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Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Mon Feb 16, 2015 9:45 pm
by Seekerthefallen
The Hin got the chance to rest alongside his compatriots in the strange elven towers, but it wasn't particularly restful as things go. Sleep came to him but it was fitful, a fetal-curled parade of short gasps and the occasional muttered word. Usually sounding like terrified begging. Not that anyone would find it strange if they had his view of things. Red's mind was a closed dark place right now, but not a quiet one. The Hin cowered, childlike in size and mentality both for the moment. Thunderous shouts and grating hisses battering at the walls he hide behind, rickety wooden things that would never hold up were one of the voices to direct their attention at him specifically. That didn't happen though - they were far too preoccupied with each-other it seemed.

He didn't understand the words, just the intent. The words hurt his brain to listen to, little black trickles of mist coming down from his eyes. One of them shrieked, sounding vaguely female and battering the sides of Red's meager shelter with her mere attention. The other was - he thought - male. Red couldn't be sure but he felt that shapeless intent stand between him and the woman. Hissing something quiet and sharp that drew more darkness out of him. One would think he'd feel comforted, but all there was to it was a horrible chill that passed over his soul. The shouting couldn't go on forever though, one more angry shriek is answered by something that sounds not unlike a threat from his protector.

There's quiet outside for a few moments that feel like days. Then the shaky door of his inadequate shelter creaks open, and something he can't see leans inside. Something of mist and lies. He looked up, face stained black, into a mask he couldn't pierce with eyes or soul. Red stopped trying, letting his eyes close instead. He felt something soft touch his forehead, soft and cold - then a gentle pat on his head.

The group would just see him curl tighter in his sleep, that look of abject terror never really leaving his face.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Wed Feb 18, 2015 2:33 am
by Shamsy
Loth'Gar Journal Entry 29: Restless Nights in Daggerford

For the umpteenth time, Loth'Gar rolled onto his opposing side, trying to relax and slow his racing mind. He was in his room, well, the inns room if you made a point, smack bang in central Daggerford. He felt restless and couldn't seem to find any peace. Normally not much troubled the young half-orc. He was an easy going soul, he liked to smile and he found it easier to laugh than frown. He found enjoyment and fulfilment in simple, honest things. It was no wonder the was restless.

Caught up in a hunt for a traitor, he and his group had spent the day sneaking around and trying to garner as much information as they could regarding the powers of the town. Not much for subterfuge, he had almost caused problems for the party in his less than subtle line of questioning. That had never been his strong point. He was plain of words, honest and preferred the direct approach. Luckily he had been able to avert potential disaster with a smile and some soothing words. Now that was his strength; diplomacy and reasoning. Too bad they seemed to be following the other course.

He let out a sigh, just audible. It seemed he and Bill, the shining example of straight forward, were a lot closer in thought and action. Action was his preference, often rash and spur of the moment, but he preferred to be dancing on his feet than around clever words. Growing tired of talking to himself, he pushed off the mattress and paced over to the shuttered window. It was cold, really cold, but he pushed them open so as to view the town. An impressive sight really. The walls, towers and castle all lent the air of a much larger settlement, but it wasn't the people that made the town grow. A direct rival to Waterdeep (though dwarfed at present), Daggerford was a thriving centre of trade, positioned well with port access and in a dangerous enough locale that people needed to pass through for safety and restocking. He shivered once, cast a final glance at the shining turret tops before shutting and latching the blinds. He paced for a time, careful to keep his tread soft lest he disturb another guest at the late hour.

"If nothing I am more awake now!" he whispered in exacerbation. Deciding that moving about wouldn't be the wisest course of action to continue, he did what he often did in these moments. He found a clean spot on the floor and knelt down to pray to his patron deity. He started off reciting the common vows, which he knew from heart, having once lived in a temple as a young acolyte. Finishing these, he fell silent, trying to empty his mind and clear his heart of doubts and worry. "Ilmater carry me through darkness and doubt." As the last word escaped his mouth he felt… well it was hard to describe the touch of a god. It was like a warm blanket on a cold night, a mothers embrace when one is hurt, a hot broth when one is starving. He smiled as the feeling touched him lightly, letting him know that no matter the burden, he was not bearing it alone. For a time he basked in that feeling, letting it relax him, chase away the frustration and restless energy that coursed through him. It was as close to meditating as he could get, being such a restless soul.

Eventually the feeling passed, as others needed Ilmater's support more than himself. He didn't begrudge it though, happy that there were others out there being consoling times of need. He rose, feeling no stiffness in his knees, and much calmer than before. He yawned, tired but pleasantly so. Moving back to the bed, he barely managed to rest his head on the pillow before sleep overtook him.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Mon Feb 23, 2015 1:49 am
by Shamsy
Loth'Gar Journal Entry 30: From Rumour to Life

Loth'Gar sat alone in the workshop, the smell of freshly split timbers still permeating the air. The floor was a bed of soft wood shavings and dust, and only a set of magical lanterns were 'lit' to provide illumination to the room. Several craft of various size stood around the space, only half completed, most were no bigger than a larger fishing vessel that could be propelled by oars. The wood was still green on a couple of the projects, flexible enough to be bent into shape with steam and stout arms. By flexing the timbers while they were still drying, he found that the sleek curves held a lot more strength, the stress of being bent when dry being alleviated. Most of the boats currently in the workshop were orders from the local fishermen, though one vessel was destined for a rich noble to boat in. It was going to be a fine craft, sleek, well balanced and more richly decorated than its working sisters. While he helped out from time to time, Loth'Gar got little time to himself for his own pet project.

