Spring fades, then Summer goes merrily past and we’re onto Autumn before anyone realizes.

As anticipated, the crops were not great, but your people are confident that, with the help of the fish you got, they will make it past winter. Failing that, they are certain the dragon will, if needed,  hunt in the south. Which means, they are not so thrilled to realize you will be gone for a long time adventuring in the east.

The search for the magical object turns out a lot of possibles, but nothing of real value. There’s a sceptre that, according to Vermillion, may once have been a truly magical object, but these days it’s mostly rotting metal and little else. During the search Vermillion begun to wonder if you have all been searching in the right place at all or if the object is far more elusive than it seems. Randulf speculates on your back story. He says that, if true that you were left for your parent’s to care, someone might have taken the magical object as a guarantee of their interest in seeing you mature as a fine dragon. He mentions that it remains true that your lands were given to your parent’s for ‘past favours’ so that’s a bit of an unknown, but it shows they were not adverse to a bit of ‘wheeling and dealing’.

All that starts to fade into the background, when a though looking young lad shows up. He mentions he was sent by Master Gilmartin, to tell you that preparations are nearly completed and your expedition can depart whenever you want.

Into the frozen land of Nador, where they were forced to eat Robin's minstrels. And there was much rejoicing. ^_^

I am not the best hunter. Or much of a hunter at all, really. I lack the patience for it. Hunting for food that is. Noble hunts are more like practice for war, with men on horses driving herds of boars at archers and then skewering the same with lances and so on. That I have no need or desire to practice. Why would I ride a warhorse, which is extremely expensive, when I can fly?

It sounds to me like another trip to the Waterdeep archives is in order, to see who deeded the land to my parents. Grants in allod, that is, without an overlord, are exceedingly rare, so whoever did had to have extraordinary motivations. As much as I am loathe to admit it, Randulf is probably correct that it wasn't a reward by some duke for noble service to the realm.

I'll swing by when we go to the city to gather the expedition members. We'll pay another visit to Randulf's sister of course, and the guild masters might have more interested souls besides Gilmartin and the guards.

One thing, you found this on your last trip. It was one 'Lady Aurgloroasa of Winterfare ' and the land is noted as being donated for 'past favours'.

Coincidence of names? Someone impersonating her? Who's the real Aurgloroasa? Who knows...

Oh right okay. Well everything else still stands!

Behold my medieval legalisms! =p

Thanks for the reminder.

After consulting my journal to recall that I already, in fact, determined that Aurgloroasa was the name on the letter patent of grant in allod to title in real estate, I make sure to inform Vermillion and Randulf of that fact.

It's a bit worrying, actually. Would that mean Aurgloroasa is somehow responsible for my rearing? That'd be weird. Oh well. Onward! To adventure! And mystery! And maybe treasure!

And… we’re back… fingers crossed all will go smoothly from now onwards.

Vermillion starts by saying… ‘ah what’s in a name…’ but a look by Randulf makes him sigh before saying ‘…I know… coincidence? Nobody will believe it…’

I’ll jump a wee bit here

You make your arrangements at home, give instructions and then start the road down to Waterdeep. You can see the Spine with more snow, which is a sure sign that Winter is fast approaching. Vermillion keep saying he hopes the east will be more kind weather wise. Randulf chuckles saying ‘it’s not the weather that will kill you, it’s the bandits’.

Banter aside, you make your road to Waterdeep. By sheer coincidence, there’s a familiar face at the gate, Ailig is there. She gives a brief nod to your group and then departs the city northwards with a group of guards. You can see they are in big haste. True to his word, Master Gilmartin has assembled the caravan. Drivers, beasts of burden, equipment, supplies, carts, everything you need for the journey eastwards. He proudly introduces you to the drivers. Everything is set for your departure, waiting for your command.

Deserts are cold at night, or so I've read, but it's much easier to build heat than to get rid of it, generally speaking. Bandits though, psssh, no problem. I'll just eat them. I wink at Randulf about that.

I did mean it though.

I've always wondered what humans taste like. Or elves. Elves are supposed to be extra-delicious.

I make sure to politely greet Ailig before she leaves. Then, I thank Gilmartin for assembling a party, and I make sure everything is in fact ready, giving it all a once-over myself. I also introduce myself to the "crew," so to speak, and I tell them where we're going and what we hope to find there.

Then we're off! Slowly, I imagine, with a bunch of carts, but that's how things go. I'll have plenty of time to get to know all of these characters, and I'm sure they're, well, characters. Everyone has a story to tell.

Key - Blue is the route, red is the current hex you are about to start.

Rate of movement - 3 days per hex
Start date - Month 10, day 1
Current date - Month 10, day 4

The expedition starts slowly but soon you are making steady progress along the route north, aptly called 'the long road'. Ultimately, your goal is to reach Everlund and use that as a base camp to explore the Nether Mountains.

This close to Waterdeep, other travellers, adventurers and Waterdeep's soldiers and guards are a normal sight. The road is in good condition, secure in such close proximity to the large city and everyone relaxes their guard. For most of the time Randulf is sitting on a cart enjoying a pipe, his sister brought her own horse and often scout ahead of the group, whilst Vermillion spends most of time over an ancient tome, the travels of an ancient wizard in the Nether Mountains. As you start yet another stretch of the road, everyone is in good spirits.

OOC: I can keep a hex-by-hex progress or, I can keep rolling dice and only stop if anything significant happens. Largely depends if you're happy just following the route or if you want to check or do something along the way, even change route! Your choice.

Sorry, I thought I posted, but what actually happened was that I was going to say that I couldn't get the map to load, then I had to go to work, and I forgot that I had not, in fact, posted. The map is working fine now.

Anyway, the end destination is a river! I thought we were going to the desert.

I don't mind little snippets of countryside narration. I'm fine following the route until something interesting happens. We might be able to do some trading along the way and make a bit of profit, which would be neat, but otherwise it'll be a bucolic, relaxing journey.

Right?

Guys?

Right?

And we're back.



You continue your crawl along the high road.

At the end of the day Randulf's sister returns from her usual scouting forays. She comes back excited and accompanied. With her there is someone that you recognize by the uniform as one of the Waterdeep´s guards. She says that just to the north, in the shadow of the Kryptgarden forest they spotted a bandit's camp. She says that that they were busy right then dividing booty. The guard confirms it and confirms that they have long been chasing this group, he was returning on the double to Waterdeep to get assistance when she (and he nods towards Randulf's sister) mentioned that you would be able to assist. He looks slightly doubtful.

Proudly, I puff out my chest and declare that I can, in fact, help with that! I'm a dragon! Rawr! Keeping the bandits from melting into the woods will be the hard part though. Anybody have ideas? My best trick is being really big and scary.

Randulf suggest staging a target to lure them into the road. His sister is initially doubtful but then starts to see merit on the idea.

That sounds good to me! I am almost incapable of maintaining a deception like that, so I hope somebody else can do it. Do we have a small number of people who could reasonably pass as distressed travelers ripe for the robbing?

OOC - Do you want to be part of the 'ambushed' party, or are you going to be ominously flying about and then pounce on any attackers?

Well, I am a beautiful maiden with lots of ostentatious jewelry, so I should probably be part of the ambushed party!

It's tax season. I am very busy... *flops*

Taxes are taxing

You all organize the ambushed caravan. Two wagons, the rear with Randulf and sister, both in shabby attires, she pretending to be an old crone, yours, leading the two with you and Vermillion, Vermillion trying to unconvincingly play the role of the though caravan master. Waterdeep's guard is hidden in one of the caravans (your choice which!)

It does not take long on the road for two human riders to approach your caravan. They look properly weathered from being on the road for a long time. They signal you and, still on the march start both riding on one side of your cart. One of them nods and greets you both then, talking to Vermillion he starts a long tale on ho dangerous this road and how there are usually bandits just ahead of 'near to those trees' (you see a small copse in the distance, maybe less than an hour away). He then offers to guide you by a side track that avoids all of these dangers.

A small caravan with a beautiful rich lady -that's me- and some old people. Easy prey for brigands. Mmmmhmmmm.

I've instructed the guards to hide in the third wagon, since it is the most likely to be searched last by the brigands. We want them to have their guards down as much as possible.

Naturally, we want to go with these fine gentlemen who are going to show us a safer route, because we're just innocent normal travelers, yes we are. Nothing to see here.

They make small talk as they take you to a track through the field neighbouring the road. Despite not being 'the road' it is in surprisingly good condition and your carts have no issue moving. As you reach a bend in the track, a bend that coincides with some hay stacks near the road, one of them suddenly falls with an arrow on its chest. The other curses and gallops into the fields leaving you stranded as you see a group of people in the distance rising in the field. They were previously in ambush, probably laid on the field. Vermillion urges the team forward, you hear Randulf saying something that you cannot understand.

I need to get back on the wagon. I've had to deal with a lot of roleplaying-related disappointments lately and it's really crushed my enthusiasm. Also I got Covid.

I make a show of being surprised at the ambush and wait to see what happens. I don't know why the bandits would attack each other, but Randulf seems to have some idea, and it won't do to spring the trap too early.

Oh crap. We keep forgetting that it’s still going around. I’ve seen a lot of people down with it in the past few months. Hope you are already feeling better!

Re RPG disappointment, sorry to hear that. It’s pretty hard to find reliable RPG’ing, at least that is my experience.

