On the way up, Corwin chats amiably enough, but it's clear his mind is elsewhere, even to people who don't know him well. Talk about an unexpected turn of events.
As they prepare to enter, Corwin nods to Lark. He looks nervous. It's not a look that suits him. It's also not an emotion he's used to. He'd been here so long already. He rolls his shoulders and puts on his game face, adjusting the amulet so it hangs out freely on his chest. "Let's do this."
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The Caretaker pays no mind to Taniwha just as she does to little else. When Lark says he hopes everyone can come along, she gives the barest of nods, and waves broadly, indicating that seems to be the case.
She leads you into the cave, away from gray whirling ash to glittering stone and oppressive heat. The cave almost instantly splits into myriad, smooth-walled tunnels, and now the purpose of having a guide makes sense--it would be easy, even for the most experienced of wanderers, to get lost here. Sometimes the cave walls fall away and you walk along a narrow bridge of obsidian that seems all there is between you and falling into rivulets of glowing lava below, surrounded by cooling but still half-glowing embery stones everywhere. As you walk through, you see another petitioner along a parallel path you are on, walking alongside a Caretaker. As the tunnel closes around you again, you see one opening off to your right that widens into a broad chamber where you see a bowl-shaped lava pit at the edge of a room, and what appears to be a tiny elf in a thick black robe peering down into the steam rising from it.
Another little ways, and you are led into a very similar chamber: a wide, oddly almost spherical room, with divots and bumps also generally in nature, like the place was formed by massive bubbles (and perhaps it was). While you have ample room to stand, the floor gives way ahead of you to another round lava pit: perhaps these are the "Cauldrons" themselves.
The Caretaker gives you a silent signal: "Wait." She then leaves the room, waves her hand, and the door through which you came seals over as though there was no entry at all.
To the group's left, you hear another figure approach through a narrow tunnel, and as the black-robed figure emerges, you realize she had to stoop to squeeze herself through. She rises to a height of nearly 10 feet, face obscured by the robe, and a gravelly, deep-yet-female voice confirms your names in neutrally-accented Taldane: "Petitioners: Corwin Corke. Prosperity Greenwood, called Lark." Then she pans over the rest of you. "Emberar Lealtus, called Sunstruck, of Keltheald. Kahuranga. Taniwha," here she pauses and adds an additional name in Draconic, then continues, "Sandara Quinn of Besmara. Threnody Nocturne, formerly known as Item Number 32 of House Sarini." The voice clucks. "Shame Lehland O'Neld and his friend azata couldn't come, I was looking forward to meeting him. I am Zhaegog, Blessed to be one of Keeba's Eyes."
The huge figure approaches to address particularly Lark and Thren. "So." She leans over, the hood on her robe pulling away to reveal a white-haired head whose main feature is endlessly wrinkled flesh around a single, large blinking eye. However terrifying she may look, her posture is non-hostile, relaxed... even amused. She grins with a wide maw of jagged, sharp teeth. "You've managed to annoy one of my relatives, have you?"
Corwin's not sure what he expected, but he doesn't think this was it. Still, they call them the eyes for some reason right. Just be glad they aren't beholders.
At her question, he looks around. "Y'all pissed off a cyclops?" he asks reflexively.
The tiefling's tale is twitching angrily. "Yes, we did. And I paid for it with a spear the size of a small tree through the chest, with scars to prove it." Thren says tersely. "As for 'Item Number 32'...you can drop that crap into the lava. If I didn't have horns and a tail, I'd be Heiress to House Sarini, if not Paracountess. But I'm no one's number, not now, not ever!" It takes the bard noticeable effort to reclaim control of her temper, but after several breaths she manages to regain some semblance of it.
"To answer your question," Thren continues with a trace of sarcasm, "yes, we angered one of your people. In our explorations of the Shackles we put together this." The bard presents the shofar so Zhaegog can see it.
