Lantan is a southern nation some thousand miles south of the Moonshae Isles, known for its' merchant traders, which are found up and down the Sword Coast. Lantan is also widely known for its' maroon-sailed, lateen-rigged ships, which ply the crystal and deep-green waters of the southern seas of the Realms. The Lantannas maroon sails are distinctive, and tell mariners that expert merchants are in their waters.

Lantan itself is a land of lush jungle and rock pinnacles, atop which perch the turreted aerial homes of the Lantanna. These homes are often joined to neighboring abodes by spidery, railless bridgespans. The islands are peopled by contented folk who worship Gond Wonderbringer, god of invention and artificers. The Lantanna carry on energetic independant sea trading in order to make enough money to enrich their homes with splendid ornamentation and new ideas or inventions, which they are always encouraging the experimentation with and implementation of.


"Ah, yes, the land of Gond. Contraptions and metal devices and little lights and whirling sparks and hammering at workbenches everywhere. Too many blasts and crashes to be entirely safe, but I like it. Sunny and gently rolling hills, farms everywhere with berry bushes where they haven't yet tilled. The Lantanna aren't much on casual magic, nor visitors, either, mind. They like their secrets, and would just as soon see you at your home when they come calling on you to sell their latest gadget. Mind you, some of them are priceless, as futile amusements or as darned useful little things. I've a bootjack over there with a turn spindle that works by itself, so wet boots upended on it near a fire turn as those metal twists flex in the heat, and the boots dry all over, in and out, without scorching. I once had a lamp that would fill itself when its oil got low -- that sort of thing. The whole island's like that."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:29, Wed 10 Oct 2007.

A variation of the following scene takes place for each of you. I would like you to write a couple paragraphs of how you react to what Ive written.

This is worth 1,000 experience points

You have found yourself either by chance or design in the far off island kingdom of Lantan in the city of Sambar. The city bustles with activity and you might find yourself anywhere in the city....

The capital city of Lantan, Sambar is a bustling city of some 24,000 people. Located on an excellent natural harbor, the city is divided roughly in half by the Sambar River. A showplace for civic inventions, Sambar is a clean, peaceful city.

Even in the poorer sections the homes have running water, and the buildings and streets fairly gleam a blinding white, a result of the limestone that covers nearly every surface.

For those of you that are newcomers several things have impressed you, things seen nowhere in Faerun.

The Gondaur is a colossal statue of Gond that towers over the harbor like the Colossus of Rhodes in our own world.  At night the eyes and hammer of the statue glow lighting the way for ships far out to sea.

The Beshaba's Bridge, this bridge ( a type of suspension bridge at the moment) spans the Sambar River at its' busiest spot, between Gharel Square on the west bank and the High House to the east. Long a source of national humiliation for the Lantanna, the bridge is named for the Maid of Misfortune due to its' bizarre history; the current span is the ninth bridge on this site. No matter what the engineers do, or how many supports and new buttressing techniques are used, the bridge keeps collapsing.

The High House,while no longer the largest or most important temple of Gond (that honor now goes to the High Holy crafthouse in Illul), the High House is still an impressive building. The windows of this temple comprise the largest stained-glass surface in the Realms. They are all enchanted with multiple glassteel and faerie fire magics, and depict scenes of invention and Gond-worship. Inside, the huge domed hall is filled with clockwork gears in an exact replica of the cosmic gears of Mechanus.

Gharel Square, this large marketplace, once known simply as the High Market, was renamed during the Time of Troubles to commemorate Gharel Emberthann, the gnomish avatar that Gond took form in during the Troubles. A bronze statue of Gharel, looking suitably grand in an enormous sun hat and holding aloft a smith's hammer, stands in the center of the square.

There are small parks and cafes everywhere along the merchant districts of Sambar, the sheer business if one wanted to describe Sambar to a person from modern earth I suppose it would be best described as a mix between Rome in its during its golden age and modern New York city.

On this fine day sunny and warm with a cool breeze out of the north you have been delivered a letter. The letter is of high quality, pure Mulhorand paper, golden ink with your name written in beautiful calligraphy.



You are cordially invited
for cocktails and dinner
in our gardens
Saturday, the fifth of Mirtul
at four o'clock in the afternoon
Tanglewood Estate

Artemis and Prunilla Svalkvor

The day had been a nice one, the travel had been long, his horse demanded real rest, not that overloaded barrel he had to stay, and he agreed, the hammock would be a sore point for him on the next day or two.

