Untitled, Ch. 2 and Ch. 3

[Dinggle]

Ch. 2

Like a giant ball of fire the sun rose over the land of Faerun. It was another day, much like the previous one and the next to follow. The mountain dwarves were up early, pounding and gouging the precious mithril from their mines, sending it off to be shaped into glorious items. Ogres and trolls gorged themselves on hefty morning meals of meats from various animals and intelligent beings. Farmers milked their cows, drow milked their rothe. It was just another day in the realms for the people of Toril.

Another day to them all, save one.

Rindomas Tinduri paced his dwelling rapidly. He was a druid, one of an order of priests dedicated to preserving the sanctity of the forest and nature. So vehemently does a druid protect the woodlands that surround them they are often looked upon as being a group of powerful and deadly fanatics.

The room, part of the hollowed inside of a giant tree, was rather small by the standards of normal rooms within the nearby city of Waterdeep. It was heavily decorated with tapestries and expensively carved furniture. Gold plated sconces burning a heatless magical flame adorned the walls at regular intervals. In general a druid does not put much importance upon the ownership of fine items and goods, yet as was becoming apparent to the druidic order Rindomas was not a normal druid.

The rangers that had survived the battle with the small band of evil races to the south quickly made their way back to Waterdeep when the magical paralysis wore off. Of the fifteen or so that entered the Fields of the Dead, only one survived to bring news of the death of Jarland to Rindomas.

“Thank you noble ranger. I’m sure you all fought well and that my brother died bravely.”

“I’m only sorry we could do nothing to help him,” the ranger, a grey elf woman, said.

“Oh but you still can, Shelaria.” Rindomas made his way to a small table made of pure ivory. He opened the drawer, withdrawing a piece of parchment as well as a quill and ink, a candle and a stick of red wax. The druid scribbled quickly upon the parchment for a few minutes, then he folded it in three’s, warmed the wax until a large drop of it landed upon the edges of the folded paper. Rindomas removed the giant ring form his left hand and pressed it firmly against the wax, holding it till it began to dry. He stood and handed the parchment to the ranger.

Shelaria examined the symbol pressed into the wax seal. It was in the shape of a winged dragon chasing it’s tail. “Take this to your guild master, he will know what to do.”

The ranger nodded and ran off into the night.

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The druid breathed in the night air as he sat stop his tree dwelling. His thoughts traveled far south, beyond Baldur’s gate, beyond Calimport to the great desert of Calimshan.

“It has begun,” Rindomas murmured to himself. He smiled a grotesque smile, leaned back and fell asleep.

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Within another small copse of trees not far off from Rindomas’ lair, Shelaria handed the sealed parchment to her guild master. The large human broke the seal and read it in front of the elf. Although illuminated from behind, Shelaria could see absolutely no writing on the seemingly blank parchment.

After a few minutes Barien Tinduri re-folded the parchment. He tossed it into the hearth of his always burning fire and turned back towards Shelaria.

“I thank you, kind ranger. Perhaps you can help me further?”

“At your command, master.”

Quicker than Shelaria could ever hope to follow Barien drew one of his long, thin swords and plunged it deep into the woman’s stomach, up through her lungs and heart finally poking the tip through her left shoulder.

“Take the knowledge of what you have seen with you to the abyss!” With a violent jerk Barien ripped his sword from the womans body and she crumpled to the floor, hands holding in her entrails as she looked upon her guild master with horror and bewilderment before dying.

Barien cleaned the gore from his blades as a wide grin played across his stoney face. “You will soon have company in the world of the dead, elf.”

Barien tossed the corpse into the ever burning hearth. He pulled an amulet from under his tunic, staring at it intently. “Soon, my brothers,” he whispered. "Soon."
******

Ch. 3

“Hey, what’s this?”

Teyaha turned to regard Vjaerrak, who was looking over an elaborately decorated and leather bound book. The duergar had agreed to stay and help clean up the apartment after the rest of their friends had left.

“I thought myself rather familiar with your sisters’ collection, yet I’ve never seen this one before.”

Teyaha took the book from the duergar, turning it over several times. It was a beautifully bound book, it’s leathery surface reflecting deep blue under the dim light of the room. The spine had an intricate pattern of woven lines and curves sewn with a golden thread, and each of the corners had a gold plated tab. The cover sported a round emblem depicting a dragon chasing the tail of a wingless wyrm, with the wyrm likewise chasing the dragons’ tail. In the very center was the carving of a small figure with outstretched arm, it’s left connected to the wyrm and it’s right connected to the dragon by some form of energy.

“Interesting,” the drow remarked. Teyaha opened the book carefully. It was written in a language she’d never seen before. Even the duergar cleric, an expert in linguistics by nature of his chosen profession, could only shrug at the strange symbols.

A loud crash from the bookcase brought the attention up from the text. A panel on the top shelf, where this book had been resting, fell off. Teyaha, standing on her toes, felt around the shelf with her bare hand. She stopped when she felt the rough cover of a small book.

“Finally,” she whispered, pulling the book down so that they could both regard it. “My sisters’ journal.”

Vjaerrak eyed Teyaha suspiciously. “She never told me she kept a journal.”

The drow smiled at the duergar. “Though she called you friend, do you truly expect any drow from Anaria’s generation to tell you all of her secrets?”

Vjaerrak quickly conceded the point. “This must be what she kept her findings in.”

Teyaha nodded. “I’d seen her write in it several times. She would never allow me to look over her writings, saying that I was not yet ready for what she had discovered. If not for my respect for my sister I’m sure my insatiable curiosity would have planted my nose in the text long ago.” She sighed heavily. “I can wait no longer. This may be the only lead we have to discover who killed my sister.”

Or what,”, the duergar quickly added. “I shall take my leave now. You know how to reach us should you be in need.”

The drow nodded, fingering the small golden dagger on a chain around her neck. Krolb had forged the daggers within the specifications set forth by Nilan. Anaria had then placed a heavy enchantment on all of them so that the members of D’aerne Shazrathe, the name the drow houses had placed upon Turgs band, could communicate with each other telepathically over great distances. Coupled with the powerful magics of it’s members D’aerne Shazrathe could be anywhere, at any time, instantly.

Teyaha hugged Vjaerrak briefly and set to work reading the journal. It was written in the drow tongue, even though Anaria had thought it important that Teyaha learn common and many of the other surface languages from Vjaerrak. The first few pages detailed Anaria’s wishes should she pass, including that the journal be given to Teyaha and that she study everything within. As she read Teyaha learned of other powerful spells Anaria had discovered within the arcane books and scrolls the late drow had collected over the centuries, as well as a few she had invented entirely on her own.

A few hours later Teyaha closed the journal, sighing heavily. Finally she had a clue, somewhere to start in her investigation into her sisters’ death. And, if her translation was correct, the entire realm was in mortal danger.




[This message has been edited by Dinggle (edited 09-18-2001).]