"We also claimed an old Gholgani stronghold, which this opens the door into. Once we'd settled in, our crew went to explore the rest of the island a bit and ran into your kin. Two cyclopes, in fact, who didn't take it well to find we had this horn. They claimed it from us in our first engagement, but we took it back. Bloodily. But as she died, that one-eyed hag cursed the horn. If anyone uses it, they'll end up as blind as she was. Seeing as how it's the main key to the front door, and I'm not of a mind to lose my sight, we came here hoping you'd tell us how to remove that death curse and restore the horn's proper magic." Thren explains.
"Please." The bard adds as an afterthought.
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Zhaegog simply tilts her head toward the others and chuckles. "This one's a lot, isn't she?"
Sandara swallows a snort.
Zheogog paces slowly up and down the room, addressing you. "The descendants of Gholgan are a crude and constantly hungry people. They have little in common with their ancestors save general looks and a great gift for retribution, as you have experienced. Their ancestors were far more sophisticated--and could see well into the winds of destiny. What made them fall so far? Ah, the same thing that causes any fool to end its days hoisted onto a spear, often indeed its own--hubris. The desperate need to always prove oneself to an uncaring world that demands no proof whatsoever. Behind them, they left the means to punish those in the world who respected them not--no matter if anyone should have or no. So many scars and curses and miseries left upon the world, by the Gholgan, including the cyclopes themselves. It could take lifetimes clearing up the messes already left behind, and in those lifetimes yet more traps left behind by the Gholgan would be found and triggered and more messes made. Perhaps it is worth trying to undo some of the damage though yes?"
She stops pacing a moment. "That little history lesson is payment for freeing Ghoral Rey from the Incutilis Lord, along with this bit of advice: whether you follow my requests here today or no, your destinies cross that of Gholgan and the cyclopes more than once. So," she gives a slight nod toward Emberar, "Best be prepared."
She claps clawed hands together, resonating through the chamber. "Now. That is how things work here. Trade. Keeba's Eyes demand payment for our services. Of course, you don't have to pay, but you don't get your answer. You pose a complex request... and so I have a complex fee. One that involves Corwin's amulet." She looks down upon the man who is so used to being the tallest in the room.
"But maybe you don't want complex. So I'll offer you a rare boon: a choice."
She holds up one index finger. "The easy way is this: my fee IS your cursed horn, I take it off your hands, you never see it again, and I tell you where to purchase another shofar that will make the right notes to open your temple gates. It will not have the magic of what the old pirates called 'The Reason to Live,' but you will be able to open the doors of Ghoral Rey without fear of going blind or being haunted by a mad old hag. I will tell Corwin what his amulet is for the cost of a simple monster slaying well within your capabilities--a haunted ship not far from here that is giving Raeke nightmares."
With her other hand she holds up two index fingers. "The hard way, on the other hand: the way to end your curse is to mollify enough Gholgani ancestor spirits they will release the hold on your horn. In other words, I would have you end an even worse curse left behind by the Empire. I will tell you where you need to go and what you need to do. Answering Corwin's question will be part of that package deal. If you survive the ordeal and succeed, then the haunting curse will be lifted, and the 'Reason to Live' remains yours."
"Now: choose carefully. Because there are no takesies backsies. You ask for One, you don't get to decide to do Two later, or vice versa. Well, you could decide to find the quest destination and deal with it in either case, but I'll only pay you for the one you pick first. Discuss it among yourselves--but do bear in mind there are others waiting to receive an answer." She pauses. "I will answer clarifying questions only. Any questions of substance--you need to sign up with Kiri in the Waiting Room and start from scratch."
Thren considers what the Seer says carefully, still trying to regain full control of her temper. She does let Sandara's 'comment' slide as she listens, thinks a bit, then turns to captain and crew.
"Your call, captain. We've already bled for this thing, and either way Corwin we get to deal with your question. I'm somewhat inclined to take the hard way, if only because I figure no matter what way we take it'll be the hard way."
Lark blinks at Threnody's initial response. Ah, my friend, I didn't know. Probably should have guessed. Or asked.
