After a good night's sleep, you search out the bargemistress, Oristel. She's somewhere in her late thirties, with a plain face heavily tanned and weathered, and an infectious grin. When you explain what you want, she shakes her head and laughs. "Take you down to Deepingdale and back? Well, if you're paying, I suppose we could make the trip. It beats sitting around drinking." Her eyes twinkle. "If you don't have cold weather gear, buy it now. The wind bites to the bone."

You spend the rest of the day stocking up for the trip, including buying warmer clothing for those of you who don't have it. The following dawn you meet Oristel and her crew just south of the river ford.

When people said the word "barge," the image it summoned for many of you was a crude platform of logs lashed together. Oristel's craft is something very different. Eighty feet long, fifteen feet wide, it has a flat bottom, almost vertical sides a little less than three feet tall, and a mast with a large sail just now being unfurled.

"Come on then," Oristel calls, waving you in. The wind whips strands of her hair across her face and she tucks them up into her fur hat. "Ready when you are."

The barge is floating high in the water, mostly empty save for a couple dozen casks and sacks piled along the center line. Orisel's crew is made up of twelve dalesmen and women, and once you climb aboard they drop the sail, pull up the anchor, and set off down the Ashaba.

The journey is every bit as cold and boring as Oristel warned you. Winter sets in in earnest as you sail south with the current. Snow flurries send flakes into your eyes. For two days it warms up enough for the clouds to pour an unending stream of bitter rain on you. The crew rigs a tarp over the back half of the barge which provides at least some relief.

Sailing with the wind and current the barge makes forty miles a day. Each evening the crew beaches the craft, pitches tents, and builds a fire to cook both evenfeast and the food for the next day. Despite grumbles about the weather, there's a calm to the crew. They clearly know the river and the camping spots along it.

After a few days the Ashaba is joined by another river from the west. "That's the Semberflow," Oristel tells you. "Follow it and you'll reach Lake Sember and Semberholme. What's left of it after the Retreat, at any rate. The elves don't let us sail there."

A few hours later the Ashaba merges with a different river coming from the south. The combined river flows east. "That way is the Pool of Yeven, and eventually Featherdale. Not where we're going today. Now the hard work begins."

The crew removes pieces of wood that had been lashed into the hull and lifts long oars from brackets on the hull. The twelve men and women sit down on benches whose spacing suddenly makes sense, run out the oars, and begin to pull.

The journey slows. Whereas before you'd been making forty miles a day, now you're making about ten. The Glaemril, as Oristel calls it, is a smaller, gentler river than the Ashaba. It's not fighting you particularly hard, but it certainly isn't helping. Some of you begin taking turns at the oars, both to feel useful and as a way to warm up.

After about three days of hard rowing, the barge leaves the southern edge of Cormanthor. The deep forest retreats and ahead of you stretches the wide, rolling plains of Deepingdale. Unlike Mistledale trees are more frequent; small copses are visible dotting the plains everywhere you look.

The barge crawls on for another four days, heading fairly consistently southwest before gradually turning almost due west and disappearing into a more southerly branch of Cormanthor. As soon as the barge is under the trees Oristel guides it onto the south bank. "This is it," Oristel says. "Highmoon is a day's walk south along the edge of the forest. We've got a friend coming with a wagon, and will be heading there once they arrive. You're welcome to come with us; we'll be ready to return in a few days."

Talathel, looking better than he has in days, jumps ashore and looks around. "Home is to the west. Come, I will show you."

Everyone who goes with Talathel

For two days you follow Talathel deep into the forest. The trees are thick, the undergrowth plentiful, and several of you are soon totally lost. Talathel knows every tree and trail, however, and you move surely and quickly in his wake.

On the morning of the third day someone calls to you in elven. For a moment you're totally unable to see where the voice is coming from, and then someone drops down from the branches of a nearby duskwood. Throwing back his hood, a moon elven man embraces Talathel and quickly begins questioning him in elven. Haltingly, the ranger responds. Eventually the other elf nods and turns towards you.

"Thank you for bringing Talathel home safely to us. Myth Drannor is out nightmare, the sword hanging over our heads. To have it thrust upon you unexpected must have been terrible. Solonor must have smiled on you, to see you safely out of the ruins."

Talathel turns and bows to you. "Aye. Thank you. I am ashamed by what the city did to me, and very grateful for what you've done. I will leave you here. Bristar, my home, does not welcome visitors." He smiles sadly. "We have a small piece of the world, and wish to hold onto it. But if you need me, we have friends in Highmoon that can send word."

The two elves turn and disappear into the woods, heading west. Dorian, who had been watching carefully, leads you back to the east. It's not quite as easy as Talathel made it look, but he's entirely confident of where he's going.

That night, as you sit around a campfire made from fallen wood and watch snowflakes fighting their way through the canopy, another elf comes out of the forest. She's young, still several decades away from adulthood, and unlike Talathel or the other tree scout is unarmed aside from a belt dagger.