He had first heard about the idea while talking with some of the old hands on the dock. Rumours and superstition were common, in fact, it was difficult for an outsider to the salty world to know just what was fact or fancy. Loth'Gar was no outsider, but he listened to the old man talking about the magical shrinking boats of Calimshan with open scepticism written on his face. A nice tale, but there was no way you could fit a boat into your pocket with magic. It truly beggared belief. "I call horse piss!" Shouted one listener, and more than a few jeers and boos flew from the small gathering. "No! I be tellin' yer the truth, as I sit here before yer!" The old timer called, hands stretched out to push back the accusations and taunts. "Magic is a mighty thing an' can do strange and wonderful things fer yer!" This produced a fresh round of mutters, low and dark. More than a few signs were made, as the mention of magic elicited spit and curses at the finger wagglin' fools. "Now come here, not all magic be evil! Can do wondrous things fer a man with a mind ta respect its power." He swatter one hand as though brushing away a bothersome fly. "Seems ye'll just have ter take a look yourselves then! We'll see who gets the last laugh when you see who was right, and be sure ter tell all your friends so they can buy me a drink!"

The mention of drink and the possibility to get in out of the cold stirred more than a few bums. "Full of horse dung old timer. There are no boats that can fit in a mans pocket. Come lads, lets see if we can find a warm drop and a warmer lass to pass the time. This one's a few fish short of a barrel." And the largest of the hands led most of the group away, until Loth'Gar was the only one remaining behind. "An interesting tale." He breathed, a small cloud of steam in the gloomy, cold air. "Aye, and is all true!" The insistence came again. "Come, let us get yer out this cold. Will do the bones no good now." Loth'Gar helped the man to his feet and led him to the Cox for something hot to eat. The idea though began to settle in his mind. He had witnesses some amazing feats accomplished by magic over his years adventuring. Maybe the old man was telling the truth, or at least onto something…

Now he sat alone, enjoying the smell of wood, carefully carving a miniture, scale model of a little ship from a block of old oak. The details were quite fantastic, but there was a long way to go before he would be happy with it. He'd see the wizard after, since no matter the verdict, he was enjoying the work at hand.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Fri Feb 27, 2015 7:43 pm
by Seekerthefallen
The Gnome wasted no time in testing the limits of what that strange 'mineral bath' had done for her. There were little dented marks all about the woodwork where she'd put her fist into them, except the desk. The desk just had the usual ink stains to it, and scattered papers with a book at the edge weighing some of them down. Hardly worth mentioning really. Xerxsephira jumped once just out of experimental urge, getting a rather loud thump for the effort. Then went to sit at the aforementioned desk.

The scratching of ink to parchment came moments later, and persisted for quite a while. The strange maddened and yet orchestral runic Gnomish sprawling out from the middle of the page.

"Mother. Some success with plan at present. Effects very strange, entirely permanent, gloriously abnormal. Hoping to continue to finance research with danger here. Some degree of success so far in that vein - no real friends in locals - one hopeful though. Mixed elf/orc heritage apothecary and midwife. Want to talk to her more, maybe bring her to see the family someday. Hope father is still well, and has not discussed any further nonsense about alternative longevity prematurely. Will write again when I try next stage."

-Xerxsephira Amjest Griphlik Sprojven Blujk Rustgore.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Sun Mar 01, 2015 5:51 pm
by Seekerthefallen
Da’el’dr’el ran. She ran from the Yawning Portal and through the streets of Waterdeep, feet bare, skin burning from the lingering effects of her recent injuries. Her cloak, among other things, was falling apart as her swift movement and the sea breeze left it in tatters. The night air and the tears tumbling down her cheeks cooled her skin but she did not think of that now. Nor was she thinking of how close she’d been to suffocating to death, trapped in a living, transparent cube of pure hunger, nor did she think of the lives she had put at risk with her headstrong and foolish actions, nor what they must now think of her. No, the only thing on her mind was that the Great Archer had left her powerless and alone, amidst a group of strangers, in a most dangerous place, to fight for her life. She had called upon his power, as she had unfailingly for over a century, and he had not answered. There was only silence. It had been for a mere few moments, but in that time she and those who trusted her to keep them safe were nearly doomed. In a hundred years, those few seconds had been the most important, and Solonor, her guide, her patron, had disappeared. She ran, and she cried.

She was through the North Gate and into the wilderness in short order. Immediately, she took to a thicket she’d found just before she’d arrived in Waterdeep, perhaps an hour from its walls. She ran the whole way. She found an old gum tree there, which felt out of place in a forest of evergreens, but it stood tall nevertheless. She saw immediately that many had climbed this tree before her, as remnants of those previous efforts, rusted nails, mostly, still remained. She sighed. She pulled the nails and and a few boards out one by one as she climbed, calming the tree with soothing words that were perhaps meant just as much for herself, watching the milky sap seep outward to fill the old wounds, running slowly down the smooth white bark like the tears on her face, until eventually they would stop, leaving the bark sticky, and so her cheeks. As she settled in the “V” of two large branches, she thought deeply upon that, looking out over the surrounding forest. Looming in the south was her defeat, beneath the depths of Mt. Waterdeep. To the west, the sea ran into the night sky, shimmering waves reflecting the twinkling stars above. The soft wind rustled the leaves about her, and she began to calm herself, leaning against the cool trunk of the gum tree and closing her eyes.