He leaves those thoughts to reply to the tiefling, "You're right that our way is usually the hard one, and my instincts balk whenever someone tries to offer me the 'easy way.'" Lark looks to the others, "Here's your chance to say your piece before we drag y'all off on some harebrained quest. I will say, this is a good introduction to life on the Besmara's Whim. We'll have a chance at fame and fortune and an even better chance at getting in over our heads."
Corwin turns to the others, with a curious look in his eye. "I've never believed in any concept like fate or destiny before this very moment. And I certainly never thought 'fate' would give a damn about a guy like me. Way I figure, in for a penny, in for a pound. I'm game fer the hard way. Hell, I don't even mind throwing in the monster slayin' fer fun, assuming we live." He looks down at his amulet and smiles.
"The easy path seems also to be the path to the least reward, so I say take the challenging path."
"Sunstruck? Sandara?" Thren asks the two who haven't spoken. "Opinions? Thoughts?"
Sandara shrugs. "I figured I was outvoted even before you all started speaking up, so I wasn't even gonna say anything." She smirks. "But fine, since you asked: I like to think I can scrap and cause trouble with the best of you, but I'm usually also putting all the pieces together at the end. I'm thinking of how much mess this gods-damned horn has gotten you into already... nearly killed, kidnapped, gone gods-know-where all over the Shackles, marooned on an island of lizardfolk and kech, and then nearly killed by that whatever lived in that giant conch shell of yours. Then Thren gets outright skewered over it and you still go back to risk that again to get it. If this Seer takes that thrice-damned thing off our hands and can tell us how to get a front door key that isn't attached to 200 years of trouble, that sounds like a great deal to me." She crosses her arms, shaking her head. AND I know it's why you won't take that offer, because you'd rather the trouble."
She spreads her hands back out. "As it is I figure she's trying to trick us into doing both quests either way. So the real question isn't easy or hard, it's do you want to keep the Reason to Live or not? And I figure your answer's yes already, or we wouldn't be standing here talking about it."
Emberar sucks his teeth thoughtfully. "I see Sandara's points; and that horn has brought trouble indeed." Then he smiles. "But I've a duty to seek out new lands and new adventures, and that sounds like what the 'hard way' is promising. So I'm afraid you are outvoted, Sandara - and pretty heavily, at that. The hard way it is."
Lark nods along with Sandara's comments. "Thanks for that. It was very... insightful. I'm always glad to hear your thoughts, even though, as you say, we're doing the opposite."
He turns to the cyclops. "Alright Zhaegog, let's hear about this 'even worse curse' we've got to break."
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Zheogog smiles with her jagged maw. "Very good."
She stands in front of the "cauldron" behind her. The steam rising in the air seems to change color as she speaks, and the gases whirl until they form a fairly decent map of the Shackles, floating in mid air. Waving her hands, the images "zoom" toward the northeastern most part of the Shackles. "Northeast of the Devil's Arches lies the island aptly called Yoha's Graveyard. Avoided for 70 years as cursed, drenched in red fog and tales of any who approach going mad.
"Brance Yoha was a Taldan Pathfinder hired by Absalom to hunt Shackles pirates; he sought to make the island his base of operations. His fearful crew refused, however, to clear out a Gholgani ziggurat in the center of the isle, believing it cursed by demons."
The mists swirl and show you the image of an ancient terraced pyramid, topped by a statue of a hideous, giant, spider-like creature.
"Yoha refused to be swayed, made his way to the top of the ziggurat with several of his men, and to prove his mastery of the island, toppled over the statue."
You see the statue knocked over, and blood-red mists begin to rise from within. For effect, she adds the sound of men screaming.
"The ziggurat had sealed within an abyssal creature of deep hunger. Its power immediately spread across the whole island, turning a relative island paradise to a diseased hellpit. Much like many descendants of Gholgan, all of the creatures upon the island who came in contact with the red mists, Yoha's crew included, became possessed of a deep hunger. Particularly, for flesh of their own kind. As you can imagine, this went well. Those who weren't devoured completely became flesh eating undead, who probably dwell upon the island to this day, along with Yoha's own darkly transformed body and soul." You see a skeletal being in rags with a bloated head with an oversized mouth atop an impossibly long and thin neck. She adds, almost as an afterthought, "Everyone who's tried to set food on the island either succumbs to cannibalistic madness or is killed by the monsters there."
