had found.
"Nuvyen! Nuvyen!" The half-elf stood fully upright now, his broad frame (inherited from his mother's human side) striding forward out of the grounds of the chapel back into the town proper to greet the caller, who happened to be the shopkeeper he had been talking with earlier.
"I've got the Orchids all ready for you just like you asked."
"Wonderful. She'll absolutely love them, thank you." Along with the satchel of ingredients, Nuvyen had decided to purchase an arrangement of Night Orchids for their quite barren dinner table (all of their flora, fauna and crops were still not ready to be used thanks to just purchasing their land only three or so months ago).
"Tell the lady I send my greetings."
On the walk back, Nuvyen couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that this area of the Coast featured, especially due to being called "The Fields of the Dead". Tree lined paths, flora bursting out of seemingly every nook and cranny...it was actually quite perfect, which made their home and plot of land even more of a gift to be grateful for. They had roamed for three months after the Netherbrain was defeated, fending off Sharran assassins (while nearly naked. Fun times. He liked to remind Shadowheart of how great she looked while stabbing one of the assassins in the throat), going north to Waterdeep, somehow befriending an imp named Bing Bong that refused to stop following them until one day it suddenly vanished; yet, those adventures paled in comparison to the day a missive from Wyll had found it's way to them, telling them to meet him outside Elturel. It so happened that on his way with his retinue (because he had a retinue now) to sign formal treaties and do other political nonsense (his words) with the new government of Elturgard, he had passed an abandoned home with land that, upon investigation, had belonged to a husband and wife that moved out of Elturel and had died with no children to claim it. Remembering Shadowheart's love for animals and Nuvyen's desire to settle down somewhere, the Grand Duke purchased the home for the couple, asking only that they send some of their finest bounty to the budding refugee settlements that needed starter plants and seeds. It was a grand gesture on Wyll, but of course, their friend was prone to grand gestures in all things(Nuvyen remembered in the delirious moments after the Netherbrain was defeated, Wyll was the first to speak, waving his arms grandiosely, proclaiming that their names should be etched on the annals of history forever...or something like that).
Nuvyen could finally see their home, flanked by the aspiring gardens and plots of crops that they were tending to.
Home. He grinned.
"Go on, Scratch. I think someone else is going to want to see you." Their owlbear guardian should be around somewhere, which should mean that Shadowheart wouldn't be too far behind.
Nope
An exasperated sigh.
"You can't actually expect me to throw something like that."
Yes!
Another sigh.
"Just...come here." The stubborn creature ambled to the sigher, tail wagging furiously as it dropped the fragment of an Order of the Companion chestpiece, more than likely belonging to one of the many paladins that fell during the mysterious plague that occurred in this area not a few years ago. His deep green irises ran over the scratches and cracks, silvery black hair ruffling slightly as he shifted forward, running his hand over the solid white coat of who he considered to be one of his closest friends (Gale was slightly miffed by Scratch's place in the pantheon of friends, but then again, the wizard did enjoy giving Scratch belly rubs, so maybe they had formed an understanding).
"What a reminder." The half elf mumbled, tossing the chestpiece aside. What was it a reminder of, he wondered. The amount of suffering and death that this part of the Coast had seen over the years? Maybe the idea of a massive plague and people panicking in the streets hit too close to home; after all, it had only been six months since Baldur's Gate had withstood one of the most disastrous events in it's history, almost coming close to becoming the origin site of the final Grand Design (or at least, he hoped. Please by the Seldarine, no more Illithids). There were times even at home, sitting by their hearth in the quiet evenings, that memories surged back, threatening to drag him back to where he was only six months ago: trapped in that blasted pod, no memory of how he had gotten there, only knowing that his life as a monk in the Open Hand cloister had suddenly been upended.
