Oh, and the year is undecided as of yet, so don't anyone go panicking.
OK, this is the third format recheck. It should be fixed by now. Grief.
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Night of the First: Book 1: Chapter 1Kythorn the 10th,
Faerun has been quiet lately. No major battles, no treks for domination, caravan raids are even on the decline. Even the Zhentirim have been quite as of late, though I have heard a few rumors of another Goblin Empire in the Marches. Life, for the most part, is good.
I am currently making my way from Hardbuckle to Baldur's Gate to meet up with Niblick and Bardock. Apparently they want to introduce me to someone. I'm always up for something new, and any help is welcome. It is good to be on the road again, though I will miss my workshop. Speaking of help, I've nearly 200 lbs adamantine! I only need 1800 lbs more and 200 lbs glassteal before construction can begin. Well, I'd better be going. Need my rest and all. So long 'till next time.
Gingles Thurnburg
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Gingles traveled the read from Eltriel to Baldur's Gate with confidence. He had traveled this road many times and was not afraid of the undead that rose from the Field to the Dead. His wagon was pulled by the mules, Edna and Sam, who had been with him since he started his quest. His quest, and by rights it could be called one only just, is to collect enough adamantine and glassteal to build what he had dubbed, a MetalWalker.
As Gingles has described it so many times, a MetalWalker is an immense contraption in the visage of an armored soldier. The thing stands nearly 20 feet tall and is operated from inside the chest (which is where the glassteal comes in, and which is conveniently designed for those of gnomish size) using gears, pulleys and pneumatics (a science which Gingles claims to be the "pioneer" of). I believe we leave further description and explanation of Mr. Thurnburg's Walker for him later.
I might as well take this time to describe our gnomish friend, as I have not done so as of yet. He stands 4foot 10 inches tall, short by many standards, but tall by that of gnomes. His hair, a sandy brown, is matted upon his head, and a few hairs poke from his chin, though they seem a much lighter colour. Though tall, he has the inherent stocky build of other gnomes. At the time he is wearing a pair of earthen-coloured slacks, with a matching tunic, and black traveling boots.
The road to the Gate was, for the most part, uneventful, though Gingles did spot a few creatures, which closely resembled zombies, headed to the northwest. But, because they were not bothering him, he paid them little heed. Gingles on a whole did not pay a whole lot of attention to things that were of no immediate concern. He felt more toward what he was doing at the time, which was usually designing or building one of his many inventions.
His wagon was is in fact equipped with a few such inventions. The wagon itself is not a caravan wagon, and is equipped with a popup tent mechanism, allowing Gingles to live in the wagon when on the road, and still utilize it's defensive mechanisms. The prime defensive mechanism is a large, swiveling, forked stick that protrudes from the center of the wagon. A thick thread made of tree resin and animal intestine with an indentation in the center joins the forks. Attached to the side of the stick is a gnome-sized chair with 3 ammo pouches to a side, each filled with flasks Alchemist's fire, holy water, vials of acid, thunderstones and tangle foot bags, respectively. The sixth bag is reserved for a special treat that our Mr. Thurnburg is working on.
Presently our gnomish friend is reaching Black Dragon Gate, the northern gate of one of the most majestic cities on the coast. Descriptions of cities are not my forte, but as Volo's is too long and drawn out, and most others don't have the detail, I'll take a crack at it. The Gate straddles the River Chionthar, and is a port city of near epic importance. Most anything one wants one can find and life is mild and pleasant. The city boasts three temples; a well trained and well armed city guard, and the headquarters of the Flaming Fist. Not quite as majestic, it is a much nicer place than Waterdeep. But enough of that.
"Now where did he say they were staying?" he questioned himself, scratching his goatee. Gingles thumbed back through one of his journals looking for the letter from Niblick. "Ah, yes. Here it is. The Blade and Stars, room 23. Odd, he's usually at Three Old Kegs. Ah well." He paid for his mules and cart to stay outside (city regulations, something to do about the cleanliness of the streets) and headed into the city for the long walk to The Blade.
