First scenes: the revival of the Chosen and their boarding upon the strange vessel Sherehezade's One Thousand and First.
Dotting now, will put up intro at some point today.
I was taken to a safe house, several days ride away to Waterdeep. I used the last of my wand's curing powers to heal the deepest of wounds, but I was too weak to do much good. By the time I was in Waterdeep, under bales of hay to discourage the town watchguards from looking too closely, I was nearly under. Some would call it a 'coma' in their tongue. I was in and out of consciousness for several days, leading up to the final attack.
The people who owned the safe house were retired bards, but they still knew how to handle themselves in a fight. At least, one that they were prepared for. The couple were given short notice about my arrival and did not have much time to prepare. After a few days, they sent runners out to fetch supplies, that they might not be able to leave for a couple of weeks, while I was trying to heal. The demon-spawn knew where I was the whole time, although how even I don't know. They were simply biding their time, until the right moment. Three of their kind, disguised as humans, came back with food, water, and suddenly, drawn swords. The couple tried to fight, but they did not have the right spells prepared for a fight, and were soon overwhelmed. The whole time that the attack was going on, I was deep in slumber, never hearing the sounds of battle. If I had, however, I would not have been a position to fight anyway, my wounds were still too severe. The assassins found me quickly, and decided to end my life using my own blade. In this, I got one last laugh, as one of the demon assassins grabbed the wrong blade and his hands began to sizzle. He looked paler, weaker for a moment, before the sword was slapped out of his hands. Finally, with sword poised over me, they plunged Cotumo deep into my chest, piercing my heart easily.
When the local authorities were roused an hour later, they found the bodies of the couple on the ground floor. Of me, there was no trace, not even blood on the sheets. It was if I was never there, and for the watchmen, there was no reason to search for me. If they had known what really happened, they might have never stepped foot in that house.
"So the fates were not so kind to you, I see, devoted rogue of mine."
I had no idea who or what the voice was, at least, not at the time. But all things become clear in death. After a moment, I knew who was 'talking' to me. It was She who held luck in Her hands. I was dead, and yet here I was in Her presence. It took me a moment to find my 'voice' but after, I spoke to Her in return.
"It was bound to happen sooner or later. At least the thread was cut while I was still in service to You."
"So very true, Barid Naismith, son of Gerald, who also served me until Death took him away. That is, in part, why you stand before me in judgement, instead of Limbo with all the others."
"Have I been deemed worthy to serve You in death as I served You in life?"
"You have, Barid. But I have something special in mind for you. A service that, should you and others like you succeed, will hopefully rid this sphere of all the evil that currently plague it."
"Am I to be sent back to Waterdeep, then?"
"No, you will arrive by a 'special' transport, you and several others, in the city of Calimport. Once there, you will find out what needs to be done."
"As you wish, my goddess. Will I have all of my tools to carry out this task in your name?"
"Yes, and something else as well."
Before me, I perceived of a pair of bracers. They looked like any other pair of such, with cheetahs engraved on the top. Underneath, however...Before I could look at it further, however, She spoke again.
"These bracers will serve you, both in battle, and in your service. But be forewarned, Barid, son of Gerald. I now control the thread of your life, and I must forever discharge my duty. I cannot tell you when your thread will be cut again, but I can tell you that my influence, both good and bad, are now bound to you through the bracers. You luck will run both hot and cold, and possibly at the worst possible times. Should your skills overcome your fate, then you will succeed. Of this, I have no doubts. You will fare well. Now go, Barid Naismith, and go with my blessings."
With that, I knew She was gone, back to whatever realm that deities resided in. That was when I passed out, again.
Looking down, I saw that I was wearing my standard courtier's clothing. Smart enough to look somewhat noble, but not enough to stand out. I could feel my armor underneath that, which I was not, unfortunately, wearing during my first death. My daggers were at my side, along with my pouches and magical quiver. Also unfortunately, I used the last of my wands in my last mission. My first task upon reaching Calimport, I thought, will have to be re-supplying. Who would have thought that ventriloquism would be so useful... I did not see my rapiers, however, and started to panic. Then I realized that, each rapier was in my bracer, using magic to keep them hidden. With the powers of the bracers, I could simply will my rapiers into my hands. The realization made me feel even better. I tested that by pressing the middle button on the left bracer, reached into the black hole that now surrounded the bracer, and pulled out Cotumo. It was a fine blade, and I knew it would serve me well in Her stead. I put the weapon back in and flicked my wrist, which closed the hole again. That is when I looked up.
In all my days, past and present, I will never be able to fully describe the ship before me. I was on land, in a flat, open plain, to be exact. Yet, there was a stone bench in the middle of nowhere, and a ship, hovering in front of me. At least, it looked like a sailing vessal, of sorts. From my vantage point, I could not see if the ship had sails or anything else for that matter. It might have been the wind gently pushing the ship back and forth, but I will swear on my life that it seemed to be breathing! That is, the ship was inhaling and exhaling, much like I do. There was a gang plank that led into the bowels of the ship. I stood up, but did not approach it. I was frankly stunned at the sight. That's when I heard the voice...
In I went, only the Lords knowing what fate awaited me.
Belsiard was born on the road, though with a much less poetic name. He was born Belsuth, which he feels was vulgar. In fact Balsiard would be angry if he knew that his old name ever made it into print.
Belsiard was born on the road, his father was a warrior and guard of a cleric of Oghma, she in turn was Belsiard’s mother. His father, mother and several other clerics and dozens of other heroes were dispatched from Waterdeep to help cleanse the taint of devilry plaguing the world. Why his mother, Celene, chose to take this on when she knew she was with child is known only to her.
Despite all odds for 6 years the troup continued to fight, and survive, at times with Belsiard litterally strapped to the back of Celene. It is around this time that he has his first memories, not of fear and death and pain, but rather of sitting around the fire after a victory listening to his Father, Belsen play his lute. Belsen was not particularly talented, but the music captured him. He remembers making up words and singing them to the songs. There was one tune in particular that filled Belsiard with joy and wiped away all fear, and he would beg Belsen to play it every night. That song, he would later learn, was one of the greats written by Finder Wyvernspur.
6 years of success is a long time in the world today, and eventually things began to turn. Combats became harder and deadlier, members began to fall faster than they could be replaced. By 8 years old Belsiard was standing along side his parents firing a crossbow, and distracting foes with a whip. By 10 years old he was casting magic that somehow was innate to him. All the while he would sing songs of glory, of bravery, and when he was afraid that same song his father had taught him.