Randulf shouts through gritted teeth ‘Can't you bloody see it, those are Drow coming towards us! It’s dragon lady time!...’

Meanwhile, two in the incoming group stop and start readying bow and arrow and pointing them towards your caravan.

"No, but if you say so!"

I jump off the wagon and run a few steps off the path, so that I don't crush anything I care about, like the other caravaneers, when I transform!

Getting the clothes to turn into light to cover my modesty and not be destroyed when I change shape was quite the trick to master. Maybe I should write a book. Muscle, bone, and sinew expand, slide, rearrange, and change. The strangest sensation isn't going from biped to quadruped; it's that dragons, like cats, don't have collarbones. I'm not sure what exactly that part of my body turns into. Or where it comes from when I change into human form.

Anyway, rawr! Dragon! Big stompy monster!

I make a show of roaring (as loud as cannonfire!) and then sprint at the drow. It would be nice to pin them down instead of just squish them, but they're probably going to make that difficult by trying to get out of the way.

The drow scatter quickly at the first sight of a dragon. From the high point where your head is at, you can see some of them scattering in a pattern, they are forming a sort of fan shape aimed at you. The first arrows fly and even though they strike you in the head, the don't hit anything vital, nor do you feel anything other than a needle.

Well they're brave, I'll give them that. They're also good shots, and, not wanting to get an arrow through the eye on the off chance they can hit a small target moving very fast, I intone the protection spell I know. My voice is polyphony, and I speak the ancient language of dragons.

I cast while running, and the ground shudders beneath me. I will drive the drow towards the militia, so that if I don't catch them, halberds and swords shall. In the meantime, I might get an opportunity to swipe, stomp, or snatch up a few.

It doesn't take a strategy genius to see the drow are not only a serious foe, but they are not your average bandit. Faced with a single (and phenomenally large!) opponent, they scatter in a multitude of directions forcing you to decide which drow you want to chase.

OOC: there are 8 drow in the party, they scattered like a fan (so think 180 degrees in front of you) and are moving remarkably quickly away from you.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:32, Mon 15 May 2023.

That's all pretty remarkable, but I'm fully in the chase now, not thinking so much as acting on instinct. Natural philosophers have observed that dragons are rather like very large, winged, magical, firebreathing cats. I loose a gout of fire at the leftmost drow, hopefully catching a few others and at least setting a lot of things on fire to control their movement, and then I run after the rightmost drow.

The drow dives but does not manage to escape the fire and goes down, very literally, in flames. The brush in the field is now on fire. As you run right, the drow , still in fan formation, swerve left. You reduce the distance to them and, from your vantage point, can see that they must be heading to what look like a pit in the field, some 100m / 110yds away.

A pit! Hah! I have very keen eyesight and am much, much taller than them. What a silly trick!

I jump and start flying, or more accurately gliding, to continue the chase. Just because they're trying to get me with some trap doesn't mean they're getting away. I am a mighty predator! Rawr! I'm going to catch them up in my claws or with my jaws.

It occurs to me to wonder what drow tastes like.

Which you are about to be able to find out. The drow continue their escape and suddenly change tactic by suddenly dispersing in random directions. One thing you are able to see is that they are clearly well trained and competent but... there's seven of them now and inevitably one of them is caught by your claw. Suddenly, you are gliding with a drow in your claw.

Hey, get back here!

I'm having a great time and not paying attention to all of the terrain I'm surely destroying by running and flying around. I really wanna eat my prey; it's an instinct. I should eat it. I caught it and it's mine! But on the other claw, my rational mind knows that I shouldn't eat it. Yet.

I let out a big sigh, which comes with some fire, and fly back to the mini-caravan with my prize to leave it as a prisoner, so that the guards can interrogate it or whatever. Boo. I tell myself I'll eat it later.

There is a general commotion and panic as you fly back, with Randulf and Vermillion in general panicky mode as you have 'brought back a drow and now they will chase us all'.

The drow is far more at ease than your people in the caravan, or even the guards, who are now finding every excuse in the book to return swiftly to Waterdeep.

The bandits have not materialized, the fields are on fire, plumes of smoke rising and your caravan and the Waterdeep guards are all starting to look like headless chicken. The drow seems amused.

"Should I eat it?" I ask, as innocently as a dragon can ask anything, with a booming three-tone voice that echoes off the trees and hills.

"I don't know what the problem is. Don't we want to capture the brigands?"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:35, Fri 26 May 2023.

Even a dragon would note the silence... nobody says 'eat it' but nobody says 'don't'.

Shouting, probably because he's not sure you can hear him from your towering heights Randulf is the first to speak 'THE BANDITS! NOT THE BLOODY DROW! THESE ARE NOT BANDITS BUT SOMETHING FAR WORSE!...'

The drow laughs loudly and then says 'Listen to him oh dragon, for this, the Spider Queen will get you all...'

"They look like brigands to me. They're robbing travelers."

Short pause.

"Speaking of which, what happened to the humans who tried to waylay us?"

One of the just arrived guards answers your question 'Both dead, one shot by the drow the other by us...'

I let out a sigh, which is a lot of air moved and blows some trees in wind.

"So no bandits, then. That is disappointing. I do not know anything about drow, so I will defer to your wisdom in dealing with them."

That probably isn't something these people are used to a dragon bigger than a barn saying (assuming they're used to a dragon saying anything at all), but it's true nevertheless. Drow live underground and take slaves, but who doesn't take slaves? Refusing to take slaves is the exception to the rule.

Passing the buck instils even more panic amongst the locals. They were clearly hoping for someone to take a decision and control.

An exasperated Randulf sorts the issue, not much to the guard's pleasure. 'I'm the ...ahem... official emissary of the mighty lady dragon here (he points at you) you (he points at the guards) will immediately escort the prisoner (pointing at the drow) back to Waterdeep. C'mon, get a move it will be dark soon (which it wouldn't).'

The guards take a while and a bit more cajoling but finally leave with the drow. Your little caravan is left in what would be an idyllic landscape, if it wasn't for the fields still burning.

'Can we continue our way now?' Randulf asks.

Am I allowed to interrupt when Ataraxia sees spreading panic? I was going for the humble deference to experts angle, but if people are panicking because they want the big dragon lady to make a decision, then she can make one.

Absolutely. Interrupt way. Stomp your authority.

I see that the people under my charge are starting to panic. Their earlier confidence, especially Randulf's, in Waterdeep had led me to conclude they were largely cool-headed people. However, circumstances must.

I stomp on the ground, shaking the earth with the booming impact.

Sharply and with thundering authority, "Control yourselves!"

I wait then, for the panic to be arrested, before continuing: "These are no different from petty bandits. We will find them, drive them from their holes, and deliver justice."

I loom over my captive, taking up most of his view of the sky. "How many have you killed, how many have you taken, and where are they? Speak truthfully."

I've never leveraged it before, but perhaps the dragonfear will compel speech.

The drow looks bemused. An irritating attitude.

'I see you have never dealt with the drow, oh dragon. Eat me, split me into pieces, that would not be a worse fate that what the spider queen would do to me if I betrayed my brethren... besides, I have no quarrel with you.'

I roll my eyes at the pretention. Evil is so droll sometimes.

"Bind him, gag him, and make sure he has no weapons. Keep at least two guards watching him at all times, in sight of each other," I instruct.

Of Randulf, I inquire, "Do drow observe the custom of ransom? If I were to inform the city's lords that drow had been found, would they second soldiers to find and root out their surface passage?"
This message was last edited by the player at 08:37, Thu 22 June 2023.

In reply to Ataraxia (msg # 40):

Randulf scratches the stubble on his face... 'Well, they are drow, secretive at best, but they have an hierarchy, with nobility equivalents et all. If this one is some sort of noble by their standards they are bound to come for him...'

If I were wearing my human shape, I would click my tongue. I can't do that as a dragon, though, so I tap my claws on the ground instead.

"I do not care about the money. If these creatures are as dangerous as you all claim, dangerous enough to threaten me directly, then the people who live near here cannot possible defend themselves from them. We will find where the drow came from and seal their holes. Let us gather the rest of the caravan and return for that purpose.

Go. I will meet you soon; first, I will put out these fires before they burn farmland."

It will take a while, I imagine, but I learned a spell to put out fires for exactly this reason. After I bumbled and burned down my twentieth building and second woods, I felt guilty enough to put every gift my parents gave me and what money I earned myself towards finding my first tutor and grimoire.

I take to the air and start chanting, to put out the fires I've started.

OOC: One thing to note. You would know, even if vaguely, that the drow are not just a bandit group, but an entire race that is sort of the bogeyman of these lands. Fair enough, because they are so secretive, a lot of what is heard can be taken as myth, but you would certainly have heard how dangerous they are.

With your knowledge of extinguishing it does not take long to put down the fires. As the smoke dissipates and whilst the caravan gets organized, you can see the hole through which you assume the drow went underground. It was probably well camouflaged in the vegetation, but your fires destroyed the vegetation and made it visible.

I didn't want to make assumptions or metagame. Would my character know anything else about drow? They're pretty serious bad news, as far as I, the player, know.

She'll know the myths and bogeyman stories, but she will also know there's a good deal of truth to the bad things, so she will know enough to know, as you correctly say, they're very bad news and their appearance and the surface during daylight is, at the minimum, suspicious.