Faith is an interesting thing, is it not? came a voice inside Da’el’dr’el’s head. The voice was a woman’s, rich and elven, as was the language.

Da’el’dr’el opened her eyes and tensed despite the calm, soothing nature of the voice. Above her, she noticed, was a sphere of soft light that filtered through the wavering branches in an otherworldly way. “Who is there?” she questioned, putting her hand up to shield her eyes a bit from the light, which then seemed to coalesce into what looked like the silhouette of a woman, sitting comfortably on a nearby branch, one leg casually crossed over the other. Da’el’dr’el blinked and sat up straight. This was powerful magic. “Speak that I may know you.”

You do not know me, came the reply, though the woman only tilted her head to one side just barely, but I am Shi’la’ar. Her lips did not move.

The woman’s features became more clear as the light faded a bit, and Da’el’dr’el thought she could not look any more elven. Her hair was platinum and her eyes such a gold as to almost glow. She looked more pure than even Ar-tel-quessir. But there was something different about her, something… more primal, or perhaps more pure. The elven, too, was old, Da’el’dr’el realized, elegant and simple. A century of teachings, prayer, and ritual screamed at her. “Gha’ele El’adr’in,” she breathed. The woman smiled.

Come, the woman said, again without speaking. Walk with me. Da’el’dr’el blinked, and Shi’la’ar was on the ground below, looking up and holding out her hand.

Da’el’dr’el was at her side in short order, and took the offered hand. The woman’s armor was simple but resplendent, its craftsmanship unlike anything Da’el’dr’el had ever seen, as was the thinblade at her hip and the bow on her back that looked like it was made of light. “How is this…” Da’el’dr’el began.

Shhhh, Shi’la’ar soothed, Do not use your words. She took her free hand and touched Da’el’dr’el’s cheek, brushing the tears from it. She tucked her arm in and the two began walking.

Da’el’dr’el remained silent for a long time, and then reached out with her thoughts. Like this? she pushed the thought to the forefront of her mind, trying to hold the tumult of emotion within her at bay long enough to focus.

Yes, that’s it, Shi’la’ar replied. Be at ease. You are safe with me. She smiled and patted Da’el’dr’el on the shoulder. So, do you not think it so? was the question that followed.

On faith? Da’el’dr’el replied. The song of a nightingale came through the trees. Faith should be strong, unwavering, unquestioning. Faith should be true. It will fail otherwise.

Shi’la’ar raises a beautiful eyebrow at Da’el’dr’el. Everything about the woman was beautiful. It was almost overwhelming. Faith can be weak, fallible, full of doubt, fear, and lies. Faith can fail. She smiles again. You can fail.

“But peoples’ lives were at stake! My life! I almost died!” Her voice carried loudly and she stopped walking, pulling away from Shi’la’ar. She winces then, as the sound of her voice causes a small group of sleeping birds to panic and they fluttered away into the night sky.

There is nothing wrong to fear your end on this mortal plane, Shi’la’ar explains. It is all you know. Many have died seeking what you seek, many by the hands of the minions of the One Eye. He is strong, make no mistake. The One Eye wields the power of a god, do not forget this. The whole of the Seldarine have not diminished this nor have they stemmed the swelling of his hordes. Only Solonor has marked him and made him a target. Her face now is filled with a vigor wrought from ages battling evil, and an unrelenting fervor for its destruction. It made her, if possible, even more beautiful.

Da’el’dr’el forced herself to calm. But the Archer was silent, is what she focuses, attempting to keep the memories of what had transpired that night at bay, and failing.

Shi’la’ar nods. It is not because he did not hear you, my child, she explains, but because the magic which channels his power in this realm was displaced.

How is that possible? came Da’el’dr’el’s expected response.

How is it not possible? Shi’la’ar counters. It is like a gust of wind to an arrow, causing it to rise and miss its target, despite the efforts of the archer. It is the very nature of magic. There have always been those who would undo or usurp the power of the gods. What you faced tonight were not the unending minions of the One Eye, who will be forever your mortal enemy. No, what you encountered was a simple facet of the Multiverse: Magic is a fickle ally.

Then the Great Archer’s power is not always to be relied upon, Da’el’dr’el comments, the thought shocking her once again.

Shi’la’ar smiles yet again. The Weave is not his dimense in this Realm, my dear, and here on Toril, there are… holes, shall we say. Places where magic is pushed away or the Weave torn. Besides, He is your guide, not your crutch. She looks her over. You are still whole, and now more the wiser. She turns and faces Da’el’dr’el, putting her hands on the small elf woman’s shoulders and smiling at her. The Great Archer’s power is not only found in magic. It seems you may have forgotten this. He is with you even now. He is the reason you even see and hear me. But his enemies are many and now I think you understand truly the difficulty of our task, the burden of battling evil and its minions. You have been reminded of your mortal task. Now, rest, and let Solonor fill you again with purpose. Know the mortal plane is full of wonder and terror, know that you are special to Him. To us all.

Da’el’dr’el was crying again, but this time, she felt as if the woman had instilled within her a sense of wisdom and understanding far beyond her own, she was a child again, and she could only smile back sheepishly and nod. Then, she was squinting as Shi’la’ar became a giant ball of light once more and then simply floated up into the night.

Remember what you are, came Shi’la’ar’s voice for the last time, Remember what you Seek.