In the end it was a single spell that killed them all, he excepted. A demonic sorcerer was hitting them over an over with a spell of Black Tentacles and a Scorching Ray. Always the nimble type Belsiard had wriggled free and made himself invisible. He made his way all the way to the sorcerer, and to his horror, realized he could not stop him. He would always know those spells. Seeing his family being slaughtered he did what he could, he attacked with his crossbow, then his whip. The fiend laughed and cast a spell on Belsiard holding him in place, then let him watch his family be slaughtered. Belsiard could not move, all he could do was hum the words of that song.
The fiend left him held there, laughing at the pain in the boys eyes. Against all odds Belsiard found his way back to Waterdeep, though it took months. There he trained with Bard’s of renown and those of lesser ability. He lived amongst the poor and rougher elements of the city and learned to move with silence and to have nimble fingers. He learned to quickly get into fights with his mouth, and more importantly how to get out of fights the same way. At 14 he left the city, it was home, but it was too painful to be there, when every night all he could see was the face of the fiend, laughing.
For 5 years he traveled, beleaguered town to beleaguered town. Finally he found himself in Luskan, singing for his supper. He sang the song he loved, but his own altered version. A key shift and tempo change and it was no longer a song of joy but one of great sorrow. The tavern fell silent, until he changed keys and burst into the joyul original song. Afterwards a woman came to him, and told him that never had she heard Finder’s songs so well done, and that even he must have been listening. Belsiard spent many weeks with her learning of this Finder, and even found himself visiting a small shrine devoted to him. It was there that he met the man that would change his life.
A small dark man, who rarely said more than 4 words at a time followed him home the night after Belsiard had opened himself to the “congregation,” all of 4 people. He approached behind him and touched him, and stole one of his spells. He laughed as Belsiard stuttered and backed away.
He called himself Silk. He was moved by Belsiard’s story and offered to teach him the skills of the Sandmen. Bards that stole magic from their opponents and turned them against themselves. Yes, had Belsiard had this knowledge that fateful day, he could have stopped the slaughter.
For the next 3 years they traveled together and Belsiard learned all that he could of Finder Wyvernspur and the ways of the Sandmen. He learned magics that would have saved him that day, such as a way to break free of a holding spell and how to send spells back at your foe, as well as those honoring Finder himself, the way to create multiple images of himself, for example. Along the way they gathered more of their kind until at last at 24 years of age Belsiard determined it was time for revenge. He would seek out this fiend, not a hard task since he knew the stronghold they had died trying to claim, and kill him.
Reckless, foolish, suicidal. His friends told him. Reckless it may be Belsiard told them, but it must be done. Our god is oft called the “Reckless One” is he not. By the end of a night of drinking and song all were agreed.
Through stealth the party made their way back into the stronghold. All the way to the blackened chamber of the fiend himself. Preparing with various magics and resistances Belsiard entered alone, his companions agreeing to hold the door.
Silently Belsiard found his foe and immediately stole from him his tentacle spell, casting it at the door to prevent anyone from joining the fray. Almost immediately Belsiard found himself held, but singing the words of the song he burst free of the enchantment and they battled. Belsiard constantly turning invisible, and confusing the fiend as he slowly hurt him, laughing and singing all the while. He sent spells back at his foe, laughing at his shock. It seemed they battled for hours, in reality minutes. In the end Belsiard had the fiend held, and with one his own spells Belsiard ended him.
Belsiard knew there was not to be an escape. That was why he had prevented his friends from joining him. What became of them he never learned, he believed in his heart that they would escape, not knowing if they made it was his only regret. He waited where he was, tired and bleeding, and sang and played his harp. He used it’s magic to put a wall in front of the door so he would have time to finish his song, and when the fiends came for him, he played until his hands were removed, he sang until his tongue was removed, but the song continued in his heart, until that ceased to beat.
He looked around. Marble floors, stunning furniture and artwork. But the music. Belsiard looked down. His gear was all where it should be, repaired even. All was their except his lyre, well he couldn’t have everything.
It can’t be....Finder?
Good. Came the reply from the far end of the room. Pickings were short, so despite your lack of genius intellect, I have decided that you are my chosen.
Besliard stares at Finder, mouth open.
Really? Nothing? No “thank you Finder” No groveling? Nothing? I thought that is what worshipers did when they met their Gods. Well in that case let us just play together for a while. Your variations of my songs caught my ear.
Belsiard collects a harp from the far side of the room and accompanies Finder as best he can.
As Finder and he play Finder speaks again. You seem confused. I have watched you for quite some time young Belsiard. You and your Sandmen companions were quite reckless, wonderfully reckless. After your impressive, foolish and selfless battle, I decided that you would be my champion. We Gods have come together to try to put a stop to the mess down there, and you will represent me.
Belsiard finds his voice. But what of my companions? Did they escape?
Yes yes, they did. They are very mad with you, let me tell you. But you will get to find them eventually and I am sure all will be forgiven. Anyhow. You will return to Faerun and you will be picked up by a strange worshiper of Gond on an even stranger boat. On this boat you will meet the other chosen. Try not to start trouble with them.
Finder bursts into song for a while, after he finishes. That harp you play now is my gift to you. Think on it and you will instinctively know all of it’s powers, it is quite impressive it I do say so myself. Be smart and support your allies. Allow them to do the heavy lifting in combat, that is not your strength. Make sure that you use your special skills against enemy casters, nothing is more entertaining to me than that trick where you steal their spells then use it on them. Just delightful. We shall speak more. But for now, let us play then you must be on your way.
They play for what seems like hours. Time blends into the notes and before Belsiard realizes it he is standing on a dock waiting to be picked up.
Belsiard continues to play, softly. Thank you Finder. Thank you.
He plays on and waits.
Walking around below decks, Barid is amazed at what he sees and hears. There is a constant thrumming sound coming from the walls that is disconcerting, until he feels the ship start to move again. Barid puts two and two together and realizes it must be whatever moves the ship across land.
"Is anyone here?" He's not really expecting an answer, he knows that others will be along soon enough.
Soon enough, Barid finds his room, or at least a room, and steps towards the door, jumping back in suprise as the door opens on its own. Somewhat disturbed by this, Barid steps inside and is amazed at the oppulence and the size of the room. This room can't possibly fit in here, he thinks to himself. This 'suite' appears to be three rooms, and even, he sees, some kind of privy...on a ship.
he exited the archives and back into the court yard there the scene was bleak. The Demon had used his auxiliary to sweep much of the force from behind. he took out many of the armies heaviest hitters, and was toying with them now. Xaikon, saw the field before him, and praying to Denier he ordered his men to slay the auxiliary, he noticed the wizards who had joined emerging a smaller number as well and they set to light the demon spawn and their foul creations!