My birthday was two days ago. I am partied out for a good six months.

I declare my intention to collapse the tunnels the drow used to get to the surface and ask if anyone in our caravan knows how to find any more of those tunnels. If they do, we need to find and seal the rest. If not, then so be it. Either way, I'm off to stomp around and roar into the tunnels to collapse them, then send three people back to Waterdeep on our fastest horses to bring news of the drow and their ambush location back to the city lords.

Belated congratulations! Hope you had a great day!

Vermillion is very sceptical of your plan. He notes that unless you intend to go around the entire north, you are unlikely to seal the drow by collapsing these tunnels. You notice he keeps a very safe distance from the nearest tunnel.

Randulf also notes a problem in another part of your plan. You don't really have 'fast horses' only caravan teams and a couple of horses for scouting ahead. Besides, the only people that can go are himself or his sister. Since the sister is needed for scouting, he volunteers to go.

Then you notice yet another problem (not your day today!) , the drow may not be dwarves but the tunnels (human sized, so you can only roar from the outside at the tunnel's mouth) are surprisingly sturdy and the few you find are particularly hard to collapse.

Thank you. It was pretty nice. The rest of the week was awful though. Everyone wanted to have parties outside. In the humid summer heat. 41C with 90% humidity for hours, every day.

Well, drat. That's all quite unfortunate.

If the drow really are as much of a danger and problem as has been said, then the people of the countryside are in grave danger, aren't they? How do their lords handle the problem of the drow? We have seen no patrols of knights or militia, and the people are, by definition, not soldiers. Are the villages fortified?

They are not our people and this is not our land, so if the locals have the situation in hand, it is best for us not to meddle overmuch. Still, I think we should make some effort. Does anyone know who the local lord is or how to conduct siegecraft? Collapsing tunnels under walls is an important part of siege warfare.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:27, Sun 09 July 2023.

41 and 90? Bloody hell. That would be horrendous. We get 90 humidity easily but, the temp very rarely reaches 40, I already struggle with 25c and 90 cannot even imagine 41c and 90...

Vermillion comes into his own here. He starts a long tale on the drow peculiarities that, when your question is finally answered, comes down to the fact the drow are quire terrifying when they show up but they don't show up that often. In fact, their appearances are so rare that it makes it quite an event when they do, which is probably a good deal of the reason for the mythology surrounding them. It would be rather unfeasible economically to be in a state of continuous alert, or pay for the upkeep of fortress type defences, against such an elusive foe. He concludes by noting that, technically, you are all still under the Waterdeep area, so the Lords are responsible for all of this land. He suggests (as everyone would expect coming from him...) to get a move on whilst you still have daylight on your side.

Sorry for the delay again.

I listen patiently, but ultimately the information isn't very useful.

Since there's nothing else for it, everyone should get back to the main caravan and continue on the planned route. Also I'm going to eat the captive drow. Death is a fitting punishment for brigandry and murder. They can loot him first if they want.

I may or may not just be a dragon and want to know what elf tastes like, but nobody needs to know that.

It tastes like chicken. Or so they say. You cannot really tell. For the first time since his capture, you see actual horror and panic on the drow's face. Not for long though. A gulp later it is over. For some reason you cannot immediatelly understand (you are a dragon after all, what did they expect?) Vermillion and Randulf avoid you for a bit, and Randulf's sister goes on recon for a very long time.

As night falls your very silent caravan approaches a small copse by the road. Randulf's sister is there waiting for you.

'There is not any other shelter for a long while, I think we would do well to set-up camp here in this copse.'

OOC : your location, at the eastern limit of the highlighted hex.

What would they have me do? Release a murderer, brigand, and slaver flinging curses in the name of a dark goddess? They did not want him taken prisoner, either, nor made to face proper justice.

The old books and legends say that dragons are particularly fond of the taste of elves, but usually they also say it's elf-maids specifically. Maybe the men just don't have the...whatever it might be. Or the scribes or storytellers were making things up. Or the dragons they talked to were boasting. There's a lot of possibilities.

I do kind of want another one though.

Maybe half a dozen.

It was barely a mouthful!

Anyway.

If she thinks it is a good spot, then it is. The weather here is not yet bad, and the presence of my magnificence (and size) should deter anything unduly curious from trying to eat a sleeping person or horse. Though I will take my human form again if they think that is wiser. They know this land and profession both better than I do.

As camp is set there is an edge in the caravan. As a dragon you are accustomed to people being afraid of you and this is not it. Well, not entirely. The drow appearance and subsequent events seem to have brought into the group's mind the realization that travelling is quite an hazardous venture, even this close to Waterdeep.

With the long road you have ahead of you people in the caravan have been brought down to earth. You can see this in the little details, Randulf and his sister spend part of the night sharpening blades and readying arrows, Vermillion retreats into a tome titled 'The northern travels of Garuntzu', and the caravan drivers make sure their teams and carts are fully prepared for continuing the journey on first light.

When all is set, a fire is left burning through the night and Randulf's sister volunteers to take first watch, which makes sense since she will be the first to depart in the morrow. Vermillion even finds some courage to ask how often do dragons need to sleep?...

I try to be a nice dragon. A responsible overlord at least. And I only stepped on somebody the one time! Accidentally anyway. I stepped on some brigands on purpose a few times. Causing panic and havoc is pretty fun, I have to admit to myself when nobody is listening.

Since nobody objects, I stay in my natural, very large draconic body. It's more comfortable, in a sense. I've grown used to a human body over my lifetime, but it always feels tight, like I'm squeezing myself into clothes that are too small for me. I haven't slept a full night as a dragon since I was...twelve maybe? It's been a long time.

I find it easy to keep up with the caravan, strolling along and leaving a long trail of clawed prints behind me, subtly shaking the ground with steps that are surprisingly light for my size.

I inform Vermillion that dragons need to sleep about as much as humans do, around a third of every day. We can go longer without sleeping without losing our wits or strength, but we have to make up for it. I once stayed awake for two weeks, then slept for eight days. I speculate that might be why some dragons hibernate for many years, since the natural state of dragons, as far as I know, is one of extreme paranoia that another dragon might take their hunting grounds or hoard. I am very grateful to my parents and my people for providing me the chance to rest regularly, given that speculation.

I ask him to regale me with stories from his book, since it is too small for me to handle.

Vermillion is more than happy to oblige and regales you with the tale of when Garuntzu (a wandering priest) was lost in the High Forest and met all sort of creatures and beings, mostly fabulous beasts and beings of species that you had never even heard about. He also does a bit of speculation, correlating some of the wonders Garuntzu speaks about with actual beasts and species living in Faerun. As Vermillion notes, Garuntzu was probably trying to do a 'greatest hits compilation' of things he had seen, or heard about, around Faerun and using the myth of the High Forest as background for this. Which was not to say the High Forest was barren, in fact, it was thriving with all sorts of creatures, albeit rather less fantastical than what Garuntzu made it sound like. He concludes with a thought of his own 'Garuntzu is probably as mythical as the legends in his book, I suspect whoever wrote this has never been in the High Forest.'

Listening to a story, especially told by someone interested in it, is far more enjoyable than just sitting and looking around.

I don't have many questions, since Vermillion goes on at length about his own speculations, but I think of a few to at least be engaged: What god was Garuntzu a priest of? Where was he from?

It must be surreal to read a story to a creature two hundred times your own size.

Vermillion scratches the stubble slowly forming on his face.

'We don't know. Or at least, I certainly don't. There is nothing more from this Garuntzu so, he could even be an entirely fabricated character... It's not that uncommon. Adventurers often write their memoirs, some, the ones that gain fame use their own names, others, just use imagined characters that look plausible. Garuntzu's book became famous because of the final chapters where he walks the Black Road across the Anauroch desert and discovers the Shadow Sea. It was the first ever mention of the sea in any chronicle... there are some legends associated with the origin of Kobolds and Gnomes in that area...'

He then cannot resist a yawn, which indicates that time of the night has come.

OOC If nothing else, I'll get things moving to the morrow.

Is it normal for adventurers to be literate, then? I know that the great majority of people are not, and indeed my plans to improve my peoples' welfare rest upon literacy and numeracy provided to them.

I'm ready for the next!

The next day starts and continues rather boringly uneventful. That is, until Randulf's sister appears, during the midday caravan stoppage, almost dragging behind her a with a wide eyed young man tied to her saddle.

'Caught him lurking and following us...'

His eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees you. He looks like a poor farmer. He stutters quite a bit, grasping for words until he says '...just wanted to see the dragon...'.

Randulf's sister just shrugs 'no way to verify that story, but after yesterday...'

"You couldn't possibly miss the shaking," I state, imperiously.

An adult human is barely as tall as my paw resting on the ground. I feel like smiling indulgently; the small size and physical weakness of humans pokes maternal instincts. I avoid it, though. Adults don't like being condescended to that way, most of the time.

"Waterdavians continue to amaze me. You are very brave. What is your name? Surely others are watching, as well."

My great size and thundering voice surely contrast with the feminine pitch and timber.

‘Raimondas your dragon highness…’

You can see he defaults to a ‘dealing with any higher authority’ mode.

"Were you afraid to approach? And how many others have been spying on me?"

Beat.

"Well met Raimondas."

Raimondas looks confused for a bit 'Not from my village, at least I think not... people were afraid a dragon meant they would be eaten...'