Gingles decided to make a stop in the Wide to look for whatever odds and ends that sparked his fancy this time. The Wide was a pinch crowded today, which somewhat bothered the gnome, as most of the crowd was taller than he. He made his way through the bustle and found a quaint little scriber's booth. The constructor of said booth had been kind enough to install a small scaffold with a set of stairs for those who were not so very vertically inclined. Upon reaching the scaffold's peak, he was able to look upon the wares and provender. The provender happened to be a half-elf, who was dressed in a gaudy robe and hat that an uneducated, backwater hillbilly would consider as standard wizarding garb.
"Hallo my friend! What can I get for you this fine day?" He flailed out his arms in a mannerism that was far too jovial for even his costume. This combined with a cheesy smile and covered sadness in his eye implied that this was his first customer in, well, since he set up.
"What all do you have?" Gingles was never quick to judge, and new about the gimmicks that people sometimes had to play up for customers, especially the ones who knew very little.
"I have a wide variety of coloured inks, blank books of various size and craftsmanship and quills and pens of the same. We even have sheets of paper and parchment which allow you to craft your own book." The booth keeper hoisted each item as he came to it. His enthusiasm, both of his façade and of the joy of having an actual customer nearly caused Gingles to laugh. But he managed to hold down his guffaws, and instead give an encouraging, and intrigued, smile. Gingles leaned on the counter to examine the things that had been placed before him.
"I'll take a blue and green ink; two pens, one bold, one fine; and fifty pages of parchment plus bindings." Gingles truly only needed half of what he bought, but he felt sorry for the poor vendor. He paid for his things, collected them and left.
"Thank you sir. Tell your friends!"
Gingles continued down the road toward the Blade and Stars. Suddenly a massive explosion rocked a quarter of the city. A strange green-orange fire with a purple-blue smoke rose from a little more than two blocks away. Crowds meshed both directions, one rushing to see the trouble and another fleeing from it. Gingles moved with the crowd former, to see the devastation. When he finally reached the edge of the crowd, he saw, through someone's legs, the fireworks shop alight.
A large number of clerics and Flaming Fist wizards had gathered in an attempt to douse the flames. A divine rain had been created, and large quantities of dirt and stone were being magically moved onto the inferno. One of the larger rocks fell a might too heavily and kicked up a large amount of ash. That combined with a gust of wind set an adjacent building on fire as well, though this one burned with natural fire and smoke. Though interested in the fire, Gingles opted to continue on to the Blade.
Now, I don't think it's much of a coincidence that Gingles was the only one to see the rogue wizard. But he did, and he was. What's more, he was also the only one to see the robed figure lead the wizard a few blocks southeast of the original fire. Being a gnome, curiosity flowed through him like blood, and he just had to see what was going on. They came upon another fireworks shop, and the wizard stood in a comatose daze while the robed figure splashed three total pints of oil on as much of the building as he could. He then pointed to the building and the wizard blindly walked up and gasped the building with electric hands. The walls of the building bust into flames, as did the wizard. The robed figure ran off, conveniently in the same direction Gingles was headed. So, with intrigue and coincidence at his heals, Mr. Thurnburg again decided to follow.
It's quite interesting to note that the second fire caused an explosion not unlike the first. The unfortunate part of this occasion, though, is that this shop specialized in magical explosives. The subsequent fires that occurred after the second initial explosion outnumbered the first shop nearly 2 to 1. It is also quite interesting to note that, though initially because of the fires, the death of the wizard sparked a large amount of interest with the Fist. A small group of highly respected and powerful wizards was called together quite quickly after the second explosion, and began to divine the identity, location, and reasoning behind the arsonist and fires.
Gingles was almost at the Blade and Stars before he realized where he was. A wave of concern and thoughts of aiding and abetting a criminal instantly hit him. But reason quickly won over and he realized that more than one person stays at the Blade at any given time. What were the possible chances of this creature of destruction knowing either Niblick or Bardock? Being a little more relaxed, Gingles decided that, since he was already here, he might as well go in to see his friends, and would keep his eyes open for the arsonists during his stay.
I suppose now that our little friend has entered the inn, that you all out there would like a description of it. I will then, if I must, start at the begging. The Blade and Stars is named for the sign that hangs just above the door. A slender female human (or perhaps half-elven) hand holds aloft a curved blade on a background of enchanted stars that twinkle and drift about the sign. It was collected many years ago in a trade war with Amn, and to this day no one is sure why, or for whom, it was originally made.
