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Post by Wids on Aug 30, 2011 4:13:39 GMT -5
[Translated from Chondathan:] "To the office of Wavelord Otsello and Wavemistress Arimand Deacons of the Fourth Grotto, the Queenspire, Waterdeep Hail, Masters of the Dark Waters, I fear that our ambitions to claim Prespur for our own have found another enigmatic rival. And so it continues that, for every riddle of Prespur's history resolved, two more riddles loom to take its place. Atop the western cliffs far into Prespur's Halfway Forest rises a house of undeath, a vast and ancient sepulcher secured against intruders by its many traps and ever-vigilant guardians. And deeper in is nestled an inner chamber warded by three gatekeepers: one cadaverous, one spectral and one arachnid. A curse weighs heavily on the tomb, and at first I was unsure if the three gates were set to keep intruders out or, mayhaps, to keep something in. Twice I returned to the tomb, ultimately felling the three gatekeepers and claiming their keys. The great wraith spider who kept the third key was obliterated by a feat of Great Umberlee's power channeled through me, but again did our goddess make known her mercurial ways, for the Queen of the Deep saw fit to destroy my Drowned minion along with the host of wraith spiders. With steeled resolve I beckoned forth from Beyond an angel of darkness to replace my minion, and I then moved to claim my prize from the vanished gatekeeper. With the three keys claimed, each gate then fell open before me, and each key crumbled to dust as it was used, drifting away in the stagnant air as if to reintegrate elsewhere. What I found therein lent me grim pause. A granite sarcophagus large enough to harbor the corpse of a giant squatted central in the chamber, and the walls were lined with ample piles of gold and grave goods. Beyond a wall of fallen rubble, the ashen corpse of a woman clad in a Purple Dragon's garb showed that I was not the first intruder to visit that chamber, though mayhaps I am the first to intrude and leave with my life. The lid laid unsettled across the body of the sarcophagus, as if its repose had been disturbed, and its stone face bore reliefed runes which seemed once ensorcelled but now spent. With two sheets of parchment and some measure of time and difficulty, I produced a rough translation of the runic passage: "When the cliffs rise, and he who rests inside once again walks, then the Ancient One shall be freed to swallow the island of his birth and defeat."With alarm I noticed, pressed into the chamber's bare earth, a trail of footprints leading from the sarcophagus and towards the three gates, footprints left by something barefoot and of great size. Unless I misread the runes, the risen creature is male, which rules out any once-dead leader of the hags who also bid to bring Prespur and the Pirate Isles to heel. And so I must conclude that the giant once laid to rest in that sarcophagus is a priest or a leader who again walks the earth and has gone to turn loose his master, and that the island so threatened could very well be Prespur herself. The destruction of Prespur would certainly crush any hope for the Church of Umberlee ever claiming dominion over her, and so I must go to avert that outcome. I shall confer with Master Sampson when next I meet him, to discuss what must be done. And as an aside, a panther of Malar attacked the angel and me on our return from the tomb. Though the blot-furred beast was strong and tenacious, it soon fell to blade and claw and baleful power, and I flayed its hide to later tan with brine and a low fire. I now yield this hide as tribute unto ye, O archdeacons of Waterdeep, to handle as ye see fit. May it serve Umberlants both exalted and humble as a reminder that, although the beast-god Malar and his priesthood are our allies, they are never to receive our fullest trust. By Highest Crest and Deepest Trench, Puissant Undertow Thallys Vicaress of the Isle of Prespur" // Serrica now owes two delivery fees, plus the leather she took from that Malar panther.