"I do not eat innocent people," I declare. I would have said "I don't eat people," but that's not true. I still kinda want another elf. Maybe there will be more drow.

I really shouldn't think that! The people will be in danger.

"Thank you for bringing him here, Miss Cristene."

Again looking at the peasant, doing my best to be majestic rather than terrifying (a hard balance to strike given my size): "I took human form to travel with these people northeast. Dark elves attacked our band, and I destroyed them. We are again on our way, so you should warn your people to be cautious of the drow. Do you have any questions for me, Raimondas?"

Despite your best efforts he still looks somewhere between awe and terror, to be expected given the circumstances.... and rather keen to leave... 'ermmm... no...'

Well, okay then. He can leave.

I trust Cristene has already checked him to see if he stole anything.

She would have.

And with that done, the caravan departs. Without further interruptions, and spurred by the previous episode with the drow, the caravan makes swift progress. The road is also much less travelled, your don;t cross paths with any other caravans, but meet the odd peddler. As night quickly arrives, you find yourselves at a pinch-point in the landscape, to the east hills, to the west the forest. Wildlife crosses freely between both and hunting is abundant. You all settle for a very decent meal at the end of the day.

Master Gilmartin brings everyone together around a fire to discuss next day's planning. Even if the road goes through the hills, there is something good at the end as the river crossing will be made via the city of Yartar. The city is as busy as could be expected given it's strategic location, attracting all sorts. Gilmartin spends quite some time hammering into people that they need to keep their wits at all times. By the end of it, he comes to you and seems a bit reluctant to say that he thinks you should not stay as dragon from now until the caravan leaves the city. 'Might worry folks in there...' he says.

Your current position is at the north end of the hex marked in red.

I have kept my natal shape precisely to ward off bandits and ne'er-do-wells, so taking human shape for pragmatic reasons is perfectly acceptable. I will do so.

Also I can have a good meal that way, which is nice. Entire raw deer gets old, quickly.

I have never been to Yartar and am interested to see the city, but I will keep my guard up if people who have been there before say I should. I try not to be prideful. Too much anyway.

After another uneventful day, the increased traffic is a clear signal Yartar is near. You arrive there short after the mid day.

Yartar is a crossroads trading town. The first thing you notice are the fortifications, the second is that the city is alive and full of trade. Competing trade caravans and loaded trade barges seem to continuously pass through its walls.

The city is connected by a fortified bridge, wide enough to accommodate two wagons, to a citadel on the west bank. There, the Evermoor Way (the road you have been following) crossed the Surbrin.

It is a great city, indeed. Somehow, I find Yartar more enchanting than Waterdeep, at first blush at least. Perhaps it is the sense of vitality or perhaps it is the somewhat rougher atmosphere. Who knows what drives a maiden's heart? Oh hoh, I wax poetic about myself. A bit silly.

I'm sure the caraveneers will want to make commerce and find profit in trading here, and I would like to watch them haggle, to get a sense for business and the value of things I don't normally encounter. I don't fancy being a merchant, but knowledge can always serve a good ruler well. I may even gain a few admirers with my good looks and charm!

The small city is a lot smaller than it first seemed, but it is a low more crowded than your first expected. Some would say overcrowded. There are a lot of people congregated here. There’s a profusion of smells and noises that makes the entire city feel like you are in a marketplace. The lack of space means that most sellers and traders won’t even bother to get their wares out of the wagons, selling directly from them. You can see a cheese seller, standing on top of the wheels of cheese as he cuts chunks of them to sell.

Compared to Waterdeep it feels like the entire city is alive. With your caravan’s carts already filled with gear and food for your journey there is not a lot to trade with, but Master Gilmartin hands out lists to the teamsters and sends them to find and buy some goods you need. As he explains ‘there are no other large cities between here and Silverymoon, we must stock on anything we cannot easily source on the road…’

Cristene and Randulf have really come onto their own in here. You notice how well they play the part of the road weary travellers to obtain anything, from information to a rebate on prices. They ask you if there is something you think you’ll need for the journey ahead?

Your current position:

I do not think there is anything that we do not have which I might want, for the journey at least. Supplies and equipment to survive or even thrive in the high desert is largely for them to determine. If I knew what to take, I wouldn't have brought them along. There might be a bookseller or sage in the city who knows something about the old runes or legends we're investigating, or the place we're going, so if they don't have anything in particular they're after, Cristene and Randulf should look for either of those.

There is one other thing: if there are antidotes for the poisons drow commonly use - spider venom, one assumes - then we should probably have some of that. Just in case.

Cristene and Randulf get on the case, but it's Vermillion that first delivers the goods. He's at a loss re poisons but old runes and legends are just the thing for him and he knows of a sage / wizard that lives in Yartar. Strangely called Baldur the Elder, no relation to that other Baldur, Balduran of Baldur's Gate fame.

Baldur the Elder, eh. Suuuuure there's no relation. I do my best not to roll my eyes when Vermillion says there's no connection. Immortal wizards living mundane lives, that's never happened before!

Anyway, let's go see him.

You move with some difficulty through the busy city. As you got through it you see that it was at some point nothing more than a small fort at a vital crossing, ait naturally expanded becoming a major trading hub but missing the infrastructure to support it. The streets are particularly narrow and in permanent shadow due to the height of the buildings.

It is above a busy pub that you find Baldur the Elder. At first he's very obviously rather suspicious of you, it takes a bit of 'showing references' by Vermillion for him to allow you all in.  If he was once Baldur the Great it does not show as he's clearly in difficult time. A vast collection of tomes occupies his entire living accommodation, turning it into a book maze. A bit embarrassed he admits that the only sitting are book stacks and enquires what do you want with him?

I thank Baldur for his hospitality, completely and smoothly ignoring his embarrassment.

I tell him we are passing through Yartar on our way Northeast, to delve some ruins that may hold clues to an ancient draconic mystery. I explain the story to him, starting from the beginning, and do not hide that I am a dragon. I try to avoid superfluous details so as not to be boring. Then I show him the runes on the illusionary shield and ask him if he knows what they say or where we might find someone who does or a book that might allow a translation. I also ask him if he knows anything about the mysterious dragons that came to my home.

Baldur looks at the runes and loudly states 'Glory to me!'

Then he starts laughing at his own joke. 'No idea, never saw that particular style of runes...'

As your further the conversation, you begin to suspect this Baldur to be just a big bad of hot air. He does not seem to know anything. Certainly not of what you ask about. What's worse, from his encyclopedic knowledge of book positions in the stacks your become certain that the only wisdom he has is as a librarian.

After it becomes clear that Baldur 'the Great' doesn't know what he's talking about, instead of confronting or embarrassing him, I direct the conversation to his library. Specifically, if Vermillion could peruse the stacks for any books that might contain the kinds of information we're looking for. After all, the value of a library is in the books one has not read.

Baldur, probably eyeing some income from sales, is more than happy to let Vermillion rummage around. The wizard is like a child on a candy store, happily going through stack after stack. At some point he comments to you 'I do need to reduce my collection...'

I thought I already posted. Whoopsies. It was Kevin's fault. He knows what he did!

I raise one eyebrow at the man.

With a flat tone: "Vermillion," I remind, "please keep your selections relevant to the journey. As enjoyable as it is to see you so excited, this journey is already very expensive, and we must keep funds for provisions."

Bloody Kevin.

Your stinginess took some of the wind from Baldur's sails. Vermillion was not deterred. He disappears between the stacks and within minutes, there's an ominous sound of a stack of books falling and spreading on the floor. As Baldur runs to the scene, Vermillion comes away from it with a book in hand. He's a bit flustered you can see and hands it to you without much ceremony. It does not look THAT old. The binding looks quite poor quality and the cover is nothing but printed paper, no mighty leather tome, the title is 'Aurgloroasa of Winterfare, ruler of the North'.

That joke doesn't work as well as it used to, because Kevin McCarthy was the Speaker of the House of Representatives, but he was ousted by vote yesterday. It was the first time in US history that a Speaker had been voted out of office.

Stingy?! Me? I have expenses! I'm not an empress!

Actually, that might not be a bad idea. I daydream for a few minutes until Vermillion finds what he's looking for.

I ask if he found anything else interesting and offer a decent price for the book.

I don't actually know what things cost in the Forgotten Realms. A book in the real Middle Ages was very expensive, since all of them were written by hand, but I know that books can't be that rare in this setting, if some two-bit guy has a whole library. So, you know, insert whatever is a decent price. =p

Prices in the forgotten realms do not follow the historical pattern. In fact, even Harn who seems to be the gold standard for medieval realism is very loose on prices. I think it's unavoidable to actually make the game work as a game...

Baldur, the not so great, takes your money eagerly and tries to sell you much more. Vermillion, intrigued, drills him on the origins of the book he found. After a bit of evasion a (surprisingly) tenacious Vermillion manages to find the origin of his entire collection. Yartar was a much smaller city, until the city leaders grasped the fact that they held a rather strategic position and turned merchants more than anything else. As part of their interest in gold, they dumped many of the town's assets they could not convert quickly into a lot of gold. The books he has were part of a collection donated to the city by someone he had no idea who it was. Baldur was just at the right place at the right time, piled everything into a cart and took possession of it.