As for the building itself, it is a long four-story building that is decently dressed in a mahogany colour with a hint of the darker browns that signify its age. The furniture, though no longer new, is still just as comfortable as ever, and even fits your body if you pick the right chair. It is that type of place that discourages trouble, with watchmen on the stairs and all, and serves spirited drink only with meals. Meals are eaten in rooms, as the main floor is arranged more to the affect of a lounge.
Currently the lounge has been burst into by our hooded menace, with our gnomish friend not far behind. The Hood (as I will from here on in refer to him, as I have be come lazy with his descriptions) bolted up the stairs nearly knocking one of the watchmen from his feet. The now prone watchman shouted up to his comrades to 'apprehend that disruptive creature'. The Hood stopped, and returned to help up the watchman he had set to the floor. The hand he extended had a long black glove covering it.
"I apologize for my rudeness and disruption." The watchman recognized the voice. The voice was mid-range, and was a perfectly normal voice save for the fact that it had that distinct tone, best described as that time right between dust and night, when the sun has gone just below the horizon, but still creates a crescent of gold-orange fire.
"Just be sure it doesn't happen again." The watchman brushed himself off and motioned the others back to their positions. The Hood continued up the stairs at a slow and obviously tense pace.
Gingles had watched the event from the folds of the aforementioned comfy chair. He was quit amazed at the ease in which the hooded figure handled the watchmen. He decided to head to Niblick's room, and so dug through his pockets to find the letter from Niblick to remind himself what room they were in. Upon discovery, the journey to room 23 commenced.
Traveling up the stairs, and making sure not to draw any unwanted attention to himself, Gingles reached the second floor and headed to room 23. Now many people consider the ground floor the first floor, but I do not. The ground floor is the ground floor, and the next floor up is the first floor, and so on and so forth. And so Gingles, being off the second floor, is two stories off the ground.
knock knock
"Yes, hello, who is it?" Gingles didn't recognize the voice at all. It came through the door from higher off the ground than he was, and so assumed it to be a human, or something of that size.
"Gingles, Gingles Thurnburg. I'm looking for Niblick or Bardock."
"Oh, I'm sorry, they left to the Wide and said not to open the door for any one, save the Gingles-gnome-tinker-friend." At this point the gnome was not sure he wanted to meet this new addition to their group.
"I believe that I am the Gingles-gnome-tinker-friend, as my name is Gingles, I am a gnomish tinkerer, and a dear friend of both Niblick and Bardock. Now if you would kindly let me in."
"The dark man in the closet says I shouldn't." That wave of concern hit Gingles again, but this time square in the back of his head.
"What does this 'dark man' look like?" He was only steps away from panic, and was ready to barge into the room and… well… do what needed to be done.
"Well he…"
Krakow!
"Yeeowwroar!"
"You might want to come in here."
Gingles slowly opened the door and stepped into the room. The Hood was sprawled out on the floor, twitching wildly. The hood on the cloak had fallen back and Gingles was both frightened and startled to find that the thing holding the whole cloak off the ground was a drow.
"Hi, my name's Zat." He threw out a hand, nearly hitting Gingles in the face. Zat is that sort of person whom has that certain sort of psychosis that, as of yet anyway, has made him somewhat childlike in his demeanor. This in no way has harmed his actual intelligence, which seems now to be more tightly focused on storing itself until it feels that the situation warrants its expertise.
As far as the rest of him is concerned, well… it isn't. For the most part the rest of him just does what it's told, and when it gets bored, it plays with electricity. He claims to be the most powerful electromancer in all of Faerun, and the only reason his claim goes unchallenged is that he is the only electromancer in all of Faerun.
Many have speculated (okay, only just the two) that the psychosis comes from both the electricity and the fall. The latter needs to be explained more. You see, Zat wasn't born on Faerun; he landed here. All he remembers is "a green skin thing with a really big stick, then blue, white, and purple light, then a field." The field he refers to is the Field of the Dead. He was found by a merchant and taken to Baldur's Gate with only his clothing, armour, and staff. He was interrogated by the Fist, but eventually let go because, by then, the psychosis had set in.