"H...hello." She's shivering slightly despite a thick coat. "You're the people who rescued Talathel, yes? My name is Ciyradyl. I want to ask your help."

She sits down on a fallen log and as she turns to face the campfire you can see that there are tears sliding slowly down her cheeks. "My sister, Syndra, is one of our scouts. Last summer, she joined a group of humans going to Myth Drannor. She said she'd be back by winter, but she never came home. Everyone says she's dead, but she's not! I swear by the Seldarine she's alive. I can feel it. But no one at home will do anything, and if I went to Myth Drannor I'd be eaten before I could clap twice. Please. You saved Talathel. Can you save my sister?"

She looks at you, begging.

((ooc: This is the downtime side jaunt to Deepingdale, including your in character hook for going back to the ruins. Feel free to respond to/question Syndra. Also let me know if you want to do anything else along the journey, like talk with the barge crew or take a trip to Highmoon. Once everyone's done I'll give a wrap-up post for the trip north and lock the thread.))

((OOC: Thanks, DM, & well done! – I have a question for the 'old' players & DM: Elorfindar has already twice enquired after his sister, and if I have not missed a reply, I guess this is still an open question - and one that Elorfindar would not have dropped. Any idea what happened to Karilla?))

it seemed a litttle ambiguous tbh. OOC, her player is very occupied. i think it was alluded to that shes with us, but were not interacting IC right now--if I recall correctly

((ooc: Karilla got hit by a different "limb" of the malfunctioning gate than the rest of the party. She did not appear in Myth Drannor, and her fate is currently unknown by the party.))

OOC: Great post! One question though... weren't we supposed to meet with Talathel's grandfather or other elder elves from his community to ask them questions of Myth Drannor?

Katarn looked at the young elf with pity in his dwarven eyes. Clearly moved by her tale, he spoke first to her. "There now lass. Why don't ya tell us o' yer sister 'n th' group she went adventurin' with? Ye say they were humans. Did they have a name fer their company er whatnot? What o' marks er symbols they used ta identify?"

He looked at the others, "these here wanna go back anyway. I at least'll go with ta be on th' lookout fer yer sister. More information is helpful though."

((ooc: You would have liked to speak with Talathel's family about Myth Drannor. Unfortunately, the elves of Deepingdale are NOT interested in having outsiders show up in their towns. If you tried to keep going west, you would have been stopped within an hour or two by an elven scout telling you bluntly to leave.))

Not giving up on it yet!



Corym considers the ponderous forest around him.  These woods were his people's home once.  The many concealing branches seemed to promise countless hidden menaces. A scout in this canopied forest would have to rely more on his hearing than his eyes. In part he thought of danger here because he knew how much danger he could present in such a situation.  A child could hide in this!

The appearance of the Scout warmed his heart.  It had been a long time since he had stood in the lands of the People.  He smiled genuinely at the Scout.  "The peace of your forest welcomes us, and we find peace within as a result.  May the eyes and arrows of Bristar always preserve this peace."

When he saw that Talathel and the Scout meant to leave them--and without the scout even naming himself, he interjected...

"Talathel--we've spoken about your community so much, I can scarcely bear to depart without looking upon Lake Eredruie or to meet the elders and ask their guidance. We three elves of the Greycloak Hills find ourselves far farther from home that you found yourself, with miles of mountains, and rivers, and kingdoms of men between.  Let us meet with the People of this country so that we will not be strangers here, at least. Normally I would be more patient, but our barge will only stay in Highmoon for a few days before returning to Ashabenford."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:53, Thu 23 May 2019.

The trip down river

Within a day or two of leaving port Dorian began volunteering to help the bargemen.  Within a day or two of that he was friendly with the crew and began to blend in with them; swearing lustily and sweating alongside the others.  So much so that, if the party did not know him they would assume he was simply another crew member, though one easily picked out by his obvious Elven heritage.

During lulls Dorian would tell tales about river-magic and sailors lost below the surface only to be found again laden down with Nymph-gold and tawdry stories of their prowess and eventual escapes.

Going with Talathel

Dorian appears a bit miffed with himself when the Scout calls out from the woods and whispers under his breath about the foolishness of being caught off guard.


Ciyradyl's plea

Dorian listens to the girl's tale and his heart goes out to her.  But he remains silent as Katarn begins to question her.  He felt it would be wiser to let one do the talking so not to confuse or confound the Elf Maid.

Ciyradyl

"Syndra is a moon elf like me," Ciyradyl says. She holds her hand about a hand and a half above her head. "About this tall. Black hair and blue eyes. She's an archer. I don't know much about the group she was with. Something about black bears. She said they were from Sembia, and she wanted to keep an eye on them."

Cormanthor Woods

The scout turns back to look at you. "The People of Deepingdale keep to ourselves. But others of the People are always welcome. The three of you may come, if you wish." He smiles slightly. "And if you can keep up."

((ooc: The three elves can go to Bristar, if you wish. The rest of the group can either wait where you are, or start making your way back out of the forest. Katarn also remembers the way. Let me know who's going where.))