Still the Balor came on! Xaikon looked at the army, the demons forces where almost done, but if the demon remained the crusade would be lost. he transferred his books over to another brother, and told him "Candlekeep is lost for know but the works we recovered can remain strong. Go take them and hide, I know not were but hide. i will buy you the time you need to retreat." he than put on his gloves and rushed forward, he fell one demon and than rushed straight at the Balor.
The Two Clashed. Blade and whip against stone and wood, and what ever Xaikon could use. he fought hard getting burnt pierced slashed and battered. he was focused using his Ki his skills and his abilites to hit hard and hit strong. He fought knowing the wall over looked the ocean beyond and continued his fight. Blow after Blow he fought, he was weak, and growing weaker by the second. he was determined, he would slay this being the very being who had defiled so many works, had slain his friends and nearly cost the crusade its whole purpose.
Xaikon though got him to the wall and using all his might managed to get the sword away from this beast, and than drive it straight into its chest, he was gonna spring away only to have the other hand come up and grab his stomach and they both fell threw the wall and towards the ocean. Xiakon pecked at the beast as well as delivered a series of kicks to him as well. They than fell into the water. The Balor was dead before he hit, Xiakon on the other hand was to weak and with the death grip of the balor still on he sank, watching Candle keep from below the waves, as the air left and the water replaced him, the tendrils of cold lifelessness filling him as he slipped into death cold wet, and tired.
"Welcome Xiakon, I'm Cadderly and I'm to escort you to our master" he says tunring and walking down the hall way.
"Who?? I mean what? Where am I?" Xaikon says as little amazed at the man and the millions of books maps and other works here.
"Good questions all Brother Xaikon, and i can answer them but can not as i think the man.." he pauses at a simple wooden door and wraps it knocker"...behind the door will answer all"
The door opens and Xaikon finds himself inside the very chamber full of shelves full of scrolls and books. Odd little helmets move about to help organize and shift through the works. at the table in a simple blue robe and reading a few dozen works is a man of indeterminate age with simple spectacles looking over some tomes...One in particular sits at the center, and was the mans focal point it was his book The Road to restoration: The Crusade to Candlekeep By Xiakon
The man looks up when one of the helmets comes over and begins to talk to him. the man says something back and looks at you. he smiled and gestured to a seat that materialized infront of him.It was a well crafted chiar of simple wood and simple fibers.
Xaikon sat and let his hat fall back to reveal his head and nodded."Thank you sir, I am in awe of the works you have accumulated here and was wondering if by some odd twist of fate you are a priest who has awoken me for some dreadful fey slumber to the real Candlekeep?' Xiakon asks as he looks at the man before him with eyes eager to seek the truth.
"You have a mighty sword you wield here Xaikon. Every stroke a masterpiece. Sadly only a few will read it if things don't change in the realms below" the man said as he set down his pin. all the helmet things stopped and looked at the man as if is was some aberrant alien for which they looked upon.
" I my dear Xaikon, and Deneir, and I loved your work from conception to finish. Granted you didn't finish the work but you did write a particular story during a time creativity and the ability of free speech is crushed. That is why when us gods finally came together to act, I sought to empower a champion to live on and tell the tale of not only the his exploits but the exploits of all of of the chosen. You will chronicle the events taking fold, and you will save all writing as you can and empower others that the written word still can bring a slave to empower himself over the shackles that bind him. I know i ask alot of you, but know this you will not be alone. The other chosen, though a little coarser than your used to will be there to save they realms as well. try to be a wise teacher to them and shepherd them into the greatness they all have. Do this and you will know a free Fearun, a free Toril, So Xaikon its up to you will you be my Chosen, will you restore the ravaged lands below and usher in a new Renaissance of thought and the written word?" Deneir says passionately as he than sits down after getting up and than smiles.
Xiakon looks at his god such a humble looking man and thinks it over. he nods"Yes Deneir i will be your ambassador of this group and i will make you proud, My works are not yet finished and the people need to know what happens. I accept" he says falling to his knees and bowing.
"Go than my son and full fill your quest" Deneir says as Xiakon feels an odd tugging sensation.
The vessel slows and a man calls out {b]" Xaikon, hop aboard i am to take you and the other chosen to the next step of your journey, Come Come"[/b] he says as he pulls up along side the rock. Xiakon jumps on and head into the ship. he looks about and finds an area with a small kitchen he fires up the fire and sets a pot on with some water. he smiles and looks about, he than waits sitting in a chair and props his feet up. he cracks the book open and begins to rad his first words.
I dedicate this work to the hundreds of people the Crusade aided in there journey to Candlekeep i know not the out come of our journey yet but i will cherish every moment as if it where my last
The tea pot whistles, and Xiakon gets out his cup and pours water into it. he than pulls out a pinch of tea leaves and lets them settle to the bottom. he lets it steep as he hears a voice and shakes his head. he was overjoyed with his own work bound and printed in his stylistic hand. he took a sip of his tea.
The birds brain worked out the thoughts of the new experiences in his head as he enjoyed his tea and his work. Hopefully soon, all would be present and all would be willing to share there stories so Xaikon could truly capture his soon to be masterpiece and get it ready to circulate and inspire as his god commanded.
Barid stashes his few possessions not hidden away on the thickly padded couch, and begins walking around the ship again. Soon, he can hear the sound of a kettle letting off steam and he follows the sound into a kitchen. He sees before him a bird. A large bird. A large bird, drinking tea and reading from what is probably a scroll. Barid had seen stranger, but not by a whole lot.
"Hello, friend, which deity invited you to this party?"
Xaikon lifts his raven black covered head and smiles as he looks up from a book. he raises his cup gingerly and than gestures to the tea pot. he was simply dressed in function clothing with a robe over them. He carried no real weapons on him as he slips a pair of glasses in his pocket and smiles.
"hello there your self, i am Xaikon, and as for the god who asked me to join in this auspicious and grand endeavor is the Lord of Glyphs Deneir.' He opens his beak and pours a bit of tea into his mouth as he than looks at you.
" Sit and take a load off my human friend I have hot water for tea if you wish, if not i could brew some coffee. i do prefer libations whilst reading i believe it makes the work far much more enjoyable weather it a work of fiction or a detailed historical linage?" he cocks his head to the side, almost side ways in the manner of a bird and his hat behind his head jostles a bit as he than looks back down at his book, places a whole tea leaf in a page and than puts in in his pouch. he than pulls out his ornate ivory pen with the ostrich feather and a vial of ink. he also procures a blank journal and looks at you as he writes in a smooth flowing script, the words are in Tengu.