All that seemed to melt once they arrived and took a good look around. However Bast wasn't one to apreciate the sight as much as Kratos and he made it know by shaking him some. Taking a moment to right himself, he did his best to straighten himself as not to appeared a farm boy on his first visit to a city. thieves looked for that and he didnt want to find himself a few coins low.

His internal musing of the place was interrupted by a small courier boy that was asking him something. Surprisingly it was a letter for him, curious he took a good look at it, paper, really white paper, surely this wasn't for him, a second look revealed his name, written in fine golden ink with beautiful calligraphy. Taking two coppers he gave them to the boy, almost absent minded.

You are cordially invited
for cocktails and dinner
in our gardens
Saturday, the fifth of Mirtul
at four o'clock in the afternoon
Tanglewood Estate

Artemis and Prunilla Svalkvor

Reading it a second time didn't reveal anything new. He tryed to remember if he had done something to or for the pair. The name didn't tell him much, but the letter spoke of people that could expend good money in a whim. 'What could they want?.... well, if they wanted me dead they could have hired many people instead of spending money in this..'

He decided to take shelter first, Kratos moved his horse to the closer inn and ended up registering for a day an a half. He ended up getting up almost by mid day.

The letter came unexpected, but then again, her job had taken her around, it didn't mater where she was, she liked to travel. Giving the letter a turn she could see the golden ink. It wasn't the first time she saw one, but it was the first time it was for her.

The calligraphy was exquisite, the ink and paper complimented each other like it was the blood from it. She was good, she had seen it most of her life and knew without a doubt that someone wanted to make a good impression. "Artemis and Prunilla Svalkvor." Marine spoke to herself, her rich elven tone playing a questioning tone.

Now, should she go? many had made a good deal of trying to buy her for some of those messages. She wasn't particularly fond of some of them, but she liked to keep her word. As much as she wanted of course. But who didn't liked to be rembered for something.

Taking a good look at herself she decided, that if she was assisting, that she needed a dress. Not a common thing to her this days, but any way she looked at it, she needed a new uniform, so it wouldn't hut her that much to get one on the way.

"... and, my palate and stomach both satisfied, I strolled down Tinker Street.  Ippensheir was in full swing here as well, and the little stalls set up on either side of the carriageway were as amazing as elsewhere, if somewhat more affordable.  I found a cunningly wrought scrollcase that, when unrolled, seconded as a leather writing mat.  When furled, the adroit loops and crevices provide storage and protection for an inkpot, included, and assorted inkbrushes, not included, as well as a sheaf of parchments.  Absolutely fantastic!  Though cheap at the price, it used up the last of my earnings from my voyage here; no matter, my own savings will suffice to see me through my stay.


"After a couple of hands - or an hour, I should say, after the gnomish usage - I went to the Lady's Hall of Mysteries, passing a joyously noisy park full of children playing some odd game with a ball and bent wooden sticks.  Architecturally, the Hall was meager compared to the High House, of course.  (But then, I had visited the High House yesterday in time to see it at its most splendid, during dawn prayers in Ippensheir).  I suppose I had expected to see a collection of magical items, similar to the magnificent array of technological curios laid out in Gond's temple.  But the Mystrans must have realized they could not compete...  So I spent much of the afternoon chatting with the local clergy, who were much interested in my accentless Celestial.  They must have taken me for an Aasimar, and I did nothing to dispell their impression.  The conversation was most educational; here, among such a concentration of gnomes, the followers of the Lady have much advanced the theory of quantum arcanics that so fascinated me back in Suzail.  The idea that gnomish time units of 'hours' and 'minutes' correspond so precisely to"

A sudden rapping on the room's outer door interrupts the young academician at his writing.  He carefully sets down his inkbrush, tightens the lacing on his tunic, and rises to open the door.  A diminutive - for a human - messenger stands outside.  "Ac'demian Darkstar?  I've a letter for Ac'demian Darkstar," the urchin mutters, suddenly uncertain.

"Yes, that would be me.  Academician Garath Darkstar," the wizard carefully enunciates.  It was not the first time his youthfulness drew a doubletake from those who expected gray hairs, or at the very least some potential for facial stubble, on an academician.  "Is this the letter?"

"Yessir."  The document in question is delivered over, a copper nub exchanges hands, and the messenger departs with a bow and a grin.