“Gha’ele El’adr’in,” Da’el’dr’el whispers softly, bowing to the light. When she lifts her head again, Shi’la’ar was gone.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Mon Mar 02, 2015 1:17 am
by Shamsy
The Journal of Adolamin Carter Massalan

He sat on his bedroom floor staring at his collection of misused magical items. He frowned as he picked up the slightly burnt doll that was discovered in a haunted mansion in the very city he lived in. Shaking his head, he put the doll back in the bottom of his wooden and metal banded chest. He folded some silk linen around the doll to give her some comfort at night. He wasn't sure what happened in the chest in the late hours of the night, but he wasn't going to open the lid and see what surprise would jump out at him. He knew it was the doll that did all the thumping against the chest, and it gave him the chills as he thought about it. "Soon I will find peace for you little doll.", he whispers softly as he lays the doll on top of other linens already at the bottom of the trunk.

After the doll was comfortable in the chest, his eyes went to the three vials standing upright on the floor. All three of them were corked off but not much else about them gave any evidence of the blood, death and hideous creatures that he saw that day at the shop. He was curious of a certain woman (that was obviously teasing his curiosity by letting him follow her that day). The woman was an enigma to him, and an obsession now to discover more about this Julia Blackcraft. Sooner or later he would be able to track her down, and get some answers about her. It just always happened that something unusual kept them apart from talking to each other. The three vials were going to have to be identified, and he could go from there.

"So much death happened and then the most unusual looking creatures came out of the shop too. There is something going on that is definitely wrong!". He picked each one up carefully and put them in a small box that was lined in thick cloth to keep the vials from breaking. After they were safely in the small box, he put it in the chest also. Making sure that the vials were at the opposite ends with the doll. He rearranged the items in the chest so there was no way the two items would touch each other.

"{Who knows what would happened if the doll got a hold of the vials?!?!}, he thought to himself. What he saw that day was similar to what he saw at the abandoned temple with all those bodies connected together........he shudders.

The last item was a grave digger's shovel; luckily he had a large chest to hold even that in it too! "It is nice to be born a noble!", murmuring quietly to himself as he laid the shovel down on top of most things in his personal chest. The shovel was found in the same mansion as the doll was. After having a wizard identify the two items, he felt responsible for fixing the two, well now three problems (the items). It bothered him that the misuse of magic could be done with no consequences to the maker of these items , but the innocents that perished from the misuse of the Weave. He had promised his self that when he found a way to protect the Weave from the misuse of the magic being used, he would pursue that career! Sooner or later he would start to fix the items he had that were cursed or just used in the wrong way. It just seemed the time was not now.

He closed the lid and after the latch and lock connected, he put the key in and locked it. Standing up he admired the family crest on the face of the curved lid along with the beautiful engraved M under the locking mechanism. After rearranging some of his hanging clothes, to hide his chest somewhat. he stepped out of his walk in clothes closet and shut the door. He went to his desk and opened a small drawer to grab a bulging pouch full of crowns for tonight's fun and games.
" Maybe the Blushing Mermaid or I might just go to the Grinning Lion, I know there is some good Zzar to drown in at that tavern.", he speaks to himself as he leaves his bedroom in the Massalan Villa. He instructs the servants to stay out of his room, there was no need for them to hear any thumping from the doll tonight.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Fri Mar 06, 2015 6:37 pm
by Seekerthefallen
The household had been busy in unexpected ways since the Hin returned from Skullport. She came home expecting quiet and indulgence and what happened? Sera wandered past the front doors and saw Glenna doing bloody laundry, some of the girls ferrying about water and food to the guest rooms. They evidently had company.

Sera's footsteps were weary things but they carried her over by the doors anyway, and found not even remotely what she expected to find. The beds all had halflings in them, tanned loud mouthed halflings - one of them holding a little baby and the other two quite expansively gravid. Which summarily stunned the obese one lingering in the doorway. At least for a few seconds anyway. "I.. clearly missed something here."


It didn't take that long to get filled in. One of Ziandra's friends had needed some place to stash a few of his crew it seemed, which of course meant Glenna's spare rooms getting usurped for more pregnant people. One had clearly already given birth and the other two had to be due any day soon. Somehow this seemed to inspire an immediate urge to help, linger around, and socialize with them in the fat one. Sera spent the first evening getting to know names and asking questions about their mutual friends, their Captain and her adoptive sister. She needed rest herself though and the first evening thus had to be a bit on the short side.

It was the second day she really dug in. Bringing in a basket of pastries and chocolate, of fresh pillows and smiles. There was an occasional sad smile at the child that was born already and just a twinge of jealousy at the other two in their swollen state. The stories though? Those they had all manner of common ground for. Hearing about all three being freed slaves at some point or another, before their Captain had gotten them loose and then apparently gotten them pregnant. She listened to what they were willing to tell, some more the others. They listened to hers - how she was pulled right out of class and sold to some vile old man with cold hands. The stories of their saviors were just as odd - no knights in shining armor, but a jaunty ugly pirate for them and a fat old witch for her.