Corym turns to his companions and engages them, "It wouldn't be the first time that a few scouted ahead while the main group took another path.  This is a big part of why we've come so far south.  Assuming Katarn and Krackor can guide the party back to safety, are there any objections to Dorian, Elorfindar and me continuing on to Bristar?"

Krackor will follow and use the time to watch the rest of the group, learn more of their strengths and potential tripping points.

((ooc: Follow whom? The elves, or the rest of the group?))

In reply to DM (msg # 13):

.
Krackor was amused at the surprise on Dorians face when the scout appeared from the trees, to him, it meant the scout was doing their job properly.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:06, Fri 24 May 2019.

OOC: Wouldn't splitting up constitute a side, side jaunt?  I'm content with staying together.

Corym spoke to Krackor, Dorian, and Katarn away from the hearing of the Scout.

“Bristar is the village where all the Myth Drannor survivors are. If we miss this opportunity, it will be Spring or Summer before we can have another try at it. Though Deepingdale is said to have a great Sage, this information seems to be unique. Having the right information can be the difference between success and failure. In Myth Drannor, failure is not something one recovers from easily.

If you would prefer, Elorfindar and I can abide and see what may be found, and we can catch up to you in Highmoon.”

In reply to Corym Ildroun (msg # 16):

OOC:  I'm sure someone told Krackor about what had gone on in Glen and the Sage, I am working on this basis.

Since the Sage in Glen is Elven and he specialises in Creatures and Arcane, I would have thought he had been and spoken with those in Bristar, up to you though.

Krackor wasn't for or against such an action.

“From what Dorian related it seems his studies on Myth Drannor and Cormanthor parallel my own—academic and abstract. Indeed he seemed more interested in learning what we learn through experience rather than supplying us with much knowledge of his own. We will consult with him again before we go, but he represented himself as a master of Arcane and Alchemical knowledge, not of history or archaeology. In speaking with someone who actually walked the living streets of the city we might be able to discern the names and natures of some of those grand building we saw that were still intact. Or the lay of the roads. Or any number of more practical matters which scribes, saves, and historians would regard as mere minutiae, but which may guide our efforts or save our lives.”

“Doubtless, though, his knowledge of the local Magics, Flora, and Fauna—both natural and otherwise will prove invaluable. I still think that what may be gained here, though more mundane, could prove just as valuable.”

“If my thoughts seem meritless, I will postpone my visit to Bristar for a season or two. It is possible that the Sage of Highmoon could accommodate us equally and we would all be welcome. How think you all on this?”
This message was last edited by the player at 20:39, Sun 26 May 2019.

Katarn waggled his head, "I know why people need ta keep places secret though I don't like missin' a new trail, I say go on. See what ye can learn from Talathel's folk 'n meet us back up. I kin lead the lot of us either back ta th' barge or elsewhere. Whatever the group wants."

In reply to Corym Ildroun (msg # 18):

Your thoughts are sound Corym. Could always return if what you learn needs supplimented at a later time.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 23:44, Wed 29 May 2019.

Dorian nodded toward his companions "We will not dally." he heads off to join the other Elves.

Corym smiles and sets to join Dorian and Elorfindar.

In the elven forest, Sirenya didn't care if the elves go off alone. She liked the dwarves, noisy as they tended to be, and the stray human was pretty quiet, for someone her size. "Lets go back to the river, if we're going to wait," she suggested.

The journey had been delightfully pleasant, so far, and she wasn't inclined to let sneaky elves put a damper on it.

Watching the group split wasn't an issue for him, he had faith that if something went wrong, he would know about it and if that happened whilst with the Elves in their secret forest, he was sure he would find a way to get to them or they would have help.

Excellent idea Sirenya.  I have these ingredients to look out for too, just hope I can recognise them.

Elven Side Jaunt

The scout leads the three of you deeper into the forest. At first you're worried that he'll take to the trees again; they're certainly large enough and closely packed to allow for movement through the branches. Fortunately, that doesn't happen. Unfortunately, soon after leaving the rest of the group Talathel and the scout start to run. And they don't stop running.

Through the rest of the day and the entire night you run to the west. You're not entirely certain whether the other elves are trying to lose you, or are eager to get home, or whether this is typical for the elves of Deepingdale. Suffice it to say that Elorfindar very quickly comes to thank the ring of constitution you found back in your first adventures.

After about a bell of running you encounter a fast-moving stream. You've returned to the Glaemril, and most of your run takes place along its somewhat more open banks. The sun rises behind you as you continue to run and stumble forward. Before the day advances too much further, you finally reach your destination.

The village of Velethuil, called Bristar by the humans, is a tree town built along green elven sensibilities. All of the buildings are built into and around the trunks of massive oak, chime oak, and shadowtop trees. They're so well camouflaged that if you weren't paying attention, and the village's people weren't out and about, you could walk through without noticing.