Prices were indeed quite loose in the real world until like 1880 with the first department store opening. It's just that things in D&D have costs that don't make sense. E.g., one of the few lists of prices of things that survives from the Middle Ages is from London in about 1220, and the prices align with the kinds of industry that actually existed at the time.

That is fortunate for Baldur, then. There are other tomes I might be interested in. Grimoires specifically. Spellcraft. The good stuff, you know.

I have a vague recollection of an article back when in print RPG magazines were a thing. The gist (cannot remember the detail) was that for RPGs to work (well, article was about D&D) you have to make huge concessions to reality, one of the biggest was the economy. Real world economies just would not make any RPG interesting. I mean, can you imagine in, for ex, CoC if you applied a late 1920s economy to proceedings?... I'm not too conversant with the nitty gritty of medieval economies but, if not even the maniacs of Harn could make it work in a game, I suspect it would never work.

Vermillion again digs with gusto into the stacks of books. He comes back with something. He comes back with something called 'Duplicitous Manuscript' which looks like a collection of romance fiction. He tries his best at winking and waving from behind Baldur for you to buy the book.

I don't know about that. Understanding how economies function, basic supply and demand, and looking at things through both rarity and utility can make for a plenty compelling experience. At least, that's what players I've had have told me, when they got over bedrolls not always being 3 silver pieces. Of course, some of them also found my love of pre-modern minutiae irritating...

cough

I haggle with Baldur over the price for a little while, mostly to save face. His pretentions have gone from amusing to annoying and I don't want to stay around any longer than I have to. I do my best to hide that emotion, though.

I once saw a game of Traveller that was done via a spreadsheet which had excruciating details about the financial side of their adventures. That particular group of players seemed to love it, not sure I ever met anyone that liked it. Horses for courses I guess!

Having said that, my worst experience ever was playing Tekumel in a game GM'ed by one of the guys that was involved in the latest edition of the game. That was the first time I played a game governed by 100% reality in a world of fiction. Problem is, in Tekumel, if you play like that, a slave will never be anything other than a slave. And slaves were treated like, well... slaves. Every player was so hamstrung by the role they choose and the rigid society laws and rules that the game was like living in a Sartrian play.

I would still debate if a real world economy would make sense in a game of D&D. Of course, if you start looking at detail at a fantasy RPG, much like a sci-fi RPG, the entire castle of cards crumbles. I used to love Mechwarrior, then I made the mistake of looking at the military side of it and quickly noticed it made zero sense. In fact, for a combat based game, the entire strategic and tactical premise is ludicrous beyond belief. A bit like the social and imperial side of Traveller. Again , it makes zero sense. Worse was when I was looking at a murder mystery and tried to make it into a Traveller scenario. 'Ok, so the victim is kileed. Now, no alert so the perpetrator can board a ship for the next system. He arrives a week later by which time alert has been sent but will take a week to arrive. So he can again kill someone, steal their assets and move to the next system. So, no alert means...'

He's actually quite happy to almost give the book away. He thinks very fitting you would pick a romance fiction book, you being a princess et all. By the time you left, the normally bored-looked Vermillion seems quite excited.

Mechwarrior is from Battletech, which was originally based on Robotech, which was originally based Macross the same way Power Rangers is based on Super Sentai.

However, I wanted to play a Meltran, a giant space elf amazon, in an RPG. So, the universe reversed temporal causality and Battletech was forced to redo itself as something else entirely. That way, I can't play a giant space elf amazon.

And therefore, Mechwarrior is based on Dune. Commstar instead of the Spacing Guild and HPGs instead of spice.

Isn't Tekumel that Aztec-based game?

I ask Vermillion what that book is and why he's so excited about it.

This is actually quite an interesting discussion.

I don't really have a problem with games that don't care about internal consistency or historical realism. D&D being the prime example. Of course some things are silly, but the spirit of the game is to be like Elminster, going from a lowly wizard to a near god. That's good fun and that's about it, all good. But games that aim to be ubber realistic and then fall really short of doing it, now that's a different thing. Take Twilight 2000. Even back in the cold war when it was released, the setting of the game made no sense at all. That's not, at all, what a post nuclear exchange central europe would like, even in the most optimistic of studies...

Re Tekumel, it's a hodge-podge of middle east and central america. Because the guy is a linguist, the entire game is born out of a new language, a bit like Tolkein and Elvish, except he did not take it to the uttermost extreme like Barker did. It's one of those RPGs (IMO of course) that seems very intriguing when you read the blurb but in actual play is a bit 'meh'. Too much effort for what is just a post-apocalyptic fantasy game.

I just don't think realism makes for a very good game. Far too many strings. You need some element of 'magic' whatever you call it, either the technobabble of Star Trek, 'the force' in SW or plain old magic in fantasy games. having said that, Ars Magica is a good balance, of course the trope system is really a square peg on a round hole, a very forced way to bring what would be the irrelevant peasant character into the forefront.

Vermillion quite excitedly says 'You just bought a grimoire for the price of a cheap book. That Baldur does not know what he has. That book is supposed to reveal to his owner a number of illusion spells of great power...'
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:07, Sun 15 Oct 2023.

Illusions! That could be highly relevant, since the giant "gold" plate shield thing wasn't gold at all and a bunch of illusions were involved in my original vision situation. We must study it together! I clap excitedly.

For a change, Vermillion seems to share your excitement. He nods sagely when you mention the mirror but you get the feeling he did not even realize that angle. As you move through the crowds you suddenly get an uneasy feeling, as if you are being followed. You look behind and above and you cannot immediately spot any signs of imminent danger.

I turn around and put my hands on my hips.

"You can come out now."

And I wait. In the middle of the street.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:51, Sat 21 Oct 2023.

The crowds pass by. Some avoiding you, some almost clashing with you, others mumble complaints at the odd person stopped in the middle of a busy thoroughfare. Vermillion looks sideways unsure of what is happening. Rather annoyingly, nobody answers your call.

I cast a spell to detect magic, just in case, then turn around and keep going. Somebody is probably going to try to pickpocket me or some other shenanigan I don't have patience for. Bluh.

The detect magic fails to detect anything you could determine to be a threat. The impression that you are being watched follows you.

Uuuuuugh. Skullduggery is so boring.

I take my purse off my belt and hang it around my neck, then I keep going with Vermillion, to the inn I rented out for our company for the night. Let's study together!

At the inn, most of the caravan are still out, procuring goods or going about the errands you set them to. You feel that the inn was well chosen as, despite the people gathered in the city, it is still reasonably quiet, enough for you to be able to sit with Vermillion and open the book. At which Vermillion mentions the obvious, 'you are aware I can only read the romantic tales correct? you on the other hand should be able to see more than that...'

When you look at the book, you can also only read the romantic story. Initially. After a while, the text starts to blur out, your start wondering what's happening to your eyes before the text starts forming and a new handwriting appears on the pages. Rightfully enough, you are now reading the starting steps of an illusion spell. It goes on for pages, only to be followed by another one and then another one, and so on... You realize studying this is going be a reasonable amount of work.

"No, I didn't know that. Why?"

Ooooh, puzzles! I love learning new things. Obsessing over them. Maybe it's my hoarding instinct. Do I have one? I might.

I'll be studying this book for a while. Yay! The best books are the ones that take a long time to read.

Time flies past without you even noticing it. By the end you have a headache and you cannot recall exactly what you read, but you can recall words you cannot even understand, some strange language you never heard before... yet, when you open the book, the instructions are written in quite common language.

The entire caravan is back and assembled in the common room. Everyone was successful at their assignments and the caravan is ready to start rolling on the morrow. You overhear Cristene and Randulf commenting to Vermillion about how they felt observed but could not really spot anything odd, well odder than could expected in a frontier city like this.

It seems quite a bit like the wizardry I've heard described before, where spells are things that have to be memorized and are almost like living things, "coming alive" when they're enacted and disappeared from the mind. Maybe that's what this is, maybe it's something else. I will need to experiment and study further.

I make sure to praise everyone who deserves it. I don't give out false praise, since that's humiliating rather than uplifting. I'll buy good ale and wine and of course pay to feed the caravan well, then a night in the city. If I can't rent out the entire inn and its stable for us, I make sure our rooms are next to each other.

Since Cristine, Randulf, and I all felt like we had been followed and watched, I want the guards to keep regular watch schedule. Just in case.

I just had an idea. Would it be okay to say that she was bright enough to hire a couple elves as guards? They don't sleep, so they must make better watchmen at night.

OOC : You can easily(ish) source a couple of elf guards in the city. Are you going to mention to them your encounter with the drow?

That's a good idea! Yes. Also that I ate one. And am a dragon. I am much more worried about the safety of the people with me than my own.

The two Elves speak quietly between themselves (in Elvish of course) for a while. Even if one was unable to understand Elvish one can understand that they are pondering the pros-and-cons of joining your caravan. They don;t ask for more money, seeming more interested in the route you intend to take. What is even more bizarre, they don't seem flustered about you mentioning being a dragon. And you get the feeling they took you quite literally at your word. After a very typical and prolonged discussion, Elves are never particularly bothered to rush things, they agree to join your caravan. After the necessary agreements are done and sealed over a platter of food, one of the Elves turns to you and states quite matter-of-fact that you will all have to follow their instructions when you come under attack by the drow.

Cristene and Randulf immediately pick up on this asking almost simultaneously 'when? you mean if?...'