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Post by Wids on Oct 8, 2011 16:00:25 GMT -5
[Translated from Chondathan:] "To the office of Wavelord Otsello and Wavemistress Arimand Deacons of the Fourth Grotto, the Queenspire, Waterdeep Hail, O Godly Hands of the Maelstrom, The two towns' response to my Highharvestide festival was regretable, I must confess; though I had made every preparation to entice the townsfolk into joining me on the voyage which would show them the truest power over Prespur and bring them to bow their knees low before her, few attended the celebration, and the vessel's captain could not be found. The ship's crew were equally absent, leaving me without any means to commandeer the ship for my own use. Could the fault for this failure truly be mine, when I took such strides to bring word to both towns and guarded the voyage's true intent so well? Are these sheep truly so apathetic towards the gods that they would forsake one of the greatest holy days on the entire Calendar of Harptos? But despite this setback, I have yet borne our Church forward in a thundering leap. My cull of the merrow plaguing Uarhold was a tremendous success, with the trophies from over three-hundred beheaded merrow and sea hags laid at Lord Dert Marshall's feet. The ultimate of these heads was that of Malfalaga, the hags' high priestess who had wrested control of the merrow tribe from their assassinated chieftain and spurred the lot of them against Uarhold. After a long hunt I hounded her deep into her undersea lair, then pitted myself against her and my Drowned champion against hers. And then I rose from the inland waters, bearing her head. Such ardent efforts bear the sweetest figs, and Lord Dert's praise and gratitude were sweet indeed. For the time being, the merrow and the hags must lick their wounds and grow their guts back from suffering so many losses to Great Umberlee's wrath and my own merciless campaign against them. But with the blessings of their hag goddess Cegilune, that may eventually happen, though whether Cegilune should somehow lead her priestess Malfalaga back from beyond the grave is yet to be seen. And their ambition to seize control of all the mystic standing stones--and with them, control of all Prespur--is likely to continue. The hags place so unmatched esteem in Prespur's standing stones that the stones can only be important in some mystic way. What would our Church stand to gain if we could take control of these stones first? One such monument has already fallen into our hands at Umberlee's Shoal; when next I can, I will ask Master Sampson to join me on a return to those stones. Mayhaps we can unravel their riddle yet. As for the present time, the merrow have withdrawn from their aggressions against Uarhold, and I stand tallest among the town's heroes and deliverers. Lord Dert and all of Uarhold are indebted to me, though they know not the true power behind me. And so I am confident that, when our telling moment soon arrives, the good folk of Uarhold shall welcome the coming of our immortal queen, Umberlee the Destroyer--and us, her humble heralds--with bent knees and open arms. Yours Through the Spiralling Tempest, Puissant Undertow Thallys Vicaress of the Isle of Prespur" ((Alas, the best laid plans of mice and sea priestesses do often go awry. Bummer, eh?))
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Post by Wids on Dec 16, 2011 7:33:29 GMT -5
[Translated from Chondathan:] "To the office of Wavelord Otsello and Wavemistress Arimand Deacons of the Fourth Grotto, the Queenspire, Waterdeep Hail, O Mighty Ones of the Thalassic Deep, New sea lanes so often emerge with the shifting of tides and the questions of men. And in recent days has one of those men--a sea captain who proves his vessel out of Palaggar--forged a new sea lane from Prespur to an island steeped in forgotten history. Though the island's living population is now naught more than primeval reptiles, there are many roads, statues and pillars of cut stone which could only be the works of an early stoneworking populace. These relics have languished for long enough that the natural chaos has striven to reclaim them but has yet to obliterate them from the ages. At the center of it all rises a masoned ziggurat, the weathered shell for an ancient temple below. That temple is now host to the countless ghosts of the long-dead folk who likely raised this temple, but fending them away from my party was simple enough. Yet the silver-haired elf in our party had the vexing habit of striking down whichever ghosts I enslaved through the holy gaze of Great Umberlee, not once heeding my dissuading words. Among the temple's relics was a tall and ominous tablet of black stone standing in what was surely the priests' quarters in a bygone age, its forward face blanketed with etched runes of an alien tongue. The tongue was neither Aquan nor Chondathan, and the elf, the dwarf and the halfling failed to translate the reliefed script as well. The language remains an enigma, and for what we know it could be dead for all the world. Descending deeper into the earth, we found the temple's bowels flooded with seawater. In suiting the dinosaurs roving the isle's lands, the depths were shown to be home to a number of great, prehistoric fishes, each large enough to swallow a gnome and have room for dessert. Fighting through these fry of ancient sea monsters, we fell through the bottom of the temple and into a small grotto, which opened into a trench when we left it. The trench was then shown to be the feeding ground of a truly monstrous and long-aged fish, and surely would Great Umberlee keep such a monster among Her armies of sea devils. The primeval sea beast bit with crushing