A youth of a human saunters in to see me. he seems a roguish sort as he has only daggers, and no real blades other than those. His accent is definitely Condathan, and I bet on this side of the Anauroch, that he spent most of his time near Waterdeep. his colors are simple yet the working of his clothes Elaborate, as if to impress. I find it a little distracting. I can see his unease as well, and he should be, the responsibilities we have accepted are great, and our yoke heavy...
"Sorry I had to got a few things down, Please be at ease I am here to serve as well,and I believe us well protected by this unique ship and its strange Captain" he says as he looks over what he just wrote and than back to you cocking his head again in his odd manner. he than righted him self and poured more tea into his beak.
He was 23 when the Blood War spilled over into the material plane. The Tower of Skulls, as a bastion of divine tutelage and sworn enemy of the many kinds of evil that demons and devils engender, was targeted swiftly and strongly. Bariel was out on a month-long hunt when it happened, and by the time he returned, a fiendish human who fancied himself a diabolic prince held the tower. Paxx, a powerful conjuror who made a compact with devils to serve eternally as a fief-lord under their reign had taken the Tower of Skulls as his own. Bariel and his team slayed their way to the top of the tower to confront the 'prince' himself. The team put up a great fight, but the would-be fiend was prepared. The top chamber of the tower filled with devils called in, and one by one the team fell to claw, beak, tooth, and sting of various diabolic entities. Bariel alone remained with the endless tide of enemies. A quick flash of his blade saw the last of the life ebbing from Paxx, but his horrified look twisted into a sneer as he used the last of his strength to crack his mighty glass staff in two, sending a crackling wave of black arcane energy rippling over the area. Bariel, in his battle-weakened state, had no way to escape this time. The resultant blast rendered the top levels of the tower wrenched open to the black sky as acid rain fell on the area.
Bariel found himself in a cold, grey world, dominated only by a spire made of topaz. From his studies at the Tower of Skulls, he knew this to be the realm of the Lord of the Dead. He journeyed forth to be judged by the Lord of the Crystal Spire.
The realm was quite busy, the line quite long. The faithless and the false were numerous since the silence of divinities and the blood war incursion. Farmers, merchants, slavers, bureaucrats, princes, paupers. All were equally arrayed for judgement.
It wasn't long before a warrior with a silver death mask and tattered armor stepped forth and brought him to the top of the spiral staircase and before Kelemvor himself.
"You have done great deeds, even among my most devout followers, Bariel," the god said, "But you have forgotten one of the most important. Consider the scales. No passion, no desire, no impulse. Merely mechanical function. Ours is to impassively judge, to consider the weights of the mortal soul against each other, and determine which is the more considerable sum."
Bariel remained silent, accepting his judgement without protest. He knew that the Lord of the Damned was referring to his recklessness with the attempted reclamation of the Tower of Skulls.
"I have a task and a test for you. It will be a great challenge, and how you fare will determine the weight of your soul. You will serve as my chosen champion, and will lend your abilities to the chosen of the other remaining deities. Now is the time for the land of men to once again be claimed by men. Drive back the blood war to its eternal battleground."
Bariel was excited to have another chance at serving Kelemvor and driving the evil outsiders from his plane.
Kelemvor cut him sort, "You must remember this. As my chosen, you must hold your emotions. Consider your death the death of your humanity. Hopes, dreams, grievances, passions, all must perish within your heart. So too must your heart perish, for you are already dead. You are a tool, a blade to cut the enemy, and a scale to judge truth. I have empowered your goggles with my divine will. Where before they pierced merely darkness, henceforth they will pierce souls and assess their true weight. Awaken, and serve."
With that, Kelemvor waved his hand and the landscape faded from view. Bariel fell for a long time, replaying the god's words in his mind.
When he stopped falling, Bariel awoke on the floor next to a bed. He was in a small room, little more than a closet. He stood up and stretched his stiff muscles, and took inventory of his equipment. He listened at the door for awhile, but heard only the churning and clunking of gears and pistons in some great factory. He checked the door for locks, and then traps. Finding none, he opened the door slowly and peered outside.
Xaikon lifts his raven black covered head and smiles as he looks up from a book. he raises his cup gingerly and than gestures to the tea pot. he was simply dressed in function clothing with a robe over them. He carried no real weapons on him as he slips a pair of glasses in his pocket and smiles.
"hello there your self, i am Xaikon, and as for the god who asked me to join in this auspicious and grand endeavor is the Lord of Glyphs Deneir.' He opens his beak and pours a bit of tea into his mouth as he than looks at you.
" Sit and take a load off my human friend I have hot water for tea if you wish, if not i could brew some coffee. i do prefer libations whilst reading i believe it makes the work far much more enjoyable weather it a work of fiction or a detailed historical linage?"
"Sorry I had to got a few things down, Please be at ease I am here to serve as well,and I believe us well protected by this unique ship and its strange Captain"
"I am afraid that I've never heard of your deity, not that it means anything, I rarely keep up with religious dealings outside my own church. It is good to meet you, Xaikon. My name is Barid. I think that I'll have some tea if there is any available from the ship's stocks." Barid then goes about looking in the various cabinets, seeing what is what, but not trying to ignore the new arrival.
Xaikon jots down Barid on his page in the margin as he pulls out a few leaves and cocks his head."I know not what fare is in the cupboards but i do have ta leaves if you wish tea, I have no problem sharing."
he sets the leaves on the table and than pours some more tea into his beak and than continues on."To whom is your allegiance Barid, I know my purpose for being here, and the purpose of our mission as do you. I lack weapons as my training has taught me and conditioned me to fight with anything at hand, But you seem to bare only daggers?" he notes the style and type of daggers in his journal as he than cocks his head and blinks and than rotates his head the other way and does the same.
"Sorry to be so inquisitive, but it was my Lords personal mission for me to record this group and its exploits so the tale may be told and its heroes able to inspire all" he says doing his weird head cocking again and than goes back to his notes.
My companion so far is an intriguing fellow, This Barid looks the noble but lacks there pomp and pride? Definitely dressed to impress? But impress who and why? So many questions, and yet not all my stalwart compatriots have yet to arrive.Another thing is Deneir never told me this was the ship to board yet my heart told me to go. he also with held where the ship will end up once us Chosen are all accounted for? Mysteries to uncover I assume our gods seem to thrust us into Chosenhood and to reclaim a world now a torrent of war and in bondage by evil. the very world weeps as the atrocities accrue. We have a long road ahead, a very long road, can we overcome it? Or will we fall? Only a few gods may know if they still exists at all?