She shrugs, adding almost perkily, "The good news is that the Abyssal creature that escaped eventually also ate its fill and went off to seek prey elsewhere. So fixing the problem is simple: go to the island, don't get eaten or start eating each other, get to the top of the ziggurat, and put the statue back in place, and seal it."
The fearsome seeress snaps her fingers. "Ah yes, the seal. When Yoha toppled the statue, he knocked off the mystic seal--he didn't realize it was, of course. It was but a disc set into the pedestal, come loose after sitting there for years. As soon as it fell off, the island began to shudder, but Yoha was determined to knock over the statue. His cabin boy, who had gone with him, had better sense--the only member of the crew who did. He picked up the disc and ran. This boy was the only survivor of the event. He stole into one of the ship's emergency dories and managed to sail to Hell Harbor, before later leaving the Shackles for good. He knew that Yoha's error should be undone, but he was too afraid. He passed the amulet to the next few generations, intending to speak of its significance. But the memory of seeing his fellow crew turn on one another and eat each other alive--well, I guess that upsets some people. One thing he did do, was etch what he remembered of the ziggurat on the back." She reaches out to Corwin, claws encircling but not touching the amulet. "Should help you find the quickest way through the lower levels."
Zhaegog steps back. "Put the seal in, the amulet, and fill it around with silver. The last step is take this." Out of the folds of her robe, she pulls out a crimson candle that's about six inches long and two inches wide. "Burn this at the site. This will complete the sealing ritual and appease the mad spirits of the site--and be adequate atonement for your offenses against the cyclops seer. When the candle finishes burning, the curse will be undone for good. And to be clear, no, burning it now will do you no good. Don't lose it, I won't make you another."
"Well, I guess it has been a few weeks since the last time some unliving monster tried to eat our flesh. I guess we can make up for lost time with a whole island of them." Thren mutters with a shake of her head. "We asked for the hard way, we got it. The whole island probably reeks so let's get something to spruce up the air before we leave." She turns to the Seer. "Thank you for your time. For a giant one-eyed woman who's probably older than this island, you're rather easy to get along with." The bard bows low, respectfully so. "I guess we'd best get going. We've got to get back to the citadel, make sure everything's okay. Oh, wait, I forgot: didn't we want to see the local temples for you before we left Lark?"
If there are any signs of the bard's temper, they're gone under a whirlwind of words.
"Yes, thanks for the reminder and we may have some other errands to run before we sail."
Lark gestures at the red candle, "Before we rush off, can you tell us more about this? Will there be any effects while it's burning, anything we should watch out for?"
"Nothing noticeable or harmful. But make sure it burns all the way down."
"Umm, are there any special precautions we can take to avoid becoming cannibalistic?"
Emberar points toward Corwin. "Yes, that. That strikes me as important."
Zhaegog nods back to Threnody. "Thank you. They told me demanding flesh sacrifices were bad for tourism, so I've been trying a new approach," she deadpans.
To Corwin, she shakes her head. "I will say for clarity's sake, that the crew's minds became diseased when coming into contact with the red fog."
Thren laughs at the Seer's reply. "Unless we've got more clarifying questions, I think we should get back down to town and start making preparations."
"So we see red fog, we run. Important to know." Corwin nods to Thren. "After you, then." Before they leave, he bows his head to the Eye. "Thank you, by the way." He looks again at the amulet, perhaps with a hint of pride in his eye, before he slides it back under his shirt.
As the group departs Lark mimics Corwin's bow to Zhaegog. "I'll hold my thanks until we've survived this little jaunt. Farewell until next time."
"Well, my next course is to see a cleric about that injury Orsilir gave me. Emberar, you visited a temple or two didn't you? Care to recommend one I should start with?"
"I know a magic that can prevent exposure to airborne effects, though I'm not sure I can invoke enough of it to protect everyone. There are necklaces that provide such protection, but they come at great expense. I have no questions for the Eyes."