To which the Elf only answers 'No, when is correct. The drow will not let what happened go on unavenged. It would be useful to know who was eaten. If it was a noble...' he does a very non-Elf shrug '...all of the drow will eventually come...'

I don't argue with the elves. I didn't think drow were following us, but if that's the case, well, elves would be the most likely to know. I agree to follow their instructions when we're attacked by drow, of course; I'm bringing them on for just that purpose.

I describe the drow as best I can remember, including what he tasted like and the events leading up to the drow trying to ambush us.

Everyone listening to your degustation of the drow looks a bit worse for wear. You get the feeling that it's probably better not to lean too heavily into the gastronomic qualities of people when in presence of, well, people...

There isn't a lot to describe. I didn't make a point of torturing him. I just thought our new elfin companions would have a better understanding of the situation with as much information as possible. Besides, that drow was evil and tried to murder all of you!

I feel embarrassed and a little huffy.

In the end, it's the caravan Master that brings the situation back to normality by showing up with a new round of drinks and asking about your plans for the next day. Is the caravan leaving? Is there anything else you are thinking of doing in the city? Should they be ready at first light?

We'll leave in the morning. Since we need to be on guard for drow, I believe we should leave two hours after dawn. Unless our elfin or the master think this is a bad idea, then we will go.

On the next day everyone is ready to move at the agreed time. The elves quickly dissapear into the countryside, doing their won scouting, which allows Cristene to stay closer to the caravan and she goes along chatting with Randulf. The day progresses leisurely. You notice there are less travellers on this portion of the road. You also notice that the temperature dropped quite a bit and, coupled with the overcast sky, it all makes for a slightly depressing journey. In due course, the midday arrives and the caravan makes a stop, everyone gathering for lunch, minus the elves that, after a short appearance mid-morning to give you the 'all clear' again disappear into the countryside. Even the lands looks different. Whilst before it was a patchwork of cropped fields, on this side of the fields the land is best described as tundra.

This environment, this land, is starkly beautiful.

I ask the caravan master why so few people live here. Is the ground bad for farming? Are there too many monsters, brigands, or other menaces?

I make sure to thank whoever does the cooking. Likely several people, since they're preparing a meal for a group.

The caravan explains that the land is very unforgiving. He points at the sky and says 'This' but a taste of what the weather is like in winter... also, because nobody lives here, nobody comes to live here... gets very isolated and there are many dangers here... all sorts of nasty critters and people... wise people tend to stay in the towns, there's an easier life there... no point chancing it in here...'

"Where does the city get its food and sundries, then?"

The lack of farms around is very strange to me, having never ventured far from the coastal heartland of civilization.

"Surely they cannot import all of it from elsewhere. That would be extremely expensive. How could anyone afford to live in the city?"

I like the cold. It invigorates me.

'There are farms west of the river, they share the land with Waterdeep. It's on the east where we are now that the land becomes rather... unfriendly... even so, the forst provides lumber, the river fish, it's not that hard for the city... now, where we are going into, that's a different story...'

"What is the next city on our route? How does the story change, as you say?"

'Well, we are going into Everlund, that's the next big town, but it's only a town and small at that. They are in the mountains, most of their stores are replenished by river, if it wasn't for the mines of old there would be no city in there...'

"What old mines? Have they played out but were once wealthy?"

Vermillion was overhearing the conversation and interjected at this point. 'There was a war many years ago. Silverymoon took control over the mines that belonged to Everlund. Everlund's revenge was to fortify the pass that Silverymoon depends on, the pass this roads leads into. Over time they came to an agreement, Everlund controls access and takes tolls, Silverymoon controls the mines. Everlund got rid of the miners and kept the traders. Probably more taxes that way... and less trouble...'
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:37, Tue 19 Dec 2023.

"I suppose it depends on what they mined," I comment.

I content myself with settling onto a cart to study the book of illusion spells more. It's mysteries cannot evade me forever!

The book's characters seemed to wave softly as you read them. You feel challenged to read just a bit more, but comprehension and awareness seem to slowly evade you the further you read. The soft wind, the daylight, become so soft that you barely noticed. You start to feel utterly relaxed. At the outer tip of your awareness, the sound of wind slowly moving the grass blades becomes noticeable.

BLAMMMMM!

Or that's what it sounds to you. Someone interrupts you talking at a speed that you cannot process in your state of trance. As they continue to blabber the sentences start to become more than loose words and you vaguely understand there is a nomad caravan coming your way.

The interruption gives me enough awareness to notice that this is not normal. My wandering attention and sleepiness are not the sort that would normally come with studying a difficult subject. No, this is more than that. I force myself to slam the book shut and put it away, then shake myself repeatedly to clear my head.

OOC - Happy Christmas!

With increased awareness comes realization of what you are being told. A large nomad caravan is on the move and heading your way. In the midst of your conversation one of the two elves also arrives. He kept his 'brother' watching the caravan, but he come sbearing good news. He mentions that the nomads are a large group but don;t seem an hostile horde. He muses that it might be good politics for you to meet their leader?...

I will need someone with me to study this book. I shake my head vigorously.

Then I ask the elf what he knows about the nomads and how he knows of them, before agreeing to go with him.

Some part of me - it's a small part but it's there - hopes the "caravan" is actually another group of bandits. Elf bandits. I resist the impulse to lick my lips.

'Eastern nomads...' he says, as if that was all the explanation needed. Seeing from everyone's reactions that this was obviously not any clearer he elaborates 'From the east, beyond the Anauroch desert. By the looks of it from the Ride plain. Looks like whole tribes on the move, not armies...'

In case I forgot, merry Christmas to you too!

Oh, that's interesting. I've never met anyone from more than about 100 miles away from where I was hatched, so meeting new people from so far away should be enjoyable. I ask the elf to lead the way so that I can meet with the caravan's leader.

Happy New Year!

Arrangements are made, or not made as the case was. Your caravan eventually 'collides' with the advancing parties of the nomads. It takes Vermillion quite a bit of time to make himself understood and to understand what he's being told. In due course, Vermillion, Randulf and Cristene follow the nomads to their leaders to arrange the meeting. They return with good news, the nomad caravan was just stopping as they approached it. They will be ready to meet with you. The trio wonder about the nature of their beasts, with Vermillion trying to find, without success something resembling them in one of his books. Randulf and Cristene agree that the caravan looks friendly enough. It's clearly not an army on the move. In fact, they look a bit worse for wear, they both have the impression they have travelled a long time with few stops along the way...

I do my best to introduce myself cheerfully and politely and to ask leading questions to get the strangers to open up about themselves. I offer hospitality as best I can, in the traditional manner for travelers meeting, which is to share supplies for a camp proportionate to the number of travelers in each group. I bring small gifts of silver jewelry, valuable enough to be appreciated but not so expensive as to incur an obligation.

The nomads are indeed as described. A motley assembly of tribes on the move. You get the feeling they have not left their lands that often, or even interacted with strangers, as they seem properly mesmerized by your appearance. You often catch tribal people gawking at your red hair.

The leaders of the tribes seem to be an 'assembly of equals' with no clear leader in charge. They thank you your gifts, offering small tokens of their own and food.

They seem very keen to find out from you some information as the the 'lay of the land' ahead. They seem most concerned with the reception they will get as they close down on the big western cities.

I ask them where they are from and where they are going, and of course I introduce myself as Ataraxia. I am smugly proud of my beauty and hair and enjoy being admired for both, so I make sure to take my time to let them stare.

My people and I are on a journey to the Great Desert to seek ancient ruins and mysteries, in hopes of uncovering the meaning of visions, dreams, and strange symbols related to a visitation by dragons. I am not, myself, very familiar with the lands immediately behind us, but beyond that is Waterdeep and my own lands, which I can tell them about extensively. Waterdeep is a huge, rich city and usually welcoming of strangers.

Scouts were correct, they are indeed from the plain. When you ask them about their origin, they seem a bit hesitant for the first time. They welcome the good news of Waterdeep's hospitality. At this point you can see them coming to a silent understanding and they tell you that this is not a temporary move. This is a migration. They are seeking new lands to settle, lands that can accommodate their numbers and their life style. you can hear a gasp, that you immediately associate with Vermillion.

I ask how many they are and what their lifestyle might be.

I don't bring it up yet, but my own lands are sparsely populated. A whole village of new subjects would open up all kinds of new economic and social opportunities for myself and my people, provided their culture isn't too strange. I would of course want to consult the eminent people of my subjects, to check on that kind of thing, so I don't want to get ahead of myself just yet.

I turn my head to look at Vermillion and ask him what's shocked him.

Numbers are not their strongest suit. They are rather vague about their actual numbers. You get the feeling it's probably part of a sort of 'marketing ploy' not to scare anyone.

Vermillion talks between barred teeth clearly not wanting to be heard 'The Lords of Waterdeep will go berserk if they try to settle all of the tribes in their lands...'

Vague is fine. General number of them. Families, clans, whatever they measure population by.

I nod at Vermillion's statement but not at him directly.

"I cannot promise anything to you," I tell their elders. "The local lords might be willing to accept some of your people, but not all, if there are very many. You might not be able to stay together. What caused you to leave your homeland?"

The question of their departures is greeted with a sort of solemn silence. The elder of the elders finally answers you.