force and withstood all but the most piercing thrusts, but it too was soon laid low in defeat. Its steely scales were roughly harvested, and our party then followed the shafts of sunlight sifted through the brine and returned to the surface, and then to Palaggar. I was not then able to discern which god the temple had been built to revere. There were no statues or reliefs to suggest dinosaur worship, as the lizardfolk in Prespur's swamps have sculpted. The plants and gardens inside the temple do suggest a god of nature and greenery, yet the ample stonework itself denies this notion. But perhaps if the flooding was designed by the temple's architects and not born of happenstance, it could possibly be an ancient temple to a water god. I dare fancy that the temple may even be the remnant of a long-lost Umberlant sect. I will return to search for more clues in later days. As for my party, the elf Siriel, the dwarf Manus and the halfling Pedro all did benefit from mighty Umberlee's blessings, though they knew not the source of their boons. I've grown a mite touch fond of Manus, I admit, and, despite Siriel and her tree-kissing ideals disrupting my efforts to shackle the temple's undead to my will, the three have taken to me quite pleasantly. Perhaps, should the time come to scuttle Valkur's popularity in Palaggar and elevate exalted Umberlee into his place, these three shall help me, whether wittingly or unwittingly. Yours by the Endless Maelstrom, Puissant Undertow Thallys Vicaress of the Isle of Prespur Post Script: I have also recently made the acquaintence of a darkling elf, Siomir by name, while plundering the ancient dwarven tomb among Palaggar's glades. After cautioning him against being overt with his faith in Palaggar or any Cormyrian land, I bought an ingot of adamantine from him and gave him my word that we would later plumb the dank halls of the Halfway Forest's tomb together. But I must first ask your wisdom: Do Velsharoon's clergy and faithful remain in good standing with us? I have sculpted and riveted the ancient fish scales into a helm that is remarkably lightweight yet more resolute than fine steel, and with great effort the adamantine has finally been worked into a fearsomely impervious cuirass. So girded against harm, I continue my campaign with confidence. May our eternally wise and savage goddess permit me to finish my grand venture in a triumph worthy of the epics."
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Post by Wids on Jan 17, 2012 2:14:50 GMT -5
[Translated from Chondathan:] "To the office of Wavelord Otsello and Wavemistress Arimand Deacons of the Fourth Grotto, the Queenspire, Waterdeep Hail, O Vaunted Binders of Dagon's Chains, In recent tendays I have plumbed the ziggurat's lower passages, mentioned in my previous missive. As fortune proved, those halls of worship, in their lost age, were consecrated not to Great Umberlee but to our troublesome ally, Talos. And to think that something had seemed ever so slightly familiar about those ghostly priests and warriors, come to that. After my first plumbing of those passages, the pallid elf Siomir joined me on my return. From among the ghosts came forth a high priest, and Siomir gravely expressed his fear--a disconcerting sight from one who so oft bares not his emotions--for Siomir had met with a most bitter defeat when last he confronted the high priest. But with Siomir at my back and Great Umberlee's power in my spine and my soul, the high priest was cast unto whatever fate Talos had prepared for him, and his lackeys were driven to their dooms shortly after. With our hosts so vanquished, Siomir and I took our round of the simply laid temple. Amid masonry and sculpture, Talos' altar stood squat and broad, and the air hung heavy with the scent of a recent thunderstroke. Something unseen lingered about the altar, and in following a sudden urge I took up a nearby storm crystal and placed it atop the altar. But to my disappointment, naught came of that act, and I retrieved the crystal and brought it with us as we returned to the watery halls. Out of respect for our alliance, I left the altar as intact and undefiled as I had found it. Would that the Stormbringer phantoms could respect our alliance well enough to permit me unhindered passage, but such is the arrogance of Talossans. With such a queer presence about that temple, I suspect that something more lies beyond what can be seen. Though I've many other tasks which claim my priority, I do hope to unravel the mysteries of that temple and its fallen Talos cult, given time. On a related note, O great and revered masters, it is through my artifice that the elf Siomir has become greatly indebted to me, to the sum of naught less than 9,000 Lions. He has already admitted to me that settling this debt shall be neither swift nor simple for him, despite being a wizard of considerable potence. Should this debt persist when the time comes for our Church to push our way to ascendance in Prespur's towns, I'll be quite pleased to find another means for him to repay me. In such a state as his, Siomir would be a fool to refute this debt and resist my will, and he surely understands this much. And so, come that likelihood, I am entirely certain that we can use him and his power to secure our coming dominion. Yours under Surf and Storm, Puissant Undertow Thallys Vicaress of the Isle of Prespur"
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Post by Wids on Jan 26, 2012 7:06:10 GMT -5
[Translated from Chondathan:]
"To the office of Wavelord Otsello and Wavemistress Arimand Deacons of the Fourth Grotto, the Queenspire, Waterdeep
Hail, O Hosts of the Queenspire's Coming Age,
May this missive find ye in life, health and grace.