Talathel's arrival at first isn't much remarked upon, but as the scout spreads word about what happened more and more people start converging on him. Bristar's people seem to be a mix of moon and green elves, and wear comfortable clothing designed to fade into the forest. Talathel's brother and sister lead him away to the family home, thanking you for bringing him home safely.

An old green elven woman, her black hair heavily streaked with silver, comes over to you. "Beluar told us that you wanted to speak with the elders. Well, I'm one of them. We appreciate you bringing the boy home. We don't get many visitors here. What would you have of us?"

Corym wondered at the vitality of the guides and the roughness of the terrain.  He found it difficult to understand why Bristar had politically affiliated with Deepingdale. Who could even find them to threaten their sovereignty?

Corym marveled at the verdant beauty that he found all the same to be threatening and a little oppressive.  So dense--so many places to hide.



"There are multiple matters, elder."

"The three of us hail from Evereska, but seem like we will be here in Cormanthor for sometime.  I felt it important to present ourselves to the last and best organized successor of Cormanthyr.  I am Corym Ildroun, and my family of old dwelled in Myth Drannor, then the Elven Court after the Fall.  My father moved to Evereska to raise his family and was estranged from the rest of the Clan. I know not whether any of our kindred still abide in these lands--but if any would know, the Elders of Velethuil would.  Moreover, as this land is the land of my fathers, I it is necessary to pay my respects to the community."

Corym pauses to let the other two introduce themselves before continuing.

"The second matter is one which I know of a fact that you are uniquely capable of helping us with if you are so inclined.  Dorian fears that we were all deposited in Myth Drannor by a hidden threat.  The Sage of Glen presumes that is was a matter of malfunctioning Gates.  Though I am not a deeply religious fellow, I see in it the hand of the gods--there is too much that seems ideally suited for the situation, those their ends are yet obscured.  One of those many circumstances that seem to defy chance or enmity was Talathel Eoleth's presence and his connection to this community.  Talathel's mind shattered almost instantaneously upon his arrival in the ruined city--a consequence of having violated a taboo imposed by his grandfather.  Over many days in Glen I examined him and tried to rouse his mental stability, and while I did so I found in his thoughts that there are many Myth Drannan survivors here in Velethuil.

All of us agree that we must return, either to identify our foe, or to plumb the depths of a magical mystery, but I believe that we have a destiny to fulfill.  And yet, an arrow without a target seldom hits the mark.  I thought that if we could speak to these who once walked the streets of the city that we may find some glimmer of our future in their recollections."

Corym pauses briefly before moving to the third point, "Elder, the last matter of concern is this: The City of Song has been found by human plunderers, and they have--even now--endeavored to claim the treasures and disturb the bones of our fathers.  We hid from a large and heavily outfitted band as they passed toward the city.  They moved with certainty, as if they had been there before.  My father was a Fellow of the Forgotten Flower.  If there is any relic or heirloom we might retrieve for the community here before it falls into the hands of men, we would know if it so that we can safeguard it against their incursions."

Dorian enjoyed the run.  A good chase left the head clear and the blood flowing.  In ancient times he pictured his deep ancestors laughing and whopping as they sprinted after deer or rabbits.  But such times are long passed.

Dorian examined the Elder and the village and noted the less than friendly reception.  These were not a people used to the courtly manner of Evereska, nor did they care.

Dorian nodded respectfully "I am Dorian, a Greycloak of Evereska."

"'Best organized survivor of Myth Drannor?'" the elder scoffs. "Have you eyes, boy? We stayed away from the Court even before the cowards left. If you have something you want from us, just say it."

She glances over her shoulder at Talathel, who is being led up a ladder into one of the tree houses. Her face is grim as she turns back. "Myth Drannor. Haven't enough of the People been broken and butchered in that cursed ruin? Are you so eager to add yourselves to that toll?

"Aye, I visited its streets once or twice in my youth. A few others lived there. But that city has caused us nothing but pain. Why should we let it cause us any more?"

The Non-Elven Group

The walk back out of the forest is more relaxing than your walk in. You're heading out of the deep, dark woods, and while you're not walking along the Glaemril's banks the entire time, you can usually hear the river off to one side. It's a comforting distant babble, reassuring you that you haven't gotten completely lost.

It also gives you a chance to appreciate Katarn's skills. The dwarven priest leads you with a quiet confidence, never once hesitating about the correct direction. The trail you made coming into the forest isn't always easy to see, but he never loses sight of it.

Two days later you come crest a roll in the forest and see ahead of you the treeline. The sunlight is a bright curtain tinged with green, and below you is the barge. Two of the crew are walking around it, checking the hull. One of them raises a hand in greeting as you arrive. "Captain's still in Highmoon getting the cargo together. She should be coming back in another day or two." He looks you over. "The elves decide to stay in Bristar?"

Kora leans against the side of the barge, massaging her legs. "Highmoon's supposed to be a nice town. And it has inns. Who's up for going?"

Krackor decided it would be remiss of him to let Kora in a tavern without supervision.
you still got some learning to do mistress lightbearer, I'll join you

Without hesitation Corym responds, "Fraternity.  Nothing more or less than what would pass between brethren in good spirits."