Belsiard looks about and finds a stump he sits and thrums his harp for a bit, then tiring of that he transforms it into a Lute and plays a jaunty tune, he sings as he plays.
He turned, only now noticing that the far end of the forest was on fire, distant still but well visible. He also imagined to hear faint screams and the sound of battle over all that impossible distance. Without further thinking about he tried to draw the sword that wasn't there anymore, for he was only wearing light robes.
Suddenly hear heard a male voice besides him, deep yet clear, and as he turned again he saw an elf standing next to him, not young, not old, plain yet beautiful beyond compare. "Yes, even here the war has taken it's toll, the fiends grow bolder each day the material realm with it it our power weakens and intrusions grow more numerous. Yet know, that Arvandor is well protected by the heroes of old, even beyond the power of Seldarine and shall not fall." Even as he speaks a series of bright flashes fills the air and the fires collapse. "Abeir Toril on the other hand can't call upon the might of millennia and bleeds out ever faster. I'm reluctant to ask this of you, for I know you won't decline no matter the sacrifice, but I feel I must." Without saying anything further he holds out E'Sum'Kerym to Tarwas, who, with a last sad glance back at Lierna, grasps it with determination and his world explodes in blue light.
Suddenly the salty smell of the waves is overtaken by the smell of ancient forests and a second later an old elf suddenly appears in the mid on the ship, grasping a thin blade. The big moonstone in the pommel shines for another second in a bright, golden light before it fades, leaving the stone in its normal blue color.
The old man blinks a few times before looking around and taking a deep breath "Ahh, the smell of the sea. Good day to all of you, I hope I haven't startled anyone. You do not have to fear me, as long as you don't serve the fiends"
Peeking out of his room, Bariel hears the faint sound of song. Listening for a moment, he can't place the tune. He leaves the room and sneaks down the hallway, towards the sound of music.
Xiakons quill came up as if to throw but stops at the words and cocks his head. he inspects this new found elf, and than looks back down to his work. A few droplets of ink mar his pages.
An elf appeared before us, i nearly threw my quill at him thinking him some foul fiend here to stop us while weak. His blade is unique and a well crafted Tel'Quiesser make....
Xaikon jots down Barid on his page in the margin as he pulls out a few leaves and cocks his head."I know not what fare is in the cupboards but i do have ta leaves if you wish tea, I have no problem sharing."
he sets the leaves on the table and than pours some more tea into his beak and than continues on."To whom is your allegiance Barid, I know my purpose for being here, and the purpose of our mission as do you. I lack weapons as my training has taught me and conditioned me to fight with anything at hand, But you seem to bare only daggers?" he notes the style and type of daggers in his journal as he than cocks his head and blinks and than rotates his head the other way and does the same.
"Sorry to be so inquisitive, but it was my Lords personal mission for me to record this group and its exploits so the tale may be told and its heroes able to inspire all" he says doing his weird head cocking again and than goes back to his notes.
"No, not at all. I swear my life to She who holds the Fates in Her hand. She is known throughout the lands as Tymora." Barid pauses to take a pinch of tea as offered, then pulls a tea strainer from his bracer, and begins swirling the strainer through the hot water. "Thank you for the tea, by the way."
Out loud, he comments, "I hope we'll have time to explore and shop in Calimport. I used up most of my normal equipment in my last mission for Her, and I would feel under-dressed for the occasion without them."
As he hears music wafting up, he sees an elf just appear before everyone in the kitchen. No longer surprised by anything on this vessel, Barid thinks I wish I could have done that. It would have made things much easier, I think.
Addressing the new arrival, he says "So who might you be, and which deity do you represent?"
Belsiard plays as he waits. Then from the horizon comes the bizarre ship. Belsiard alters his tune to incorporate his amazement at what he sees. As it pulls up he marches up onto the deck and plops himself down onto the deck and continues to play.
I wonder if I am the only one here?
He musters those around him "My name is Tarwas, E’Sum Tel Myth Drannor, Armathor Tel'Quessir, Teuvelahrn and Ithraen of the first of the Seldarine."
He then switches completely to elven:
He musters those around him "My name is Tarwas, E’Sum Tel Myth Drannor, Armathor Tel'Quessir, Teuvelahrn and Ithraen of the first of the Seldarine."
** spoiler omitted **
He then switches completely to elven:
** spoiler omitted **
Addressing Xaikon, Barid says, "So you are meant to be our lore-keeper for this mission? Are you some kind of bard or minstrel?"
"The Seldarine, Wonderful" he dips his pen into its well and than begins to right in Tengu.
the Elven man is Tarwas, E'Sum Tel Myth Drannor,Armathor Tel'Quessir, Teuvelahrn and Ithraen. Which is quiet an honor amongst elves. He is an elegant elven man. he holds a beautiful blade, and seems to exude the natural elegance and grace. His pantheon must hold him in High Esteem to make him a chosen of all of them
" Here are your leaves, it is a simple green and not quite bitter leaf you want i do believe I have honey somewhere though sweet butter would be nicer"Xaikon says as he takes a final pour of his tea and than gets up to pour more water into his cup.
Belsiard plays and sings as he wanders the deck, exploring and noting what he sees. Then he makes his way down into the hold, and finds his way into the Kitchen.
Ah! I was beginning to wonder if Finder was winding me up! I am Belsiard. Known in my living days as Belsiard the Wanderer.
he continues to play, gently underscoring the conversation.
"I am Barid. I believe that you are playing Findler, correct?" "My apologies, wasn't trying to offend. That being said, I did once hear a bard play a song called 'Findler on the Roof,' the creator said that it was a tribute to the old man."
I did not realize that FINDER was so poorly known as a god. I suppose I will have to change that. Yes the Findler on the Roof. A little known piece of work. Though it is rather...charming in it's simplicity.
With that Belsiard turns his harp into a fiddle and plays from Findler on the Roof.
As he plays. [b] As you can tell there is only so much that one can do with the limited material.
Laughing, Barid responds, "Yes, there's not much to it. I'll have to study up on my deities, it would appear. It would be rather...rude of me to not know the types of people that I will be working with."
the new arrival seems a little bold! he comes in playing and announces him selves while others try to converse. Belsiard also follows Finder? I must meditate later on the name and see if my knowledge will reveal to me some strip of lore I have forgotten in my many years of study. He seems a great musician, With pen and note the tales of our deed should reach fare and wide Indeed
"Before I was rudely interrupted, Yes Barid I am our chronicler, our scribe if you will to write our tale down for years to come. I am not much a speaker of words but a weaver of tales through the written word."
He writes a bit more as he sees the tension.