Kahuranga is non-plussed by the talk of curses and red mist.
Sandara tilts her chin at mention of expensive necklaces. "Best hope there's some treasure left behind on that island."
The exit to the room reappears, and you are met by your Caretaker--or another? It's hard to tell. She gestures for you to follow her, and you begin your lengthy descent down the mountain. Fortunately, heading down is much more pleasant than up.
By the time you return, the sun hangs low and golden. The sun will set in a couple-three hours.
"I think I want to enjoy a bit of fresh air before heading back to the inn. Then I want to try to eat as much as Rosie, get comfortably full, and maybe then tell this town about Redclaw's treasure." Thren speculates as our heroes and heroines return to town.
Lark's brow furrows at Sandara's comment, "You mean Yoha's Graveyard? You think there's something already there that would protect us?"
"Kahuranga, you mentioned expensive protections - just how expensive? No way we're hitting that island without at least a couple of plans for dealing with insanity and undead monsters." Lark looks around the group. "Corwin, you've been here a bit, are there any famous magical-types on the island that might have ideas about those red mists? Emberar, do any of your stories mention curses like this one?"
"Thren, you're talking about building up our reputation some more, right? Sounds good to me. We're probably still here for couple more days. Let us know if you want any backup."
Sandara shakes her head. "No! No, I don't know anything about Yoha's Graveyard except general Shackles advice: don't go there. I'm just saying, it'd be good to have the means to get whatever we need, or recover the costs, for these kind of ventures." She smirks at Lark. "You know I'm in all this for the shinies, right?"
Yoha's Graveyard in the northeast of the Shackles, near the anti-Chelish port-island of the Devil's Arches, is indeed said to be a cursed cannibal island; the red fog that covers it in its entirety is visible from the sea and is warning enough to stay away. Most seeing the fog There are few tales of anyone visiting there and returning, though of course in addition to what horrors may lurk there, some speculate as to what wonders may be there--even, possibly, a portal to other worlds that is the cause of the otherworldly mist.
Yoha's Graveyard is at the edge of the Shackles not far from the island known as the Devil's Arches. Unlike the Arches, which is as safe as any island in the Shackles, Yoha's Graveyard is marked on many navigation maps with hazard sigils, warning against both "bad weather" and "magical trouble." Someone must have been there or left to call it by the name of the fellow who left the curse and ensure it was marked as such on standard maps, but whether such an individual still lives is questionable. Perhaps Hell Harbor, the closest civilized port, would be a better place to gather information.
Per Lark's questions:
Corwin knows there is a wizard who lives near Mayor Cloudbuster's complex on the eastern ridge of town, whom she consults with on occasion. But he has no idea of the likelihood of getting an audience with him. Corwin and Kahuranga both know that the owners of some of the magic or curio shops might also be helpful, although they have varying degrees of eccentricity and greed.
Emberar knows many Gholgan ruins tend to come packed with curses, especially since they usually worshiped demons--indeed, Ghoral Rey clearly served in part as a temple to Dagon. Cyclops are often associated with insatiable hunger. But as to whether any are associated with red mists...
Corwin knew about the local wizard. That's all he's got.
Emberar sucks his teeth thoughtfully. “Stories of Yoha’s Graveyard are all pretty vague, and the maps I’ve seen basically just say, ‘Stay away!’ That said...it’s not far away from Hell Harbor, which is a fairly built-up place. Maybe we could find out some more info there.” He fingers his holy symbol. “As far as combating this curse and the island’s undead...well, that’s what the light of Keltheald is for. Perhaps in addition to your healing some of the temples of kinder deities here could sell us blessings that would fortify our minds against the evil powers of the mist. The stories say it covers the whole island, so we’ll definitely need to be prepared. I can of course ask for Keltheald’s blessings directly, but it’s best not to ask too much of the divine.”
"We might dig up more information around here about Yoha's Graveyard, but a closer island like Hell's Harbor has a better chance for good information. Not to mention they might have more stuff for us to pick up if we're looking for magic to protect us from whatever is going on over there." She shrugs.