"It was my understanding that in the main the People had avoided the butchering by closing their eyes and imagining that it had gone away. Whether destiny or fate, my future lies there.  I will walk those streets, I would rather do so with the best knowledge of the People when I do.  But if I must do so in ignorance, I will."



"Because now that the humans know where it is, the pain will come no matter what you do.  If they can find Myth Drannor, they will find 'Bristar' when their curiosity and greed become bold enough." He specifically uses the human name for their village, now. "When they come, will they come with the blades and Art of our fathers stolen from their graves with strength in their limbs gained by dancing with fiends? What hope then? What escape from pain then? Only the escape of the Elven Court--to flee to a farther land and hope that the humans won't find you there. To shiver in the night at the thought of the years that come and the hairy hands that will rule them." 

Corym takes a breath. "We must come to terms with our neighbors.  But if we treat them like children and hide from their eyes and tell them that they can look but not touch our wonderful toys, then they will become our enemies. Their curiosity and avarice will be justified, and they will take what they want and call it justice.  That is why that band was marching into the city--because they know what was denied them, hidden from them, and now that the guards have flown, they go to take it.  The trouble they stir, the beasts they unleash, and the weapons of steel and spells they acquire will shake the world."

"We do not ask for you to accompany us, nor any of your kin.  But we go.  I have read in books, but I don't know what it means to 'access the Mythal' or why the elves of Myth Drannor could fly, or what it meant that 'no life was lost like leaves again.'  It is possible that we will die from our choices.  All have accepted that.  Will you let us die because of ignorance that you could cure?  When the cure costs nothing and risks nothing?  If you know of a spell or book or sword that ought to be kept from the plundering hands of adventuring bands, will you not even apprise us of it?  Dorian is a Greycloak, and I wore that cloak too when we drove horrors and humans from Hills to substantiate the will of the Hill Elders.  For our people we are prepared to make sacrifices, and have made sacrifices.  I am here to say that you are my people, that there is One Father, and his blood runs in our veins.  I am here to say that when I swore a life of service to the People, it wasn't just the ones that live in the hills or in the West, and it wasn't just for the ones that wanted me to."

"It wasn't an accident that put us there.  It certainly wasn't an accident that put me there. So we're going back. I'm going back.  If my going back can help the People, whether of Evermeet, Evereska, or Velethuil, then that is my desire.  Help me to be a river to my People.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:50, Sat 08 June 2019.

"Tell that to Sembia, which invaded Cormanthor long after Myth Drannor fell and is doing so again." The elder spits to one side. "Tell that to Archendale, which burned and butchered a neighboring dale and salted the earth. There is no peace to be had with the humans as a race, only with rare individuals. If you're so eager to stick your head under the knife, so be it. Anything you get out is one less for grasping human hands."

She shakes her head. "I don't know why you're asking an old woman about mythal lore. No one knew anything, and those who did didn't say. You were supposed to find out yourself. I know that enchantments don't work, and that no one was supposed to summon anything inside city limits. As for flying, well, you could do that just by thinking. But that power failed even before the city fell.

"You can... feel it. In the back of your head. Her eyes unfocus and she stares off into nothing. "Like someone humming in the distance that you don't hear until you hear. If you know how to do something, you do it." She shrugs. "I was never a wizard; I don't have the words for it."

Dorian asked "Is there someone here more versed in Myth Drannor that would be willing to speak with us?"

"We have come a long way to make ourselves knowledgeable about our expedition, it would be remiss of us if we did not speak with as many as we can on this matter."

The old woman shrugs. "Why not? It's a cold day, it's not like we have anything else to do. Might as well pick at old wounds. Follow me."

She leads you into the center of the village and up a hidden ladder built into the bark of a massive oak tree. Fifty feet above the forest floor is a multi-story house, built around two thirds of the trunk and incorporating several large branches as supports. The elder pushes through an entry closed with a thick curtain of deer hide.

Following inside, you discover that the tree house's ceiling is barely six feet above the floor. This story is a single long, curving room, about seven feet deep but more than twelve long. It is simultaneously airy and somewhat cramped, with several slit windows whose leather curtains have been raised to let in light.

Seated around a table to the right of the door are two more old elves: a green elven male and a moon elven female. They look up as the elder you had been speaking with enters and watch the three of you with a sort of detached curiosity.

"Younglings," the first elder says. "Asking about Myth Drannor, of course. And not smart enough to heed a simple, 'Stay away.' They wanted to see if anyone else here could tell them old stories."

The moon elven woman laughs. It's a pale, washed-out thing, but there is genuine amusement in it as well. "Of course. So, here we are. What would you have of us?"

Elorfindar bowed before addressing the elves of Velethuil: "My name is Elorfindar Silveroak, and I am a servant of the Sage at Sunset, also hailing from the Last Home."

An astute observor might have noticed that during Corym's very dedicated speech that followed, the priest sometimes gave the impression of being somewhat uncomfortable. Some of his friend's words were a bit too... grandiose for his taste, though on the other hand, Elorfindar did not disagree with them.