Sera spent what time she could, until they grew too fatigued for more - something she recalled well. When not doing that she helped Glenna keep things cleaned up as best she could. When the girls were too nauseous to keep food down she brought them tiny apples the size of cherries, that nourished for a full day if they had to. The long and short of it? The wobbling gait of the halfling witch looked downright happy at home. That, and perhaps she might just have to meet this captain of theirs when he returns.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Fri Mar 13, 2015 8:59 pm
by Shamsy
Loth'Gar Journal Entry 31: The Saving of Sir Tibbywinkle

The squelch squelch of something wet, sticky and foul echoed alarmingly all around the tunnel. Squelch squelch, plop! For the umpteenth time, Loth'Gar winced at the sound, the smell and the feel of the filth he was trekking through. "Oh Ilmater have mercy on my suffering boots." He said cheekily. Tempting the gods wrath was a dangerous thing though, and the cold, wet something that at that moment elected to run down the back of his neck was apt punishment. As he stood shock still, feeling the slow, cold creep he wondered again how he had been convinced to wander the sewers of Waterdeep, all in search of a missing cat. "Oh Tibbywinkles, if the rats haven't gotten you, I sure will." He muttered darkly, glancing around and trying to imagine roses and sunlight… but smelling excrement and seeing worse.

When the elderly neighbours cat had gone missing, who did she turn to for help? The sweet half-orc adventurer across the way of course. The one that helped he with her packages occasionally and who just last summer had assisted her replace some storm damaged shingles. While he appreciated that the neighbours thought highly of him and had accepted him into their street, it did come with certain expectations that he did not always appreciated. One of which was searching for a cat. A stupid cat by all accounts. Too fat to be a good mouser, not exceptionally agile and prone to being stuck in the most unlikely of places. "Oh Tibby, you have a lot of explaining to do." He shook his head again, slogging on. The thing had been spied heading down a rusted grate not a two day hence, without a care in the world.

He'd been through a few tunnels, blessedly open, but the deeper Loth travelled the narrower and older the brickwork became. He must have been close to the original tunnel system of the city, but not that familiar with architecture, he really had no way of telling. After a particularly narrow and fetid little branch, he emerged into a chamber roughly the size of his house's first floor. A narrow walkway of brick skirted the outside of the chamber, enough of a path for the guild to use, but not wide enough for an outsider to be comfortable. And Loth'Gar was an outsider, an at times unfortunately tall one at that… Across the center of the chamber hung some sort of iron structure. Thick chains, rusted with age though sturdy enough looking, dangled from the walls and held a gantry out over a central pool of very murky water. Not the engineer, but the gantry appeared to have a purpose, for a few chains and poles hung from the platform and disappeared into the murky water. He could only guess the purpose. He turned away from the gantry with only a brief glance, not seeing the ginger fur of the cat in the dark and poorly illuminated metal contraption. He began to shuffle around the outside of the pool, until a soft sound froze him in his tracks. "Mew?" A plaintive little cry sounded from the chamber. It was hard to locate in the enclosed space, but he THOUGHT it sounded like it might be from the platform.

Squinting again, he took a careful look. There! A small dark smudge near the back. Dirty and dishevelled, of course he should have thought that the cat would not be that obvious. Fool! he cursed his own lack of wisdom. With a sigh he looked for the way across to the gantry. A ladder, now snapped hung a little way down on the diagonal shelf to which he stood. A thick rope, probably put there by the plumbers guild, hung from an iron sconce to the bottom rung of the ladder. Great. "You had better be blessed by Tymora." he warned Tibby. A few more shuffles and he was at the rope. Looking at it, it seemed solid enough. Not that old, not rotten. He had been around enough ship rigging to know the signs. "Right then…" He took hold of the rope in his gloved hands and swing his feet over the length, so he swung horizontal over the water. With a sigh, he began to shimmy along the length, towards the platform. One length….. two lengths…. he'd reach it on the third. That is of course the precise moment he hears a 'plop!' and a great "Rrrbbbbbbt!" from below…

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Sun Mar 15, 2015 4:42 pm
by Seekerthefallen
Selected thoughts from the Would-Be-Private Journal of the Would-Be-Shield-Sage, Jung Siral

1 Alturiak 1383DR

The libraries of Waterdeep have so far been closed to me. Guild memberships, entrance fees, and inferior selection have made it so far impossible for me to acquire even the simplest information on the use of magic. I must find gainful employment, it would seem, if I am to open these so far closed doors. I need supplies first, however, so the books will have to wait.

3 Alturiak 1382DR

Pen and ink are invaluable tools, I find. The semi-permanence and clarity that results in the script in lieu of the barbaric charcoal chits I had grown accustomed to has progressed my studies immeasurably. The diagrams can now be rendered with an accuracy that was not previously achievable. However, much like the charcoal, mundane ink holds not upon the pages of the volume given me by Caernag, and despite my efforts, the diagrams of the few simple spells within the books that I have attempted to convert using my own formulae still do not function properly. I must discover why. Perhaps it is the simple parchment I have attempted to scribe them upon?

6 Alturiak 1384DR

With the unknowing assitstance of a Thayan mage I encountered in the market, I have discovered why my previous attempts to scribe spells into the volume given me by Caernag have failed. I had wondered if it was even a spellbook at all. In the months it took me to decipher its minimal contents, my education in magic was begun. But there were no instructions there listed, nor mentioned by the bard as to how to further inscribe the book with more spells. Caernag had always said the magic just came to him, and that he'd no need for a spellbook. Not so for me. I must commit every detail to memory on a daily basis, it seems, for the magic vanishes from my mind immediately upon casting, as it is gone from my mind upon waking every morning.

I must procure funds to purchase the special inks I have now been told are necessary to adhere to the pages of a spellbook. The cost of these inks is not only exhorbitant, but quite nearly prohibitive for me at this time. It is more difficult even than gaining access to the city's libraries. I must find a way to acquire these materials, or the gold to procure them. Logic states that production of such things would be the domain of the alchemist. Though alchemy is not something I have previously acquainted myself with, logic would dictate that I should.