He chuckled, rising from his once prone position. Maybe that's how his family had felt when he left Baldur's gate at the ripe age of 20 to discover the world, leaving behind his parents and younger brother to pursue a "purer" way than that of being minor nobility in Baldur's Gate. His father was grieved by his decision especially, seeing as Father had expected him to succeed him in his position as Assistant Chancellor of trade, wanting his work and sacrifices as one of the first High Elves holding position within the Coast. He had argued with Father before he left, railing against materialism, social caste systems and alienation from the self. It was all so moronic now, to not have just had an honest conversation with his father, who now along with his mother and younger brother occupied graves in the city as a result of a Bhaal cultist murdering them in broad daylight not too long before they arrived in the city (a legal missive had come from the family's lawyer, who received the travelers in the city and confirmed every horrid detail). No doubt Orin had ordered the attack to spite him, just like she tried to spite all of them. A vindictive smirk crossed his lips, knowing that the abomination was gone from this life for good.
He felt a gentle nudge at his leg, the half-elf looking down to see Scratch's tongue lolling out, eyes sparkling.
"You're right; no use dwelling on the past. Besides, our lovely Shadow is going to be wondering why it took us so long to retrieve ingredients for dinner." Indeed, he had set out when the sun was at it's peak, but now it was beginning to creep down towards the horizon. Their patch of happiness was located in-between Baldur's gate and Elturiel (or at least, what's left of it), but there were several small villages that dotted the path and Soubar, a walled town that was the most thriving in the area and had the best shops for the concoctions that he and Shadowheart created in the kitchen and alchemy lab (while not as good as his love at alchemic creations, he was getting the hang of it). Soubar was only about an hour's walk from their home, but maybe it was the detour to the chapel of Bane that he sidetracked him (no, not maybe, definitely). He hadn't had the courage to investigate the chapel until today, he and Scratch poking around the abandoned building to find little of value except for a few manuscripts written by zealots of Bane that outlined the god's teachings on cruelty and murder along with the chestpiece that Scratch had found.
"Nuvyen! Nuvyen!" The half-elf stood fully upright now, his broad frame (inherited from his mother's human side) striding forward out of the grounds of the chapel back into the town proper to greet the caller, who happened to be the shopkeeper he had been talking with earlier.
"I've got the Orchids all ready for you just like you asked."
"Wonderful. She'll absolutely love them, thank you." Along with the satchel of ingredients, Nuvyen had decided to purchase an arrangement of Night Orchids for their quite barren dinner table (all of their flora, fauna and crops were still not ready to be used thanks to just purchasing their land only three or so months ago).
"Tell the lady I send my greetings."
On the walk back, Nuvyen couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that this area of the Coast featured, especially due to being called "The Fields of the Dead". Tree lined paths, flora bursting out of seemingly every nook and cranny...it was actually quite perfect, which made their home and plot of land even more of a gift to be grateful for. They had roamed for three months after the Netherbrain was defeated, fending off Sharran assassins (while nearly naked. Fun times. He liked to remind Shadowheart of how great she looked while stabbing one of the assassins in the throat), going north to Waterdeep, somehow befriending an imp named Bing Bong that refused to stop following them until one day it suddenly vanished; yet, those adventures paled in comparison to the day a missive from Wyll had found it's way to them, telling them to meet him outside Elturel. It so happened that on his way with his retinue (because he had a retinue now) to sign formal treaties and do other political nonsense (his words) with the new government of Elturgard, he had passed an abandoned home with land that, upon investigation, had belonged to a husband and wife that moved out of Elturel and had died with no children to claim it. Remembering Shadowheart's love for animals and Nuvyen's desire to settle down somewhere, the Grand Duke purchased the home for the couple, asking only that they send some of their finest bounty to the budding refugee settlements that needed starter plants and seeds. It was a grand gesture on Wyll, but of course, their friend was prone to grand gestures in all things(Nuvyen remembered in the delirious moments after the Netherbrain was defeated, Wyll was the first to speak, waving his arms grandiosely, proclaiming that their names should be etched on the annals of history forever...or something like that).
Nuvyen could finally see their home, flanked by the aspiring gardens and plots of crops that they were tending to.
Home. He grinned.
"Go on, Scratch. I think someone else is going to want to see you." Their owlbear guardian should be around somewhere, which should mean that Shadowheart wouldn't be too far behind.
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