The moonelf cleric had too restrain himself from snorting at the elder's dry humour, giving Corym a wink and a smile in an attempt to lighten his companion's mood.



Elorfindar bows and clears his throat before speaking. "Thank you for being prepared to advise us," he says before introducing Corym, Dorian and himself. Then he continues: "Different gates brought our group of explorers - which consists not only of tel'quessir - together to Myth Drannor from different places, and we are determined to find out who, if not one of the Seldarine, made this happen and why. One of the things we are thus interested in is the location of gates within the city."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:13, Mon 10 June 2019.

"That's going to be a challenge," the ancient moon elf says. "Most gates were kept secret from all except their creators. It was a frequent topic of gossip; who had a gate and where it led." She smiles with a mixture of amusement and sadness. "My friends and I used to argue with each other about it long into the night. Castle Cormanthor has gates, of course. The only question was how many. We were fairly sure the Hall of the Beastamers had several, as did all of the wizard schools. The other best place to guess were the noble villas. Not all of them had gates, but any of them might have." The smile returns. "We wiled many an evening trying to guess."

"The only two gates everyone knew about were the Silversgate and the Honorsgate. The Silversgate was a thirty foot arch of silver and marble. It led to a pass outside Silverymoon, and to the city of Ascalhorn. It was in the district of Cormanthor, in the center of the city, on the street called Two Hooks, surrounded by many old buildings.

"The Honorsgate was in the southwest, in Kerradunath. It was a freestanding arch of solid silver thirty feet high at the northern edge of a field, carved to look like hands holding scimitars. It led to the Forest of Mir, and the Akh'Velahr used it to make war on the drow to the south."

She falls silent for a long moment, then shrugs. "I don't know how much use this is. Both the Honorsgate and the Silversgate were destroyed by the People during the Fall, lest the Army follow us still further. As for the others, well, any building or catacomb could hide a gate, but most of them don't. I doubt even Corellon knows how many of them still work, or go where they are supposed to."

"Are there stories about the gates being manipulated by Powers?  Or perhaps being sentient themselves?  We find it hard to believe that we were each plucked from various locations across the land and brought to Myth Drannor at random.  Especially since many of us are know to the others and aren't complete strangers."

"Myth Drannor is closer to Arvandor than anywhere save Evermeet," the green elven man says. His voice is thin and wavering, but his eyes are clear. "They could do whatever they like within the ruins. But stories? No. The gates were a thing of gossip and trade, not eldritch terror."

The moon elven woman nods. "A sentient gate is a terrifying thought. If there had been even a hint of such a thing it would have been all anyone talked about."

"That doesn't mean it's impossible," the first elder puts in grimly from behind you. "I was just a scout for Semberholm. Isciira," she nods to the other woman, "was a potter, and Tasar a drummer. Anyone with actual mythal knowledge is dead or fled to Evermeet." After a moment she grudgingly adds, "Or maybe Evereska."

"One thing that might help is some sense of the layout of the city.  Could any of you sketch together something approximating a map?  Also, one would think that Gate-lore would be held in the schools of wizardry--do you have any sense of where those were?  Gate-lore would surely be helpful."

NON-elven group:

In reply to Krackor Steelfist (msg # 31):

Katarn lead them as best he could and was very pleased when it resulted in them hitting the river and barge right the first time. He smiled though, in the lead kept it to himself.

To the other barge men's question he nodded, "aye they went with their kin to learn wha' they 'bout Myth Drannor an' all. 'Sposed ta meet us back here a'fore we head back tho'."

When it was mentioned that the captain was still in Highmoon and Kora wanted to go there he shrugged. "Inn's er not don' matter much to me lass, but I kin probably lead us there if that's yer fancy." He looked at Sirenya, "ye up fer another hike ta Highmoon too lass er do ya want ta stay 'ere with this lot?"

Elves

The old moon elf thinks for a few moments, then nods. "I was never very good at drawing, but I can probably come up with something." She slowly pushes herself to her feet and dodders over to a ladder set in the back of the room. She disappears up it into the room above you and returns a bit later with paper and writing implements. The maps she draws is crude, but does show the city's general axe shape. She's marked several spots, and underneath has written the names of wizard schools.

She also marked the city's four districts: central Cormanthor, northwestern Sheshyrinnam, southwestern Kerradunath, and eastern Dlabraddath. From the looks of things, you arrived in Kerradunath.

((ooc: I spent too much time yesterday trying to find the perfect map for this request to write this up. Oops. I'll see if I can't find one that I like; for the moment you can all now refer to the general shape of the city in the Ruins of Myth Drannor or Cormanthyr books.))

In reply to Katarn (msg # 41):

Lead on Katarn, Lead on.  He was sure that Sirenya would welcome more opportunities to chat with the various small animals they would see on the way to Highmoon.