Again was I pleased to confer with Master Sampson, as I had a most solemn request for him. I know not if he has composed a similar message, but the Black Scalliwag bears in its hold two weapons for your care, two weapons which have proven their sacrity to me.
One, a small but cruel Cat's Paw of the Waves. This weapon was a gift from Great Umberlee Herself, washed ashore at my knees as I knelt in the surf praying for Her continued blessing. This small pick saw me safely through my dawning months on Prespur's soil.
The other, a fiercely sharp and keen Rapier of the High Road. Though purchased from naught more majestic than a wizened xvart, it is the selfsame rapier which I wielded at Master Sampson's side as we liberated Prespur's lost shrine to Umberlee and bore it eastward, cutting down the defiling harpies in their scores as we went. By Umberlee's grace was our holy mission blessed with victory, and by the blood of those sworn to our rival Ardat the Unavowed was the bandit blade consecrated anew.
Know that I am as aware of Our Wrathful Lady and Her nature as ye are. None of us--not I, not ye and not any--are likely to revel in Her favor forever. One day, my star shall fade as Great Umberlee tires of my spectacle and turns Her eyes to my successor. And I shan't be honored to find my successor wanting or unready.
Thus do I ask that ye accept these arms which have seen me through such lengths and depths of service to the Queen of the Deep. Guard these weapons well, and bestow them upon what young Umberlants ye deem worthy of them. As the pick and the rapier have carved a bloody path for me to follow Great Umberlee, so let them serve the next generations of the Church in their turns. I ask for naught more than this.
But first comes the task of sculpting a future for the Church of Umberlee on Prespur's soil. For far too long have the peoples of Prespur refused Great Umberlee Her rightful due, and the time for a reckoning draws nigh.
Of Uarhold, there is nay question; her people are greatly beholden to me for my crusades against their hated merrow foes, and I am certain that a new house of Umberlant worship shall rise among Uarhold's walls once I bare my true faith to her people. But first, the centerboard for our dominion in Palaggar must be laid.
In my past conspirings with Master Sampson, I had thought to use the arisen giant from the tomb in the Halfway Forest as a scourge against Palaggar, through which that I may rise over Palaggar as her savior, and that Great Umberlee and Her mercy shall be witnessed with me. But the Purple Dragons have ignored my requests for their captain's audience, and the arisen giant has yet to surface.
But I despair not, for a new plot--and a plot more simply orchestrated--has taken its place. For years have the people of Palaggar dreaded the notion of a merrow invasion, a sentiment fermented by the razing of Uarhold and voiced by so little as Palaggar's children. These people continue to vest their faith in bootless Valkur, and I have yet to witness a single fisher or sailor of Palaggar casting the least pittance to mighty Umberlee.
And so I believe that the day draws nigh when I must--and shall--lure the merrow into attacking Palaggar.
Doing such shall be quite simple. The hags who lead the merrow by the leash sent the merrow against Uarhold in an ambition to claim the town's mystic standing stones. How delighted the hags would be to learn that Palaggar boasts two trios of such standing stones, and that her defenses against seaborne enemies are as lacking as those of Uarhold.
So without revealing my hand, I must arrange for the sea hags to learn of Palaggar's mystic stones. With that done, I can surely expect the merrow to come to Palaggar forthwith. Palaggar has grown too soft and cozy in such a long stay of peace, and the merrow shall handily cut down all who resist. But then, in the eleventh hour when Palaggar teeters on the brink of ruin, shall I appear. The merrow shall recognize their scourge and their oppressor without ever realizing that I was the one who manipulated them, lured them and betrayed them; for the merrow to greet me in the least as an ally or a betrayer would forever stain my name in Palaggar's eyes, but to be greeted as their hated enemy shall heap all the more glory on my seeming heroism. And lo, by my blade and my holy fury shall the merrow be driven from ravaged Palaggar to perish in the sea.