9 Alturiak 1384DR

As I study and research the elements of the Weave that progress the power of my magic, I find their complexity and intricacies increasing on a scale of magnitude that would seem to suggest the scribing of more powerful spells would require more than just a single page in a spellbook. If that is indeed true, powerful mages must be not only intelligent in a rare way, but wealthy as well. Or spellbook poor!

13 Alturiak 1384DR

I have met more than a few arcanists since my arrival in Waterdeep. More than one of them has suggested the proper way for me to perfect my scribing technique is to scribe for another (in the manner of an apprentice), that practice in such a way is bound to lead to a better understanding of the elements of placing a spell to paper, and that the constant repetition will reveal to me a method to accomplish my intent. I am not certain I agree with their assessment. If the economy of the scribe has progressed into this form, as it is now, with the repetitions of perhaps thousands of scribes across Faerûn, and spellbooks are still written in such a fashion, the position of scribe will be of no material benefit. Therefore I will continue my work alone, since I am trying to do something that, it seems, none before me have accomplished. Or perhaps they have. Such a discovery would make for a worthy secret, would it not?

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Sat Mar 21, 2015 7:46 pm
by Shamsy
The Journal of Adolamin Carter Massalan

It was late, he should be sleeping in his cozy bed right now, but NOOOO!!!! the scratching inside the chest kept him in nightmares. He knew it was the burnt doll that was causing the scratching noise, he knew that he had to do something soon to find peace with the doll, he knew that sleep would elude him until something was done!

The late night drinking binges, sleeping with a female lover in another locations away from his family's villa still didn't stop the scratching noise and nightmares that came with his sleep. There was no rest for the young man until he started on his personal quest to find the doll some peace. He sighed to himself and started to formulate a plan for the doll, it wouldn't be easy. He had Enialas , a powerful wizard, identify it but the wizard had some difficulties with the doll.

{ Even though there was some difficulty with identifying it , some time has passed now.....maybe a priest might have better luck with the doll?}, he thought to himself.

Shaking his head to clear it up some, he decided it was time to sober up and get this done with once and for all. Still there is always that attitude with nobles that some things don't need to be attended to right he eyed the lovely bar maid that was flirting with him.

He groaned as he realized that he'd make a fool of himself tonight with the lovely lass when the scratching noise invaded his head when he was passed out sleeping. Let alone who knows what the lass would do to him, you know rob him or have some rough looking thugs sell his passed out self to some slavery ring. He shudders as he thinks about the involvement he played in stopping the Phull family with illegal slave trading here in the city.

Of course the part of getting stuck to a giant web and then getting burned from the web also wasn't so much fun. He frowns as the liquor's fuzzy feeling was fading away. So much for being a little drunk and happy tonight. He raised his hand to get the serving maid's attention and then asked for the tab. As she went to retrieve the bill, he pulled out his pouch and set it on the table waiting on her. As she came back, he quickly glanced at the tab, paid her the amount and added a crown and some silver just to see her smile, and then proceeded out the tavern.

It was going to be a long night with him making a list of what he should try, it's hard to make a list when you've never dealt with something like this! Probably a priest with a temple that the family trusted somewhat. The only problem was that his family wasn't exactly the religious type, as far as he knew, this was going to be a problem. Maybe he would check out the libraries available to him, there might be something there might lead him in the right direction, he shook his head. This was going to be harder than he first thought.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Sat Mar 21, 2015 9:47 pm
by Shamsy
Loth'Gar Journal Entry 32: The Saving of Sir Tibbywinkle Part 2

"Rrrbbbbbbt!" A sigh escapes from Loth'Gar's mouth just before something long, wet and sticks slaps into him with considerable force. Suspended above a pool of filthy water, dangling down from a rope suspended between the path and a gantry, naturally the half-orc wobbles uncontrollably, bouncing around like a child's toy. He says something rude and uncharacteristic, before his straining hand slip and he falls the few feet into the water. Sadly, not being a stranger to this situation, he manages to close his mouth and blow out his nose just before he his. Unlike a normal dive into the ocean, this water is far denser and freezing cold. The shock of it almost forces him to open his mouth and take a breath, but years of swimming and training ensure he doesn't.

Thrashing around wildly, blinded by the filth and slop covering him, the orc's arm hits something hard and rubbery. So, it can get worse! He feels a great weight shift near him, and another loud "Rrrbbbbbbt!" sound! Something bites down on his hand, hard! Luckily the thick gloves, with strips of iron sewn into them take the worst of the attack, and though painful and bruised, his fingers aren't chomped off! "Gods… grant… me… patience!" He shouts as he tries to swim and drag himself to the edge of the bricks, finding the heavy slop quickly sapping his strength. Managing to grab the closes brick and happily finding it strong, he began to drag himself out, kicking his leg furiously. He manages to get his torso out of the muck and is about to pull his legs out to when something painfully smacks into his calf, wrapping around his leg and dragging his face first back into the slop. A muffles "Fmmrk!" is all that he gets out before he's being dragged backwards towards his assailant! Utterly blind, unable to breath he nearly panics, but a soft warmth fills his mind and brings calm and tranquility to his chaotic thoughts. Able to think clearly, he calmly relaxes, sliding thorough the mud before stopping suddenly as the tongue reaches it's limit.