Non-Elves

It takes most of the day to walk to Highmoon. Despite winter settling in, it's a pleasant hike. You follow the treeline south and west, walking along a dirt trail created by wagons and river sailors. Far above, hawks circle and occasionally dive into the dying grass. The wind is chill but gentle, and wrapped within your cloaks you're comfortable warm.

The Deeping Stream forked just before it entered the forest. Its larger branch disappeared into the west. The smaller fork traces southwest, along the edge of the forest. It quickly becomes apparent why the barge stopped where it did; perhaps in the spring melt there would be enough draft for the barge, but there certainly isn't enough now. At least its burbling provides you with a pleasant companion, and you never need worry about getting thirsty.

You spend the day walking south on the trail between the forest and the tributary. As the sun begins to set you see the walls of a town off in the distance. A bit more walking starts to bring things into view. The stream, which had been flowing almost perfectly northeast/southwest turns abruptly to the west, disappearing into the forest. The trail passes through a couple of harvested fields before it turns due south and crosses the stream in an easy ford.

Beyond the ford lies the town of Highmoon. It's encircled by a mostly-completed wall that will be fifteen feet tall when finished. You can see two towers, standing an additional five feet higher, from your position. The road runs straight to an open gate, and though twilight is coming on there are two guards outside the gate and you can see a number of townsfolk wandering about.

((ooc: Welcome to Highmoon! The elves will be joining you here once they're done in Bristar.))

Dorian nodded at Corym in approval "Excellent idea, Cormym."

That's really the extent of what I genuinely thought we'd be able to get, barring the presence of old nobility in Bristar or something (and that doesn't seem to be present here).  I'm happy to pass the time with these elders and get their sense of what it was like to live in the City of Song and whatnot, but there's no need to go laboriously through that IC to my mind.  I think seeing the sacred lake would be cool (you said that we know that it's sacred to the elves, but not why).  Do we want to address that IC?

Compressing time to save trouble

Non-elves

"Come on, let's find an inn and get out of the wind!" Kora trots inside the gate, leaving the rest of you to follow.

Fortunately for your chilled flesh, there's an inn just inside the northern gate. A long, two-story building is made of solid field stone on its first floor and well-maintained half-timber on its second. A brightly-painted sign swinging above the door marks it as the Rising Moon.

Inside is one of the most cheerful inns any of you have encountered. It's warm and snug, with comfortable furniture in a variety of sizes. There's a large taproom that's more than three quarters filled with folks laughing, talking, and eating, and the food when it comes is understated, but delicious. Most of the folks appear to be locals, and you're easily able to get rooms for the night.

Elves

You chat a little longer with the elders, but nothing of particular substance comes up. Bristar does not have an inn, but spare rooms for you are found among the people of the village where you can sleep for the evening. The village also doesn't have any clergy of Labelas, and Elorfindar spends much of the evening doing pastoral work; talking with elders, speaking with those teaching the young, and telling stories of the past. He gathers quite a crowd of children eager to hear his tales, and only the coming of night and their parents calling brings and end to the stories.

The next morning one of the scouts volunteers to show you the way to Highmoon. It's another long, punishing day of running along deer paths and hidden trails, but as the winter day comes to a close you emerge from the forest edge to see the not-entirely-completed walls of Highmoon standing to the east. After a bit of exploring, you're able to find the rest of your party having evenfeast in the Rising Moon, and rooms are rented for you.

((ooc: Travel times are being compressed here just to make things flow together better. I'm going to pause here, in case anyone wants to do something in Highmoon, or you want to chat amongst yourselves about what the elves found. Otherwise, the next post will be you starting north and I'll close this thread.))

In reply to DM (msg # 47):

Once in the Inn, Krackor takes care of the bill and enjoys the hospitality.  I reckon we could do with coming back here once the season changes again, Corym and others are determined to go out in the cold, I'm easy with that as long as everybody is ok.

OOC: Ready to move on.

During the way to Highmoon, Elorfindar was in excellent spirits, uplifted by the experiences of the preceding evening. "I quite enjoyed yesterday evening," he remarked, with gleaming eyes, to Corym in particular, though not out of Dorian's earshot. "I have always thought I was not particularly good at... you know, being a shepherd to the community. I have always liked it, and I love taking care of the young ones in particular, but I have always thought I am not particularly gifted in that respect. Yesterday was one of the times when it felt different." The moon elf priest smiled. "In any case, we -- or at least I -- must return. I dared not ask -- it was not the right opportunity -- but I would greatly desire to see the sacred Treespring of Eredruie..."

((OOC: Sorry, for some reason I completely missed that and the DM's reference! I just saw it after making the last post... I presume Elorfindar knows about Eredruie.))
This message was last edited by the player at 21:01, Tue 25 June 2019.

At evenfeast in the Rising Moon

Still in a very good mood, Elorfindar greeted his companions enthusiastically when he, Corym and Dorian found them in the inn. While waiting for his dinner - he later wolfed down plate after plate of hearty food, and not refraining from drink either -, he addressed the group: "There is a great font of learning in this town, you have seen its spires high on the hill. It is a sanctuary of the Binder, called the Leaves of Learning, and is one of the finest libraries in this part of the world. . I would very much like to visit it, of course, and it might prove very useful for our preparations and research into the City of Song's gates."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:05, Tue 25 June 2019.