And only in that hour shall the people of Palaggar know me as a priestess of Istishia no more, but as the priestess of eternal Umberlee whom I always was. Then shall my words convey to the people that it was through Umberlee's mercy--and through neither Valkur's shield nor Helm's vigilance--that Palaggar was spared. And they shall know that Umberlee's wrath can just as easily turn on them should they fail to appease Her forever after.
I expect every knee in Palaggar to bend low before Great Umberlee come that moment, even the knee of the priestly strumpet who so ardently preaches the virtues of Valkur. The sight of the lofty Valkurite so humbled shall be the most golden of Prespur's treasures.
I go now to consider my great plan further. So many problems with my plan may arise, and I must prepare for all of them. May the Queen of the Winding Storm grant me profound success in this crucial quest.
Yours under the Hailing Heavens, Puissant Undertow Thallys Vicaress of the Isle of Prespur"
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Post by DM Scurvy on Jan 26, 2012 11:32:19 GMT -5
Sammy Sampson personally secures this message and delivers it with the weapons.
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Post by Wids on Mar 14, 2012 8:48:42 GMT -5
[Translated from Chondathan:]
"To the office of Wavelord Otsello and Wavemistress Arimand Deacons of the Fourth Grotto, the Queenspire, Waterdeep
Hail, Voices of the Sanguine Sea,
While again contemplating the weight of my pending plan, a grave thought came to me. And I realized then that I would do well to take measure of all Prespur's champions, adventurous wayfarers and other players on this grand chessboard, that I might know my possible allies from potential foes while learning of what mights and frailties each may possess.
And I have conceived an ideal way to do just that.
More word shall come as my work progresses.
By Her mercy, wrath and castigation, Puissant Undertow Thallys Vicaress of the Isle of Prespur"
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Post by Wids on Apr 5, 2012 22:53:39 GMT -5
[Translated from Chondathan:]
"To the office of Wavelord Otsello and Wavemistress Arimand Deacons of the Fourth Grotto, the Queenspire, Waterdeep
Hail, High Hands of the Drowning Deluge,
By Umberlee's will have the merrow found their path to Palaggar! Glory and triumph betided us this day, and thus are laid the cornerstones for Her coming majesty here!
By Her will did I endure to fell the merrow, cutting them down and blasting their bones in their scores! Many were witness to Umberlee's might and Her thunder in those hours, though they knew not that She walked among them. Blood and fury split those roads, to recede into a frothing red surf lapping against Palaggar's shores! And all knew my name when the clang and clamor died.
What's more, I moved through Palaggar to attend the dead and the wounded in what hours followed. There was a price for my aid: That the afflicted would hear my words. And a dark and damning tapestry I wove for the Valkurite priestess, Marion. All who would hear me came to feel that Marion's showing in Palaggar's defense was lacking, that she could have done far better.
That Valkur is weak and failed.
That Palaggar deserves a better steward, a mightier god of the sea.
All heard me, save for two.
I can feel Marion's eyes weighing heavily on my brow, but that much can be expected. Nay, the one who truly gives me cause for concern is the aged Helmite, Larmann. He guards the Valkurite and her reputation. He welcomed not my disparaging words against her. He may so far as suspect my intent and my heart of hearts. I must watch him well, and I shall take his measure.
For now, the hags retreat into the Deep with their merrow lapdogs, and Cegilune retreats with them to nurse her wounds and cradle her battered brow. The outcome was inevitable, for Cegilune is but a bothersome lamprey, fit only to be crushed to dribbling pulp in Umberlee's mighty and baleful left hand.
A new wave of fealty approaches Palaggar, and I must go to it. The Purple Dragons and their wizards would have words with me, and there shall I drop the anchor of my faith. The merrow shall surely return with vengeance, and they shall again retreat, broken with humility. And then, there is my work with the place of power on Umberlee's Shoal, far against the sunrise from this port.
Much remains to be done, yet the endgame is soon to be played. Watch the seas, O exalted comrades.
By the Maelstrom and Its Thousand Drowning Fools, Wave of Fury Thallys Vicaress of the Isle of Prespur"
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