Twisting around, he reaches behind him, long practice allowing his hand to find the twisted hilt of his short-sword with ease. Drawing it forth as he floats, he hacks out blindly at the water near his foot. "Splash!" nothing, other side "thak!" something that feels a little like rope feel the bite of his enchanted steel. A great "Rpppppt!!" issues forth and the water thrashes madly as something flops around and lashes out wildly. Loth'Gar is thrust below the water and buffeted around for what feels like hours, before the waters calm almost suddenly. His lungs now aching for air, the half-orc instinctively pushes up and breaks the surface, tasting the rank air of the sewer fill his lungs. He splutters and reaches out, finding the brick path at the edge of his reach. Hauling himself out he stands and shakes like a dog, before emptying the water from his skin over his face. There is no sign of the giant frog anywhere, and in the sudden quiet and still air, he could almost believe he imagined it. As he stood listening, Loth'Gar hears a light tinkle to the left and whirls around, only to find a scrappy looking tabby looking up at him with big eyes. "Mew?" He asks curiously, before rubbing his head one the cleanest part of his leg he can find. A soft rumbling purr starts up, as the orc, stinking, filthy and cold just lets out a defeated sigh. "Come on then, lets go home." He says softly, leading the way with the tiny tinker of a bell following close behind. Eventually reaching the ladder and climbing out, the small cat riding his shoulders like a conquering knight, in that superior way only a cat can manage. Together they trudge through the street, even the beggars avoiding the stinking pair.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Sun Apr 05, 2015 5:43 pm
by Shamsy
I could not write a date to these pages, no. That would be wholly too revealing. Instead, I will endeavor to elucidate on how living is the street. How, upon treading its worn stone, one can find the secrets of the universe within; the splendors.

Tonight I picked up both the new and the notorious! Exotic people from far away places often grace this city, filtering in with the lifeblood that is its people. Tonight was no exception. Oh, there are so many stories! I tell you there are so many things to see.

Throughout the day there are countless stories to be had as strangers and locals alike merge together, disembarking from their respective ships all along the docks. The fishermen drag their stench across its length and breadth. Enough time in the city and one hardly notices it... if by hardly the intent is rather like a spear in one's neck. Some of these faces are familiar, others are strange in the most strange of ways, some are never seen again, some are seen all too much.

It is enough that the urchins leave me in peace, but it is a peace brokered by the stoutness of the stick I wield with impunity. I care not for their dirty little prodding fingers, and they not for me. It is best this way.

The nonchalance of the powerful members of our population is undoubtably comedic at times. Just today a man floated down the street as if piloting some invisible ship, his first mate, a rather disconcertingly-sized arachnid, manning the keel. His friends conversed publicly on matters perhaps better suited to the staterooms of kings and other such governing officials, and did so with nary a care that I heard. I knew them at once! It would seem some stories have at least a moderate ring of truth, whatever that is.

The night really began afterward, in fact, though much later. Yes, much later. The time when the air turned cold enough to draw the heat from you, and locals began to stream out of the taverns and festhalls. I will say this much: These people, for the most part, ...tip... rather well. I find this one of the high points of my day. One young lady was insistent that I walk her to her door. Her bedroom door. Good thing her father was awaiting her, I suppose. The man paid me, after all. Afterward, in those small hours before the dawn where the desperate thrived, so did I. Yes, such are the wee hours.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Sun Apr 05, 2015 5:44 pm
by Shamsy
Loth'Gar Journal Entry 33: Training Time

Loth'Gar wasn't one to shy away from the outdoors, but today was not a pleasant day. Indeed, with the winter showing signs of abating, the weather was wet, cold and muddy, precisely not the best time to be training on the field. Or maybe it was the perfect time he reasoned. After all, it was not possible to predict the weather all the time, and one should be prepared. Heavens knows, the monsters, bandits, thugs or other hundreds of potential foes hardly wait for good weather before striking. With that logic, the half-orc let out a resigned sigh and slipped on his boots.

Out into the muddy street he went, but once he had walked a few blocks towards the more affluent parts of town, the roads because better maintained, swept clean and even footing. It was a fair hike to the Field of Triumph, but not liking being cooped up, Loth'Gar relished the exercise. He also used the opportunity to eat his luch, which he had thoughtfully packed before leaving. A couple of cold sausage, a slice of hard cheese and a handful of carrots. Not bad.

Upon reaching the grounds, he quickly made his way in and to the archery range that was set up and maintained by the city. Of course it was fairly empty today, with most of the sensible folks keeping indoors out of the misty rain that had begun to fall about half way here. Undeterred, Loth'Gar selected a suitable spot, an appropriate distance and set his arrows in the rack within easy reach. Removing his bow from the sling across his back, Loth'Gar quicky bent the great limbs and fitted the string, giving quite a grunt at the process. The bow was elven in make, but gee it took some strength to use. The enchanted string he used had a couple of threads of mithril wire woven in. Costly no denying, but when the string was the difference between life and death, well worth the investment.

Loth performed a few stretches for his arms and shoulders, but the long walk had warmed him up already and he was feeling ready to go. Hefting the composite bow, he drew the steel arrow back, feeling his arm tense at the weight, held it in line with his eye and let loose at the straw target. Te arrow flew straight, faster than he could keep up with his sharp eyes. A thwak! confirmed a hit shortly after, and he was please to see it was a good hit. Not perfect, but solidly in the rings. The second arrow whistled down the field and landed a little closer to the centre ring, another solid him. Smiling to himself, Loth'Gar set the third and final arrow, drew and released. Thwak! Closer again and inside the central dot.