'There is great trouble in the East. War has been going on for a long time but now, a new foe has arisen. He's been laying waste to the Eastern nations and would soon be arriving for us, we took a collective decision to depart, rather than face annihilation.'

"How far to the east? Are you nomads by tradition? How far have you come? A few months, a season?"

'Beyond the doomed desert... we have been travelling for weeks now, we don't travel fast. We hope the desert will make them move south, rather than west...'

"I have heard of a warlord in the east, from bandits in my own lands driven west. Without knowing how many of you there are, I can't offer protection or shelter for everyone. I don't know if anyone can. If you keep going with this many people..."

I trail off, looking at the long caravan train.

"How much food, water, and other supplies do you have? How long until you have to forage?"

The elders seem rather nonplussed. They have been foraging for a while now so... they also hint that, failing the western direction, they would travel south along the coast. This brings about another of Vermillion's gasps and this one you can understand. The string of cities and towns along the coast would be none too happy with a horde this size moving through their lands. On the the positive side, at least they would not go north and into your lands. Whatever the case might be, this will mean trouble. And this is even before whatever it is they are running away from arrives.

"I am sorry that I cannot offer you better news. These lands are rich, but not in farming or husbandry. Most of the cities and kings of the coast make their fortunes in trade and mining. Do your people know how to sail or build boats? There is always demand for more shipwrights, sailors, and fishermen. I could employee some of your people in various capacities...

Can you farm? Or were you primarily herdsmen?"

They shrug. they seem to used to hardship and to make do. The mention of shipping is received with befuddlement. Vermillion whispers in your ear 'as far as I know, no major rivers or seas where they come from'.

Farming, as could be expected from nomads is seems as a bit of an insult. Now herdsmen, that's something they can understand. you even an enthusiastic but rambling speech, you only half understand it but they were seemingly talking of their fine herds. At that point they seem to willing to part with some goats and sheep and offer them to your caravan.

No rivers at all? Wow, that's strange. They must be from the deep desert! I can't imagine in a land with no rivers that has people living in it.

Everyone would welcome fresh meat, I think, so if the nomads want silver in exchange for the animals, I can offer it. They might be offering a gift, though, which of course I will do my best to accept graciously.

It is a gift. You are the first noble that actually took the time to stop and speak with them. In other cities they have passed, they only saw armed guards trying to get them moving. In fact, you made such an impression that they invite you and your caravan to join them. They seem to be in no particular rush to go anywhere and so are quite content to stop for a feast.

Well, that's just rude of all those nobles! Hospitality is one of the most important duties of any good person. Even if they can't allow the caravan and the people to stay for a long time, a few days of rest and making new friends is always welcome.

Of course, I welcome and am grateful for their hospitality. Not knowing their customs, I ask if I am expected to offer some of the gifted livestock as part of the feast or if that is considered rude. I try to be open, honest, and endearingly charming.

I don't demand any of my people join the feast, but I'm certainly going to. I love feasts! They're my favorite kind of party!

People continue to arrive as a large circle is cleared out for the feast. Vermillion advises you to get something symbolic as a gift, something for all of them, it does not need to have high value, it just needs to be something from you, rather then some generic gift. Easier said than done he concludes.

At some point music starts to be played, it's a sort of a rather rhythmic and entrancing melody played with some sort of brass instruments that you had never seen before. Randulf sighs and says 'at least it's not drums' whilst his sister disagrees with him, she quite likes the music being played. They start bickering as one of the elvish scouts approaches. With a dry 'it's going to be a good day for the feast' he then mentions that there was unknown movement north of the camp site. They scouted, found some traces of animals and people, and concluded it could not be drow, as whoever it was was too careless, but not careless enough to have disappeared when they searched for whoever it was.

Cue on cue, the aroma of roasting meat reaches your nostrils.

When Vermillion suggested a gift, I excused myself to go invite my people to the feast. Which I did, but I also found a wooded dale to hide in, transformed into my dragon shape for a few moments, and collected some of my own scales. One for each of the tribal elders, the scales shining and harder than iron.

Dragon scales are very valuable. I've sold them to make money before, in particularly lean times. Making a habit of it would dilute their value, plus I don't shed very many. I have to heal myself with a spell after just these few, since they didn't fall off naturally. They should make good gifts, rare, beautiful, symbolic, and expensive without being extravagant. I am proud of my own scales and their crimson mirror sheen. I don't say they're mine, of course.

I make sure at least a few of my people are standing watch, rotating in and out during the feast, because that scout report sounds awfully suspicious.

I dance and feast, enjoying both while also being polite and a good guest. I naturally gravitate towards the prettier girls and young men to dance with, but I also offer dances to the older, more socially important people, to be graceful and charming.

Your gifts were received with true awe. They knew what it was, albeit they had never seen real ones, much less have one. You have made some friends with these tribes. Even if you get the feeling they think you are a much bigger rules than you really are. Much more after your gift.

The party goes through the day and through the night. At first light, the music suddenly stops and the tribes start some sort of chant. A slightly tipsy Vermillion assumes that is to greet the dawn. At the end of the chant there's a huge collective scream and people start the 'party end' process.

At the same time you can see a gathering forming and then parting. With one of your elf scouts ahead, what seems like a humanoid is approaching. He's dressed in furs, with the head covered in the skin, antlers included, of a large moose type creature. Given the fact he's escorted by a bunch of wolves, the crowds naturally part to let him through.

Without you even noticing it, the other elf scout appears by your side. 'It was him that was scuttling from the north. He wants to speak with the assembly of leaders...'

Well I am the biggest ruler there is! Physically.

By lands and wealth I might be a count.

I couldn't party all night, lacking the endurance and alcohol tolerance for that. I was tired some time past midnight and begged off to retire and sleep. When the message came in the morning, and the wild man, I arose, groggy and bleary-eyed.

Given little time, I brush my hair, put on a simple dress, and go to meet the obvious druid. It is never smart to ignore the wise men of the woods, for they know secrets as ancient as the stones themselves.

OOC But when is a druid not a druid?

You sit at the edges of an impromptu assembly. Much like you, some of the elders are worse for wear. With the tribes getting ready to move, the stranger has a chance to say his piece. He introduces himself as a nomad, a child of the world with no lord not land. He had a strange dream. Something he never had before. He dreamt of the tribes he was now seeing and of whatever it was they were running (seemingly not too fast) from. In this dream, he saw things by the eyes of this meaning figure. As he told the assembly, 'In the depths of despair, I emerge from the night, A figure so dark, instilling endless fright. With magic and sorcery, I control the land, All bow before me, as I seize command. Who am I, this ruler so vile?'

This quickly brought the conversation to it's crux and to what he wanted to know.

There was visible discomfort in the assembly at all of this. The atmosphere of merriment was now well and truly gone. The elders all had fine words but, as Randulf and Cristene at your side noted, nobody actually answered the question.

Oh it's been my turn the whole time. Whooooopsie doodle.

I cheerfully venture, "Is that a riddle? It sounds like a necromancer to me. Maybe even a lich, which would be really bad."

I keep myself in good spirits and hope that my charisma will lift others up into a better mood. People follow those who inspire them, after all.

The elders offer little more that is of any value. The assembly quickly comes to an end and the newcomer starts to make his way north again. The camp is breaking really fast and they are now assembling their own caravans to leave, some have already departed west.

Vermillion stays puzzled during all of the exchange and after. He eventually mulls 'None of this makes great sense. In these lands we pay little attention to what happens in the east. I wonder if we are about to pay the price for that...'

"Hold, stranger! Stay with us and explain what you mean!" I call after the wild man.

To Vermillion, I say, "There is an old saying from an ancient Eastern book that a merchant and explorer once told me: 'Unity succeeds division and division follows unity. One is bound to be replaced by the other after a long span of time. This is the way with things in the world.'"

I look to the horizon, eastward.

"It seems to me that a time of unity is soon to come upon us, whether we realize or want it or not. If a great conqueror rises, so too will an empire, and the petty kings and city-states of the West will unite, either in an empire of their own or under the conqueror's banner."

I shrug, then.

"Or maybe a new religion? Who knows?"

EDIT: Forgot color on my first speech line.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:34, Tue 26 Mar.

The odd man looks dubiously at you, almost as if in disbelief that anyone called him. His face them assumes a neutral expression as he states as a matter-of-fact. 'You're not an eastern nomad...'

"I am not, but I am going East. Then, when I return, I will likely have to prepare for the invasion of this conquering horde everyone seems afraid of. So, I would like to learn more about your ominous warnings and, perhaps, from you. Who you are and why you are here."

'I had a dream... something bad was coming our way... I get these dreams, sometimes they are wrong, sometimes they are right... I never know... I left my people long ago, having foreboding dreams about your family and friends is not something you want to live with... out here, there are only the animals and they don't seem to feature in my dreams... I was confused by my dream, in it there was a mighty horde that would come, I thought they were it...' (points at the nomads) '...I had to see if they were or not...'

"They were running from a mighty horde, or so they said. If they are indeed warriors, they have many children and elderly among them and few weapons; they play a very long game of deception in that case. I will not demand that you come with me or explain yourself. I will only ask. I am seeking more knowledge and understanding of magic and older mysteries, and a dream-prophet could certainly have much insight."

Belated Happy Easter!

He visibly hesitates, seeming very much a man that flows his won road, it could explain his reluctance. 'Where will the road lead you to?' he asks.