Seating himself back near the desk, Garath slowly slits the envelope and draws out the letter.  Papyr, true Mulhorandi paper... most curious.  His name - which he did not think was known to any of the locals, as it was not his family's name - was emblazoned across the top in gold ink.  His puzzlement abates for a moment, as he admires the calligraphy.  Though his own brushwork was focused on paintings, his writing hand was quite fair and he was well acquainted with the basic techniques of calligraphy; this was quite a masterpiece, and Garath savors the elegant curves and swoops.  Shortly, however, he returns to the letter's contents:

You are cordially invited
for cocktails and dinner
in our gardens
Saturday, the fifth of Mirtul
at four o'clock in the afternoon
Tanglewood Estate

Artemis and Prunilla Svalkvor

Curiouser, and curiouser.  Folding the letter with care and placing it on the desk, Garath walks over to the far wall and presses the valve-stop.  The wall vibrates a little as the steam is released to travel down the pipe, and from somewhere below, on the inn's ground floor, the wizard can hear a shrill whistle.  Lantanna, he chuckles silently, shaking his head.  A few moments later, one of the inn's staff - a middle-aged gnome by the name of Halbert, or Halberg or somesuch - taps on the door.  "Sir?"

"Sorry to bother you, but I have just now received an invitation to the... Tanglewood Estate.  An Artemis Svalkvor.  It is for tomorrow afternoon, at four of the clock; would you be so kind as to arrange for a footwheel-carriage?  But first... do you know these Svalkvors?  Are these invitations customary during these periods?"

Gix wandered wide eyed through the streets of Sambar, nervously adjusting hs headband as he took in Lantans wonders.  It was all to much!  This was it, this was what he had told them they could be.  And to think they'd refused ... the little Rothe scats!  Gix growled sensessly at a passing gnomeish child, but it was half-hearted.  Nothing could despoil his mood this day.  It was quite literally a dream come true.  Every invention, every clockwork mechanism precise in its beauty.  Gix wanted them all ... no, he wanted to make them all!

Gix passed by the statue of Gharel, and curious, read the caption.  Realizeing what it was, Gix dropped into a bow so low that his snout grazed the ground, beneath his carefully crafted illusion.

It was there the courier boy found him, touching him lightly on the shoulder as if nervous to disturb Gix's prayer.  Completely forgeting his earlier piousness Gix whirled around, intrigued by this new turn of events.  This was the first warm-blood to approach since he'd arrived waterlogged on this marvelous isle.

"Excuse me sir?  Are you ... Gibius Gladstone?"  it asked, checking the named inscribed onto the letter it held.  Gix took a moment to remember his psuedonym, making for a very akward pause.  "Yes, I'm Gibius ... what are you?"

"I'm a messenger sir, this is for you from an Artemis and Prunilla Svalkvor."  The boy handed Gix a letter is of beautifull Mulhorand paper, with Gibius Gladstone name written in gold ink on it's front.  Gix took the letter and waved the messenger on it's way, before carelessly ripping open the seal, and tossing the envelope onto the ground.

Gix scanned the letter idelly, occasionaly being distracted by some new wonder as it passed by.  His interest was piqued at the word "dinner" however.  He hadn't eaten properly in ... it didn't bear thinking how long.  His stomach growled.

Gix carfully memorized the entirity of the letter, before folding it up, chewing it into pulp, and devouring it with several pronounced gulps. This drew more then a few odd stares, but Gix was oblivious, his mind on the upcomeing dinner.  Spying the envelope lying batterd on the ground, Gix picked it up and brushed the dirt off it as he strode down Sambars streets of wonders.

Well, Garath... Looks like I'm finally catching up. And what a wonderous place you've led me to! I'm not surprised you wanted to come here though, this land must fit you like a glove. I'm not sure this little people accepts an outsider like me easily though; I'd better be careful...
Quinlan thought as he walked through the street of Sambar. The half-drow kept his face hidden under his cloak and kept to the shady side of the street as he moved swiftly onward. The acrobatic rogue had set off after his magician friend a few weeks earlier, after starting to feel uneasy about his prospects in Phlan. Surely it had been pleasant basking in the slight fame of having found two child-murderers that had plagued the city for far too long, but with fame came attention, and with attention came... Quinlan shuddered slightly at the thought.
He was in Lantan now, very far from home, and as safe as a man with a price on his head can be. Picking up Garath's trail had been easy enough, and he had made good progress tracking him across the continent. Now all was left to try and find him in this city... Well, he had his ways for doing that.
A few hours later Quinlan stepped out of the inn, a few coins jingling in his pocket and a grin on his face. He stowed away his juggling balls before setting off in the direction of the Svalkvor residence.