[i] Already tension flares at such a simple slight. We were chosen and have a similar goal but the gods here have chosen us of varied skills, abilities, backgrounds, beliefs and nuisances. I hope we do not explode as if some magical trap, but temper our selves for the grater good.[i]
Knowledge(religion)
Belsiard laughs happily.
So true my friend! I apologize. What can I say I have been...well...dead! And I did not die in the pleasantest way!
Perhaps some music while you write.
Belsiard shifts his fiddle back into a harp and plays a soothing song.
I have not caught your name friends Chronicler, but I intend to turn our tale into an epic song...perhaps we can collaborate!
Worshiped by Bard's and, interestingly enough Sauriels.
Makes his home in the Gates of the Moon.
In life Finder was a Bard of immense talent.
"I see I have contemplated the deity of which you pledge your devotion, A recent ascended one? So I still know little of your deity." Xiakon says as he leaves his book open written in a following script but in some odd language. he pours more hot water in his tea cup and than lets it steep.
"I have no issues with collaboration, as the song unfortunately travels faster than the written word" he says with a hint of sorrow.
So I have officially met Barid. Do I rank high enough to meet the rest of you or shall I be left to work it out on my own?
The loss of her daughter still pulls at her, but she now has hope and stands upon the battlements of Waterdeep looking out over the plain where another scouting mission by a group of mehrim demons had been defeated. “It’s almost funny how these goat demons can so easily be defeated by launching carrion embedded with cold iron spikes. I guess the goat runs strong in them.” It was then that Ynaeve realized that her companions could neither see nor hear her. This time, the mehrim had caught someone on patrol, and it was upon her body they feasted before the walls Waterdeep.
Ynaeve was surprised that she was still there, she had heard that after death she should have been, well someplace else. She thought her life was such that she would have been delivered to Arvanaith. Maybe it was a test of the afterlife to find a way there?
For several days Ynaeve wandered about Waterdeep, checking various temples, first the elven temples, then the human temples, and then on to others. Some were warded, a few she thought someone saw her, but none provided an answer. As the days passed, she noticed that she was becoming more substantial while the living residents seemed to be fading to a semi-transparent visage.
After a week she had found no answer, she knew no reason, and her magic seemed to have left her, though she retained all the possessions she had when she set out on her last mission. Faint at first, but soon noticable, Ynaeve could see tiny silvered threads that connected to all the people of Waterdeep. It was like a giant tapestry laid over the city, with all the threads woven together. If she touched a single thread, it brightened and showed the connecting threads and their interweavings. She spent days following one thread, then another, and another.
But this thread, it was torn, and she knew this was wrong. She didn’t know how or why, but she knew this she could fix. Pulling her haversack off her back, she balanced it on a low wall and ran her finger along a seem, opening a hidden fold in the haversack that allowed her to open it like a case, each side swinging to the left and right. With the haversack opened, she glanced over the flaps of several pockets that were now revealed and selecting one of the larger ones, pulled a wooden box of cedar. Indside the box she pulled out several tools and turned to the torn thread. Acting quickly she spliced in a new thread binding the two together before the torn one could break. Satisfied that her quick handling had corrected the problem she put away her materials and continued on her exploration of this side of Waterdeep.
Jergensik leaned back against the tavern wall, this alley was as good as any other. So much had happened and he didn’t understand why, first his wife left him, and when he ran after her she ran and was trampled by a carriage. A candle fell over and burned the house down, taking his aged parents with it. An erroneous rumor forced the Watch to place him on leave. His will to live had gone the way of his wife, trampled by an uncaring world. With his head down he listened to the beat of his heart as he willed it to slow. And above him, on the parapet of the tavern, a leering face of an imp grinned with evil cheer for his coming death. For the imp had cursed the watchman and reveled in the many misfortunes that had brought this man to this point. Soon he would die, and then the imp’s master would offer Jergensik a second chance at life.
The beating had slowed, and was slowing, when one of the tavern girls came up the alley, her shift over. She looked at the man and grimaced, another life wasted by the war and politics. Continuing on, she made no more thought of the man and turned the corner. A moment later she was surprised to find herself turning another corner and seeing that she had circled around she stared at the man and found a spark in her heart. “Come on, you have much life to live, this isn’t the way.” Kneeling down she caressed the handsome face and smiled when his eyes looked up to hers. Taking an elbow she helped him up and led him down the street. Behind the pair the imp screamed silently in frustration, so close!
Ynaeve did not notice the passage of time as she spent the next month repairing and strengthening the threads she came across throughout Waterdeep. Back in the temple district, she heard the whisk and thump of a loom at work. Following the sounds she entered a temple and found an older woman sitting before a great loom/ This was not here before! The hands of the woman sped back and forth passing the shuttle left and right as silver thread was woven through the loom. Beyond, the woven mat spread out and passed through the walls. This was the source of the threads she had so recently been repairing and following.
Please come in and have a seat Ynaeve.
Who are you, that you know me?
A second loom appeared, threaded and ready, a shuttle laying on before the beater. Settling down on the bench, Ynaeve started weaving, taking her lead from the lady beside her. She saw that while her weave was nowhere near as clean or tight as the other’s it blended into the material beyond their looms.
I have watched you for many years, Yneave, ever since my return to Toril. The gods have decreed that mortals will not prevail without direct support. More than simple magic from clerics and paladins. We have Chosen, and I have Chosen you.
The soft whuff of the shuttles sliding back and forth with the thump of the beater was the only break in the silence.
I will do whatever I must, but I did not expect that I would be here. Am I to return to defending Waterdeep?
Not so easily, first, you must have help. A fellowship has been formed. You will travel to Calimport. Go to the docks and board Sherehezade's One Thousand and First. It will take you there. Before you ask, your selfless acts and your protection of the weave have led you here. Fail not, for the darkness grows.
Ynaeve continued to weave on the loom while she pondered these words. She knew she should be surprised to find herself sitting next to the goddess of the weave, but it seemed right, somehow.
As you command, Mystra, so shall I strive to do.
Fidning that the fibers she weaving from had ended and her loom was empty, she placed the shuttle on the beater and stood up. Taking up her haversack she turned and bowed low to the old woman, Mystra. Thank you.
As she walked towards the temple, the threads she had seen were fading from her view. It was no longer for her to work with these threads of the weave. Take this with you, the silver fire it commands will mark you as mine.
Ynaeve turns to see the shuttle she had been using flying through the air towards her. As she held out her hand to take it, the shuttle turned into a finely crafted staff. As her fingers curled around its shaft, she instinctively knew the staff. By your leave.
Walking to the docks, Ynaeve saw a large vessel pull up a ship as she had never seen before. She saw several others on its deck as it pulled up to wharf.