"Lead on, Elorfindar.  Perhaps I can help correllate our research with my own scholarship on the matter."

"Is that the sacred pool that the community guards?  What makes it so sacred?" Corym asks, genuinely intrigued.

Elorfindar and anyone who wants to come with him

The next morning you find Oristel and check in on your ride home. She is still in the process of buying and assembling the cargo for the northward journey, and is willing to stay in Highmoon for another few days while you approach the temple of Oghma.

The Leaves of Learning is easy to find. Everyone on the street knows of it. In fact, from the smiles they get when you ask, the library seems to be a point of pride amongst the townsfolk. It sits atop the hill that dominates the eastern section of town, its slim white marble towers gleaming in the weak winter light.

Doors of thick oak bound in iron and studded with small hemispheres of everbright-treated steel face north, and a trail leads through a park of winter-bare trees to the fortified Tower of the Rising Moon. The doors are closed against the winter chill, but when you knock they are promptly opened by a middle aged acolyte in pale blue robes. He ushers you into first a narrow cloak room and then into a somewhat larger room with a desk to one side and a table with several chairs around it. The room is relatively austere, though there are carpets on the floor and tapestries of book binding and traveling researchers along the wall to blunt the cold.

"Welcome to the Leaves of Learning, Time Sentinel," the acolytes says, taking a seat behind the desk. "How can this humble house of the Binder be of service to you today?"

Dorian follows Elorfindar.

"The Treespring of Eredruie is so-called because it actually does come forth from a hollow in the trunk of a tree. It feeds Lake Eredruie which is sacred to my Lord, the Lifegiver himself. It is said that any tel'quessir who bathes in its waters will be granted a boon to his or her lifespan, and the water itself, when drunk, will heal those with elven blood in their veins. Imagine this miracle, this wonderful celebration of life, my friends!" the rapt priest said, now including Dorian in his address.

"Thank you for your kind words, Seeker," the moon elf replies. "My name is Elorfindar Silveroak, and I am indeed a servant of the Sage at Sunset. My companions" -- he makes a gesture towards the others with him and pauses briefly in case they want to introduce themselves -- "and I are are interested in information on the gates of Myth Drannor, and there are few places that would be better equipped to look for it than this great house of learning. Do you think you could help us, and if yes, which fees would be involved to gain access to your resources and compensate for your efforts?" Elorfindar asks with friendly politeness.

Dorian bowed "Thank you for having us.  I am Dorian, at your service."

A strange mix of emotions plays across Corym's face... incredulity, shock, curiosity, fervor.  The then starts six different sentences simultaneously, then takes a moment, clears his throat, and starts articulating his thoughts slowly and deliberately, but as he does he loses his composure and his words start surging over each other.

"Why wouldn't the Church of Labelas long since have established a shrine and guardianship over such a site that clearly aligns with their interests so closely? Why wouldn't the locals have taken you to it directly?  Why wouldn't we all have gone immediately?  How could elves ever lose tactical control over an area when they have a lake of potions of healing that work for them and no one else? Why would Myth Dannor, Cormanthor, and the whole Elven Court have been built so far away from this place?  We're about to face the Nine Hells and the Abyss at the same time--why aren't we carrying skins full of the Lake's waters?"

He ends sputtering, his questions to ponderous for words to adequately articulate.

Elorfindar laughed out loud at Corym's musings - and quick succession of facial expressions -, but in a quite clearly good-natured way, not disparagingly. "Forgive me, my friend, but that line of thinking is a bit too... what is the human word, entrepreneurial? First of all, I said it is said that the waters have such powers. Second, even if they do - and I believe they do -, then I have my doubts that they would still do, still receive the Lifegiver's blessing, when our people did things like exploiting this gift by attempting to use it on a large scale, which would include building a city around or next to it. I cannot know for certain, of course, but I think that it just was not meant for such a purpose. As to how exactly the spring is protected, and why our church prefers one method of protection over others, I do not know either - but would be very curious to learn..." The priest pauses for a moment. "And that is not to say that we would not be able to receive blessings from the Treespring in the future, but I feel that we have to build some sort of relationship with the community first, which we started to do, and anyway I did not want to be rash."

Once again Corym was reminded of the fact that while he fought desperately for the interests of The People, he seldom appreciated their logic. "I'm glad you're here to keep me grounded, Elorfindar.  Or should I rather say--'aired.'  Elevated?  In any case, these folks don't seem to have seen a priest in some time, so I doubt that the Life Giver is well-represented here at this fascinating Lake of Life."

Elorfindar nearly cracked up at Corym's dry remark, grinning broadly.



More seriously again, the elf priest said: "Hmm, I guess you are right, at least when it comes to our church's presence at Velethuil. Let us find out next time!"