"And yes Lark, I did want to spend some time still working on developing our reputation. All this is important, but becoming Free Captains is important too, and that means building ourselves up. I want to actually try to work out our story for Redclaw's treasure, make it the best song I can."
"Lark, my own arcane knowledge allows me to shroud myself or another's head in a bubble of clean air. There are similar masks and helms and of course the typical expendable items that can make such a magic more readily available.My own people enchanted conch shells to provide a continuous flow of air. There are magical bottles that provide a similar effect."
And indeed, while Zhaegog the Eye reassured you the creature sealed away is long gone, such a creature could leave all manner of curses, diseases, and toxins behind.
"Well, if you actually succeed in freeing Yoha's Graveyard from its curse, that'd definitely earn you some renown. But only if you live, though," Sandara remarks to Lark and Thren.
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"It seems to me," Thren begins with an innocent look at Sandara, "that a wise woman told me a few things recently about how every pirate knows this isn't a safe life and that every pirate is still living this life for the gold and the scars and whatnot. So worrying about if we live or die doesn't seem all that piratical somehow, in light of that wise woman's words." Thren says to Sandara with a beaming smile. "I also know a pirate woman who's said quite plainly that she's 'in it for the shinies', I believe were her words. So if we get more shinies, risky or not, seems like everything's going like it's supposed to."
"I am suggesting how you can get renown, and that you might want to prepare well to have your best chances to succeed," Sandara replies matter-of-factly. She takes her pipe out, and reaches for the rum-soaked tobacco in her pouch. "I thought you kept me around for advice, but I can easily keep my mouth shut." She tamps some tobacco into her pipe, procures a tindertwig from another pouch, and lights it.
She tilts her head toward Lark. "So where to? Temple of Pharasma? I don't think the priest of Besmara here has the magic you need. What with everyone here seeking a consultation with fate, Cog's girlfriend likely has the most powerful temple here. Or maybe Abadar, given the tourism racket, but I'd wager on Pharasma first."
Thren raises her hands in surrender. "I'm teasing, I'm teasing! You'd think I suggested we pick a fight with the Seer...." Thren grumbles before falling silent, awaiting Lark's answer.
"Yes indeed, Pharasma it is. Let's drag Emberar along with us. We can use the expertise if they have any scrolls or whatnot for sale. No offense, Sandara."
After arranging for healing Lark will inquire about any magical protections available for purchase. "Keeba's Eyes have put us on a path to Yoha's Graveyard, where the very air is full of an evil miasma. We're hoping you might have something to help protect us from the Gholgani curse there."
Thren breaks off when Lark and Sunstruck head to the temple to just walk the streets, get some fresh air, listen to what people are talking about, and ask a few questions about Yoha's Graveyard herself. She'll spread a little coin around at need if it means learning something.
When she starts getting hungry, she heads back to get herself a nice full meal and continue to chat up the locals.
Sandara just smiles and puffs smoke rings.
You go to the temple of Pharasma, and speak with the same Pharasmin priest Emberar and Threnody met with before: an elderly human male with white fluffy hair all around his ears and a shiny bald pate. He introduces himself as Brother Pollo.
He examines Lark with concern, squinting at him through thick-glassed spectacles that sit at the edge of his nose. "Nasty hex, that. You'll need Matron Seastar to see to you, but she will need to prepare her prayers; come back tomorrow after mid-morning prayer. It'll be 380 gp for the service... I know that's a lot, but it requires a bit of diamond dust for the casting."
He raises an eyebrow. "Weren't you the ones who brought me the cursed Gholgani artifact a few days ago? And now you're going after more cursed Gholgani ruins?" He pauses, his other eyebrow raising as something occurs to him. "Oh, I get it. Some of the Eyes have a... dark sense of humor when it comes to the prices they ask." He clucks his tongue. "I know little of Yoha's Graveyard or its red fog, but have heard the tales of cannibals and dead men eating flesh of the dead there. Ghouls of some type, probably. Have you ever been bit by a ghoul? Well no, I reckon not, as usually you end up one after. I don't know what I have for fighting curses, but I can certainly sell you some antiplague, which will help against those bites. Since you're already buying a cure, and fighting the hated undead, I'll sell the antiplague for 45 gp apiece. I've got 4 vials ready to go." You are aware the market price is 50.