Permission to board? The tall elven woman stands on the wharf of Waterdeep, or at least this astral side of it. Even for an elf she seems tall at six feet, with a thin lithe build. Her black hair frames the porcelain skin as the sun glints green from her eyes. A haversack is secured over her shoulders, with several customized pockets adorning it. In one hand she holds a polished ebony staff inlaid with silver runes and gems along its length and glowing green gem set in the top. The ragged remnants of two torn wings just over her shoulders, marking her as an earthbound avarial.
An image appears before Barid, flat but solid, a moving picture. The image shows a beautiful elven woman standing on the docks, Could that be Waterdeep? Barid says to himself. As if standing next to her, the image shows the woman saying "Permission to board" Without thinking about it, Barid says to the image, "You are welcome to come aboard, my dear lady. Those of us who have been picked up are down below in the mess. We have not yet seen the ship's master, but we are hoping to see him soon." Before Barid stops to realize that he is talking to air, the image falters, then disappears.
The vessel wheezes for a day and night, granting a faint, steady rhythm to rest to in your rooms. Chomos quietly minds the ship nearly the whole time, constantly checking its moving parts and heeding gauges without labels. He comes into the common space only once, stopping to look to you and the others as he speaks. Now he wears his vest of tools, a light mace with a magical aura set in a loop upon his belt.
"Should have told you sooner, I guess, but you'd call me the ship captain, Chomos. I already know the lot of you, at least as much as I care to. Alright, that's enough about me and you, let me tell you about Sherehezade's One Thousand and First. This isn't a kind of ship you make charts and steer, she's an angel of lore and legend bound to my creation. She takes us where we need to go, not where we want. Underground, in the sky, to Calimport- gods know what for. She tells me what to expect, and I'm supposed to tell you what she says. She told me that Calimport is in sight for her, and the landing is going to be nice and easy. Its got a big infestation of demons, though humans and others are still about."
He moves to a bedroom door, disregarding your questions and opening it. "Got three hours yet to get there. What happens then is up to you, Chosen. I need some sleep." He turns halfway into the room, and then pokes his head back out. "Aye, I'm just as Chosen as the rest of you!"
With that, he shuts the door.
"I am Xaikon, and Thank you for your kind introduction...Chomos" Xiakon says as he then uts pin to ink once more.
A female elf enters shortly before are Captian?, at least I think Captain? Chomos comes and tells of oh his ship who will go down as the legendary vessel of the Chosen, I am coming to pen as the Crusaders. I must get girded for what comes, until My next chance to stop and put pen to ink, until i meet again.
Xiakon, pulls out some dust and sprinkles it over the page. he than takes a large feather brush and pushes it off on to he floor. He than looks about for a broom and he picks the journal up its first page covered in his Tengu language as he shakes the rest off and than shut the book and put it away. he than pours more tea in to his cup and stretches.
" So if we are to head out soon, may I be bold to ask each of us to reveal or names, our master and our unique skills we bring to the table. To get things started I am Xaikon of Clan Iron Beak. I was a member of the Zealots of the Written Word a group of Deneiran Monks seeking to protect sages and scribes, as well as documents and the priest hood. I was part of the Crusade to retake Candlekeep. there i died, but managed to free great many works from destruction, and disturb the demons there long enough to so the rest of my crusaders could squirrel away the works and fortify them selves, and build a bastion of knowledge in this world again. As for my skills i am a monk of the enable hand, I have no real weapons, but yet anything i pick up i can use to do harm. I am versed in many things cooking, writing, storytelling, languages, but I am am a humble man and a many who seeks to tell the world of our victories our struggles and even our failures. I am here to aid in the mission, but I am also here to chronicle our journeys so that when we are victorious, and we will be, our story written, will be one shared by all, and that no one will every forget us, our gods and the deeds we have done in there name." Xiakon than poured some of his tea into his mouth and looked at the others waiting. he would commit them to memory for later when he puts his pen to page again.
At last a name to go with the beak!
Belsiard slaps his hand down onto the table.
As I said earlier I am Belsiard the Wanderer, Chosen of Finder Wyvernspur. I am a bane to mages of all sorts, especially when they do not know I am there. I turn their magics against them, counter them and all around harrass them. I have some limited healing abilities and, of course, I am stunningly beautiful.
Belsiard flashes a winning smile. When he speaks it is hard not to look at him, there is something magnetic about him.
As to the more mundane arts, I can wield a whip as well as anyone alive, and take particular pleasure in disarming foes. I fully intend to compose a ballad of our deeds to accompany Sir Beak's tale.
Bariel stays in cover and observes those in the room, scanning for alignments and undead. Once he is content with that knowledge, he steps away from cover,appearing in the room.
"I am Bariel. Chosen of Kelemvor. I know how to infiltrate and where to place a blade for the quickest kill."
Approaching Calimport at twenty minutes to landing, Sherehezade's One Thousand and First starts to wheeze irregularly and loudly. Chomos steps to the room in a hurry from the engineering deck, clasping an amulet around his neck. "Something is wrong," he states, holding the door open. "...there are weak-willed hearts dying at the docks right now. We're speeding up, and that might warn the demons of our approach. Time to get up top." He passes back through the door, leaving it open.
The metropolis of Calimport looms on the horizon on this clear morning, quickly growing as you approach the coast from the south. Nearly two miles of the coast is taken by the city, its wall looming hundreds of feet from the ocean's reach upon the beach. Tall towers of brown, white and red reach well above the walls, many with rounded bulbous tops and others narrowing into pointed shafts. The sky about the city is possessed by a red aura, with waves of heat occluding the further inland towers in a mirage. Hundreds of small shapes move slowly in the air between and above the towers. Broken towers, battered walls, melted stone and shattered structure dot the entire city, plumes of smoke continually rising from the hidden streets and buildings. Ships rest with their hulls split upon the port walls as though lifted and thrust upon it, like a warning to any captain who would dare enter. If any had doubts as to how close Faerun has come to the planes of Hell, one need look no further than this distant view of Calimport. The Sherehezade keeps its speed as it enters the larger walled-off section of the port, heading to the center of the city.
Once within, the horrifying depths to which Calimport has dropped become clear. The stench of disease hits hard, and extreme heat blasts with the rush of air. Cranes at the docks suspend mutilated bodies and slowly writhing devils, stuck on barbs and driven through by meat hooks. A scattered bed of bones can be seen under the clear water of the harbor, occasionally dotted by dead sea life. The small flying shapes are blurred by the heat shimmer, impossible to identify until one drifts closer in a slow, aimless curve. It is a warped remnant of a human, stretched and fused into the shape of a flying carpet. You cannot tell if it was male or female, but its faint, constant groaning shows it to be alive. It carries a small heap of silver, gold and gems upon what once was its back.