Plainly and honestly, "To a cavern and ancient site in the high desert, and from there hopefully somewhere else."

He looks at the horizon and then at the departing nomads. 'Lead the way then...'

And you get a feeling that, if the nomads are heading west, he would be heading east in any case...

And so we go! Back on the road!

I chat him up, trying to be brief and probably failing, introducing myself and attempting to extract his name, origin, and that sort of information. If he's going to be traveling with us, we should at least know who he is! Then we can teach him to play cards.

Or tables. I much prefer tables. That's a game only wealthy people tend to know how to play, though.

I dunno what else to say!

OOC - That's fine, if when I leave a post you feel there's nothing to add, just feel free to say so in an OOC line and we'll move on!

Turns out his name is Darius and (surprisingly) he's from Cathyr, a large city in the south, capital of Dambrath. As he explains, it's an oppressively hot place, a very busy city at the end of the Trader's Way. He seems rather glad to see the back of it, you detect no hint of regret but, it seems odd that someone from Cathyr would end up living with a pack of wolves in a desolated plain in the far north. Darius clearly has no desire to engage with the world...

OOC - I'm gonna make a thread with all of the NPCs. Got it in a file but finding a way to copy the formatting is proving beyond me.
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:20, Wed 10 Apr.

Heat has never bothered me in the least, but I prefer the cold. I find it invigorating. I ask Darius more about himself, getting him to talk about how he came to be where he is, why he made the decisions he did, and so forth. That's how you win hearts and minds, by prompting people to talk about their favorite things. For most people, their favorite thing is themselves, but for Darius, it might be something else. Like wildlife. I'm sure I can sus it out.

The days progress slowly as the caravan makes its slow way. Winter can already be felt and there are mornings where the cold, mist and wind make for some rather miserable days of travelling. Fortunately, Gilmartin proved to be quite the professional and he manages to keep the caravan moving irrespective of weather or moods. Traffic almost disappears the further east you travel.

Darius turns out to be quite the story teller and regularly treats the caravan to tales of his travels through the wilds of the north. Your hear of people and beasts that none of you have every heard about. You also hear of the drow and their ominous presences in the lands you are now leaving. Speaking of them, you never again hear or see them again. Your scouts, ever the pessimists, think they keeping tabs and will wait until the caravan returns hoping to not only get you but also whatever goods you bring with you from the east.

You have just arrived at a crucial pi8nch point. To the south, the Los Peaks tower over the edge of the High Forest. To the north, the bogs of the Evermoors, land of trolls, goblins and whatever nastiness the world can produce. As you make camp, Gilmartin approaches and notes that you are maybe 3 days away from Everlund, your destination at the edge of the Nether Mountains. He mentions to you that, this is the most dangerous part of the journey. The army of Everlund does not normally venture this far south so, brigands, trolls, gnomes, rogue dwarves and what knows what else are an ever and present danger. He recommends you sharpen whatever defences the caravan may have.

I take many traveling hours to enjoy the scenery, places I have never been and wonders I have never seen. Darius's stories enrapture me; the exotic and amazing things he tells us about gain my rapt attention.

I reassure Gilmartin that I am, in fact, a dragon. I do not dismiss his concerns, though, and instead I gather up everyone who can hold a spear and shield and establish short nightly drills in fighting as a group, responding to environment and command, and generally acting together to protect each other and fight off attackers. I also draw up a watch schedule to set pickets and do my best to ensure that everyone who already knows how to fight as equipment appropriate to their skills.

The best thing I can do for the safety of the caravan members is to ensure we take a route suited to our greatest strength: me. My true form is very big and physically powerful, which means that we should stick to open terrain as much as possible. A swamp, for example, is better than a woodland, for safety, even if it is less pleasant to travel through. Even thirty trolls, charging across open terrain, are no match at all for me, but a dozen goblins, hiding in trees, could loose poison arrows before anyone has a chance to drive them off.

OOC - some lucky rolls and...

Either by your tactics, your presence, or luck, your caravan slowly crawls along and, as Gilmartin said, you soon see the walled city of Everlund in the distance. The Nether Mountains form a picturesque background to the town. Some farms dotted the landscape on both sides of the road. The caravan traffic has notoriously increased as you close on the city. Gilmartin says that you have some coin ready. You will enter the town by the Downriver Gate and, if you want to stay inside the walls overnight, there will be some payment for the caravan. It's their way to control traffic into the city. And make some money of course.

Any people can benefit from a little militia drill. My parents tried to do everything themselves, but I thought the people should know how to fight at least. It had remarkable benefits for their happiness, as far as I could tell, which, even in a coldly cynical way, was good for me. Happier peasants make for more wealth.

I am prepared to pay to stay in the city, of course. Hopefully, real beds after the last few weeks will help on the road. I trust Gilmartin to do his trading schemes and make a profit in the marketplace; I'd like to tag along and watch, learning a merchant works, if he doesn't mind.

After a bit of haggling you get into the city, the sun still high. You enter through the gate and note that the walls are not massive of imposing, just functional. Inside, the small city sprawls along the River Rauvin that spplits it into a northern and southern half. The the south, mainly accommodation of all sorts. To the north, more accommodation and the city's main square, overlooked by the 'Great Armoury' which is now a government building where the ruling Council of Elders sits. The city is busy, but not overly so. It is also surprisingly clean and tidy for what essentially is a place of trade and passage. Even the merchants and inns you see look very welcoming and rather neat. If anyone were expecting some ramshackle of a place, this is not it. Randulf looks properly beaming 'Ah, the highlands never fail to welcome you...' he says somewhat randomly.

Gilmarting guides the caravan to 'a place he knows'. The inn looks modest on the front but is deceptively large as the property stretches from the road up to a small courtyard overlooking the Rauvin. Once everyone has arrived, the two elves, who have been here for in Everlund for a while enquiry if you have further need of their services. If not, there's a caravan going the way you just came and they would take that job.

I admire the city, of course. The cleanliness is very usual, in my limited experienced, for any kind of urban area. Writers usually mentioned the stink of cities, and the last two definitely had a rank odor. If I didn't already have a home, Everlund would make a good one. But I am already taking a bit indulgence to be away for more than a few days. I am not so arrogant to think my people need me. I need them, though, and I owe them at least something like good stewardship.

I ask Randulf if he is from Everlund. He seems proud of it.

I would appreciate their services, but they are not my retainers. If they would prefer to return the way they came, so be it. I wish them well.

And then tomorrow, more time in the market, learning how to buy, sell, and haggle.

Randulf look surprised at you. 'Me? Nah, never set foot in this place! I'm from the north though so...' he points to the city in general '...always proud of an half-decent northern city!... I'll see what the inn is like before passing judgement on the hospitality...'

He very definitively seems to be in good humour. More than his sister, who is covered in dust and only arrives now after 'taking a detour to check what these Nether mountains are like'. She concludes that they will be trouble. Which visibly dampens Randulf spirits. He clearly puts some serious faith in his sister's danger sense.

'Ah well, one for the morrow!...' he says as he goes into the inn. You start to notice that Randulf is much more alive, and becoming quite the character, the further away from home he is.

As the caravan masters and the teamsters make sure cattle is feed and watered, and everything is properly stored for the night. Vermillion stretches himself and looks at the northern bank. Even he seems in good spirits.

'It would be one great coincidence but who knows, we may get a visit from the High Mage of Silverymoon. Now that would be something... I wonder what this inn will have for food and drink...'

I spend a little time sightseeing with Randulf, taking in a new place I've never been and likely won't see often in the future.

Later, to Vermillion, I reply, "If they live up to that title, I expect it, since they probably already know I'm a dragon."

I don't know how this High Mage is. Or what Silverymoon is. It's an awfully grandiose title for a petty conjurer, though.

I settle down to try reading that grimoire again. I know now to be careful, and I can look out for the magic that makes it so difficult to stop reading. I'm almost as interested in that enchantment as in the book itself, so I try to figure out what it is, if I can. Now that I can see the danger, I can pull back and take breaks to prevent myself from getting lost again.

You keep learning more about the book. But sometimes the learning is not what you envisaged. For example, this time, as you read the only thing you perceive are somewhat dull romantic stories. Try you as you might to focus the book just does not deliver anything other that rather cheesy romantic tales of chivalry. You wonder why is this? It is the first time you grabbed the book that it did not show any signs of magic at all.

Of course, I try again, this time with the Detect Magic enchantment sharpening my sight for mystic threads.

If that doesn't work, time to consult Vermillion! He knows what it is, so he might know why the second perusal is different.

I used to daydream about a proper education as a wizard.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:19, Fri 10 May.

Second time and still no joy. You look at the book and wonder if the magic is gone.

Vermillion is also a bit puzzled, but not overly so. As he explains, 'we are at the gate of the Nether Mountains, there's all sorts of magic around here, mostly VERY ancient, things we probably cannot even fully understand... that's my guess for what's hampering the book...'

"Does that interfere with other kinds of magic?" I ask, obviously interested and prodding him to go on.

'Maybe... or maybe not. With magic you can never be sure. Magic is volatile, there are a lot of unknowns, sometimes it just blows on your face, sometimes does the most wondrous and unexpected things. In areas of old magic, by the way old Dragon magic, my guess is that it is that which is impairing the book's magic. I cannot tell you why or how, but that would certainly be my view...'