Brother Pollo also has available the following:
More or less an unlimited amount of holy water
4 vials antitoxin
1 vial soul stimulant
1 wand of cure light wounds
Up to 5 scrolls or spells of cure light wounds
3 potions or scrolls of cure moderate wounds
1 potion of cure serious wounds
2 potions of lesser restoration
2 potions of shield of faith
He also has something called a martyr's tear, a very expensive item for 6,000 gp, that works akin to Kahuranga's shawl, but at a more powerful level--someone sacrifices a bit of life energy into the tear, which can be used to heal someone else later.
Emberar accompanies Lark to the Pharasmin temple. "You think ghouls? That would make sense," he comments. "I've heard some say that the flesh-eating compulsion comes from the red mists, and others from the isle's food...some say it comes from the creatures. All the more reason to be as prepared as possible." He examines the two potions of lesser restoration. "If there are indeed ghouls on the island, these could be handy. I'll take them."
After Lark is done, Emberar comments, "I'm going to go visit the other temples and see if any of them have or can make a scroll for the spells that seem most useful...care to come with, or have you got other business?"
Feeling more of a sense of purpose than he's probably ever felt, Corwin remains about 6 inches and just to the right of Lark pretty much where-ever he goes (Lark can of course request privacy). Until they're on-board the ship, the large man gives the halfling one hell of an imposing shadow.
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"My only business now is with Matron Seastar tomorrow morning." Lark accompanies Emberar on yet another tour of the local temples.
Before they leave Brother Pollo, Lark buys those four doses of antiplague.
As they stroll about town Lark grins back over his shoulder, "I could really get used to this, Corwin. I feel ten times more intimidating than usual."
Cayden's Cup has potions of protection from evil. The proprietor-priest, a gnome who encourages you to sample his many homebrews, suggests that if you're looking for scrolls, the place to go is Ukan's Quill on the edge of the East Ridge, and non-alcoholic or not necessarily holy items in liquid form are most easily found at Fox's Apothecary a few blocks down from the Quill.
If you go to Ukan's Quill you will find he has many common scrolls available () including one divne scroll of owl's wisdom. You are also near the wizard's house Corwin talked about.
"The wizard's place is just up here," Corwin says pointing. " 'm not much for all that fancy magic stuff. But it can come in handy."
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Emberar happily buys up the scroll and potions. “It’s not all I might’ve hoped for, but it should help a little, anyway,” he says. “I’d be happy to see this wizard, but otherwise I think I have all we can hope for from Plumetown. If you do plan to put in at Hell Harbor I may do some more searching there, Cap’n.”
Thren spends the rest of the day until dinnertime walking the streets, telling any and all the stories of Redclaw's treasure. She begins with the original stories.
That night at the inn, once she's tried to eat Rosie's weight in food (failed, but tried), the tiefling bard sings of the adventure to find Redclaw's treasure. Certain details are left out, others embellished (Lark managed to hit the golem, a might blow at that), and keeping some things as close to factual as she can (such as the fight against Varossa, Redclaw, and the incutilis lord). The song finishes with the claiming of the Redclaw's ship and the Redclaw itself.
Lark joins Threnody that evening to hear her performance. "That makes for a pretty good story, even without too many embellishments. Well done making us look good."
That same evening Lark starts spreading the word that shore leave is over. It's time to prepare the Besmara's Whim to sail in a day or two.
As Lark begins to talk about weighing anchor, Kahuranga grows quiet and his smiles grow more infrequent. He seems distracted and anxious, legs bouncing when he sits. Hands drumming a table or empty air. The air around him sizzles with restrained energy and the fringe of his shawl moves in a wind that blows on no one else.
Clearly, he is ready.