Most the piers are broken beyond use, but near the waters before the wharf, a quiet, still crowd of people stand, sit or kneel. Dressed from rags to fine robes and famished to the last, they number forty--apparently live bodies, hands up palm to palm before their chests. Possibly a hundred more lay about them, few moving.
When the Sherehezade suddenly slows, you do not feel the change in speed. The vessel lowers in the water, whipping up a wave of steam before it as it quickly comes to a stop beside the crowd. They are humans, and they pray aloud-- not to the gods, but to you-- hearing words such as 'Chosen, forgive me, save me, please.' As you look upon them, many lower their heads, others bowing shakily. One among them steps forward toward the boat- an elderly woman, moving with an ease that the others lack the strength to do. The ship extends its walkway to the ground, holding nearly perfectly still. None but the woman come forward.
”Chosen. I’m sorry. My name is Roseras. I foretold your arrival to them, but I did not anticipate this. I tried to stop them and save them, but now they are dying. It is safe indoors- the red sun takes their life.”
Without some form of protection against fire, you will take 1d6 nonlethal fire damage every minute while exposed to the sun in and around Calimport. If you have endure elements, it becomes 1 point of nonlethal damage. The effect is magical, and requires solid material (1/4 inch lead, 1 inch metal, etc) to shield against.
As the ruins of Calimport come into view Tarwas starts to cast a few spells.
"That does look quite bad. Does anyone have something against the heat or to help those deluded people? And well, does anyone actually know why we were send to Calimsport specifically? This looks kinda like a trap..."
"My cloak shall protect me some, But I fear not all of us are thusly blessed if need be I can relinquish my cloak" he says as a humble monk he was. He looked about the city the stench of rotting flesh making his mouth open. He was a bird and carrion was not above him to consume. He fought the urge and stepped down to the dock using his hat to make him appear a more appropriate race, that of a human.
At last a name to go with the beak!
Belsiard slaps his hand down onto the table.
As I said earlier I am Belsiard the Wanderer, Chosen of Finder Wyvernspur. I am a bane to mages of all sorts, especially when they do not know I am there. I turn their magics against them, counter them and all around harrass them. I have some limited healing abilities and, of course, I am stunningly beautiful.
Belsiard flashes a winning smile. When he speaks it is hard not to look at him, there is something magnetic about him.
As to the more mundane arts, I can wield a whip as well as anyone alive, and take particular pleasure in disarming foes. I fully intend to compose a ballad of our deeds to accompany Sir Beak's tale.
Barid can't help himself, he feels drawn to that smooth skin, the chiseled chin, the sharp nose...those straight, shiny teeth! Barid moves closer to Belsiard, almost touching him. So beautiful...
Then he jumps back to his seat and starts laughing. "Remind me not to take you to the bars the next time I want to flirt with the bar wenches, you shine so bright, I'll never get a word in edge wise." You can tell he's being good natured about it, but Barid is trying to let you down easy.
Approaching Calimport at twenty minutes to landing, Sherehezade's One Thousand and First starts to wheeze irregularly and loudly. Chomos steps to the room in a hurry from the engineering deck, clasping an amulet around his neck. "Something is wrong," he states, holding the door open. "...there are weak-willed hearts dying at the docks right now. We're speeding up, and that might warn the demons of our approach. Time to get up top." He passes back through the door, leaving it open.
The metropolis of Calimport looms on the horizon on this clear morning, quickly growing as you approach the coast from the south. Nearly two miles of the coast is taken by the city, its wall looming hundreds of feet from the ocean's reach upon the beach. Tall towers of brown, white and red reach well above the walls, many with rounded bulbous tops and others narrowing into pointed shafts. The sky about the city is possessed by a red aura, with waves of heat occluding the further inland towers in a mirage. Hundreds of small shapes move slowly in the air between and above the towers. Broken towers, battered walls, melted stone and shattered structure dot the entire city, plumes of smoke continually rising from the hidden streets and buildings. Ships rest with their hulls split upon the port walls as though lifted and thrust upon it, like a warning to any captain who would dare enter. If any had doubts as to how close Faerun has come to the planes of Hell, one need look no further than this distant view of Calimport. The Sherehezade keeps its speed as it enters the larger walled-off section of the port, heading to the center of the city.
Once within, the horrifying depths to which Calimport has dropped become clear. The stench of disease hits hard, and extreme heat blasts with the rush of air. Cranes at the docks suspend mutilated bodies and slowly writhing devils, stuck on barbs and driven through by meat hooks. A scattered bed of bones can be seen under the clear water of the harbor, occasionally...
Having followed Chomos up deck, he sees the people on the dock prostrating themselves. It is a sad sight, and not one that Barid is used to seeing. The heat of the sun is immediately oppressive, and he drinks from his waterskin.
Wiping his forehead, he uses the power of his bracers to change his outfit to all black, with hood and face mask, so that only his eyes are readily seen. Time to get to work, it looks like.
He sees the woman coming up the lowered plank towards them and introduce herself. He addresses her directly. "Roseras, I don't think we have time to argue over sectarian semantics at the moment. We need to get you and your people into some kind of shelter, before they fall over dead from the heat. Is there a place nearby that we can move them to?"
She motions to the people, as they remain where they are. One of them sways and falls to their hands, barely able to bear the heat any longer. "The shade of a building will cease their suffering, but they do not listen to me! They give up on themselves and hope for you to save them or die without it. I am sorry!"
At the center of a 500 foot section of the dock running east and west along the shore, the ship holds in the water. 4 wharf warehouses stand 40 feet from the ship, between which most the people are scattered. The doors are left battered open, barren on the inside, easily able to hold everyone (including the dead). Their structure looks dubious, leaving the ship the next closest option. 250 feet to the east, a 16 foot tall wall runs up to the waters, with the backside of buildings facing the waters. 200 feet to the west, sturdier and larger buildings promise shelter from the sun.
"Tarwas, I need you to come with me so we can scout out that warehouse up there," Barid points to "If there's anything in there not friendly, we'll need to strike hard and fast, while we still have the strength to do so."
"The rest of you, work on getting the worshipers heading towards the warehouse, but don't let them enter until we give the all clear. Try to find some temporary shade for them on the backside of the structure." Barid reaches into his bracer and pulls out his other waterskin and hands it over to Xaikon. "Use this as needed; they need the water more than I do at the moment."
With that, he turns back to Tarwas to ensure that he is ready to move.