Only practice and diligent work made one a better archer. In fact, he reasoned philosophically, the same could be said for nearly anything. Years of hard work and training. So another arrow was sent down range, then another and another. He collected them and sent more down range. It was good, relaxing and each hit seemed just that little better, a little tighter grouping and fractionally closer to the bullseye. It was a good few hours until Loth'Gars arm began to tremble, a sure sign that he was done for the day. "No sense pushing it..." He muttered. He waves a farewell to his fellow archers, with whom he had spoken to at length about techniques, bows and stories of heroic feats with a bow. As a dedicated archer, it was discussions like these that were often just as valuable as the practice. A day not wasted.

It was another long walk back to his home, but a good few swings of the arm would prevent the cramps that might otherwise have come on later. Pushing open the door of his little home, he slung his boots into the basket, hung his gear up carefully on the stand and flopped into a chair. "Better than doing the dishes." He said aloud, looking at the heap of wooden bowls and plates piled next to the tub. With a sigh he resolved to do those before bed.

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Thu Apr 09, 2015 9:41 am
by Seekerthefallen
Perhaps it was simply a Winterschill thing. Had marriage offered more then just the companion she sought, or the security that good coin provides. It seemed as though, something of her husbands nature had simply rubbed off on her. First it was just being an elf, that matched her husband well. Then it was plying his magical talents to her own skills, which went well enough. Now, it was something more.

She hadn't left the study for near a tenday. Her hands were being used, her mind used-the rest of her was not really so. This was an amusing sort of thing. For once, her husband was the one delivering the trays of food. Pausing to lay a fond hand apon a shoulder and if anything only merely cause a slight distration. Now she knew the burden that came with a craft.

But this night changed a bit.. At least with the attempts to foil. She was good at such things, placing her petite form apon the desk right amid the workings of her husband. That would be enough to give pause, but he couldn't work the desk the same way. No, he was a man of the mind.

The thump did it first, as the unfamiliarity of it caused her to jump a little. Turning from where she prattled on with a small slender band of gold, to the sight of a game board placed so soundly in the center of the floor. "What am I to make of this?"

There was more to it, now she spanned a bit of her gase outward. The board was on a blanket, the blanket the floor and beside it was food and wine. "Don't you think you should be trying to insist on my studies, not lure me off of them?"

"Probably. " Enialas said with the slightest of smirks, he reserved with he was in his young wives company. It was his most natural and husbandry-based expression. "You look like you need a break and I'm not about to hop onto your work. The tools alone would leave me sore."

Sure enough, there was all manner of tools to work with metals and function on crafting rings. "I see, but what of the game?" She lowered the small pliers in her hand, and soon laid them out carefully in the row along with the others. Each was simple, and yet not in the same. All part of a craft, she'd more then mastered on her trip out of the city. Seemed sort of strange how it worked, like that.

"It is the one you wanted so badly in Daggerford. You recall you made such a face, I had no choice but to pay for it." He thought about it as his hand played with a pivotal piece in the set. "One game. You win, You finish your work. I win, you-"

"You don't need to spell it out." She said, pushing back from the desk and wandering over to the trap her husband had laid out for her. "You know I don't know how to play, and I'm certain that you do." Finding a comfortable spot across from him on the floor and perking a curious brow to him. "Seems like you have an advantage here."

"You are not likely to give in before you start. It was always one of your ...better traits." Lifting the piece up to admire how well it was made. It should be, afterall the price was more then he wanted to spend on anything like this. It was still hard to say no to her, though. So it was lowered and set into place.

"Careful," She warned without venom, "I accept."

Re: The Daily Dragon: Journals

PostPosted: Mon Apr 27, 2015 1:43 am
by Shamsy
Selected thoughts from the Would-Be-Private Journal of the Would-Be-Shield-Sage, Jung Siral

18 Alturiak 1384DR
I have lain down my plans for wont of a lack of understanding. I fear I have attempted to overstep my own knowledge before I even understand how the magic itself is working. Here I sat, attempting to condense only the simplest order of spells into something they are not meant to be. I must study further, advance my understanding of the Order of Things. I will seek out a layman’s position in one of the city’s many libraries. Perhaps then I may find what it is I seek.

23 Alturiak 1384DR
Organizing these many tomes and scrolls is a tedious thing, but I understand the merits of the thoughts behind it. It seems I am to waste my precious time attending to these miniscule tasks. But it is the miniscule, the smallest detail I seek, as that might, in fact, be the key. No time spent in careful observance is wasted time, I must tell myself.

27 Alturiak 1384DR
I have found what looks like an old textbook. Its contents deal largely with the School of Abjuration, a field which interests me greatly. The tome is damaged and many of its pages eaten by moths and bookworms. The language is archaic but some of the ideas here seem to have been replaced in more recent writings. I wonder. The basic concepts are the same, but there seems to be something here that might prove useful to me. It certainly warrants further scrutiny. I will seek permission to bring it from the library to my study where I may peruse its contents in a more private environment. I will do so under the pretense of copying what remains of its contents for posterity.

29 Alturiak 1384DR
It has been a day and a night and I have not yet completed my analysis of the ideas presented in the volume I currently study. It is a seminal work of a great mage, of that, I am sure. His name, however, seems lost to time. Although I am not certain of the veracity of all the arguments presented herein, their fundamentals seem sound enough. How odd, the author’s thoughts on light and its purpose. I wish to understand it more, but much of what remains intact of this volume and its meaning is lost in the nuance of its ancient language. My next thought is to seek out more history in this era, as well as to understand some of these words which are unfamiliar to me. Language holds many secrets.