Because he has no idea of who he was, or where he came from, Zat just made most of it up. He chose the name because of his knack for wielding electrical magics (though he says it's because he likes the sound), and he guessed at his age, which he says is 18. He celebrates his birthday on the day he landed, though he isn't quite sure even when that was, and so just decides every year that 'it's about that time' and tacks another one on.
Gingles took the hand of the enthusiastic human and formally introduced himself again. Though he was incredibly concerned with the drow lying on the floor he didn't want to concern or startle this somewhat unstable human. When he had finally gotten this Zat character calmed a bit he went to check on the drow. It had stopped convulsing, but he had little to no life left in him.
"I told you he was going to screw it up."
"Now you don't know that, it might be… Gingles! Hah. You owe me 10 silver, ya bum!" Niblick was far to distracted with the arrival of his friend to notice that Bardock had lifted his coin purse with his tail. Niblick embraced his good friend, which wasn't too difficult as they were just about the same height. Niblick is in fact one of the most unique creatures in all of Faerun. This is entirely because he is a kobling. A kobling is a union (unholy and impossible in any natural sense) between a kobold and a halfling. Any one who tries to understand anything beyond the fact that he is standing in front of their face quickly goes bonkers.
No one, not even Niblick himself, knows why or how he exists. He was raised by a tribe of halflings, disguised as one of their own, even to himself, and did not know until they believed he was of the appropriate age. His tribe claims (and he will defend them to the bitter end) that during their travels, they found the infant crying in the tall grasses of Firewine Bridge. That is all any one knows, as few ever enter the tunnels bellow the bridge, and even fewer return.
Bardock on the other hand, though just as unique, is not quite as rare. Though he hails from the Hordelands, he is a monkey-folk of Kara-Tur. He has divulged little about his life before he arrived in the Western Heartlands, even to myself. The thieving monkey-man has since caused more than his share of trouble through out, and even got an elf arrested for a job of his doing. But alas, I have again become sidetracked, and shall now continue.
The reunion of friends was cut short with the stirrings of the drow. Bardock's habit for mischief and hunger for wealth had brought him to this most inviting target. By the time the drow had made it to his feet, his possessions totaled only what he was wearing.
"Why exactly is there a drow in our room?" Niblick pondered to no one in particular, but more to Zat than any one else.
"Well, uh, you see, I…" Zat stammered for a bit, trying to get his story together. The drow attempted the take the brief moment of confusion as an opportunity to escape, but quickly noticed what seemed to him to be a smallish, hair covered man with a tail blocking the door, toying with his dagger.
"Oh, hello. Is this yours?" Bardock asked as he waved the dagger around in his hand.
"Give me my things and I will leave you be." The Hood's voice began to trigger things in Gingles' mind.
"Who are you and for what reason were you on the floor in our room? Answer and you may get to leave." Niblick tried to take charge of the situation, and would have succeeded, had Gingles not known what he had.
"He goes nowhere. I followed him from the fires, where I watched him ignite at least the second."
"My name is Arimel, and yes, I did start the fires, both of them. It was quite amusing," A somewhat evil grin eked across his face" As for being here, I needed a place to hide for now, and your friend here nearly killed me."
"Thank you for your confession, Arimel," Gingles stretched the name in disgust, "you will now be accompanying us to the nearest Flaming Fist officer."
"Why not just kill him now? It would be so much fun." Bardock had brought the drowish dagger to Arimel's neck with his tail.
"No. Firstly, it would be in cold blood, which is wrong in itself. Secondly, if we do not help to uphold the law, we are no better than he." Gingles' forcefulness made the dagger at Arimel's neck relax, but only a little.
"What makes you think I will come with you?" Arimel began to twitch the fingers of his right hand.
"Simple," Niblick put in, "Zat, hold him." Zat reached out his arms, and began to, from his point of view, wrap his fingers around Arimel. Visages of electrical arches began encasing Arimel from where Zat viewed his fingers. But before he was completely encased, Arimel created a globe of darkness, cloaking all within the room, and a few areas outside of it. The instant change from light to dark startled Zat and allowed Arimel to escape.
"What the…?!" Niblick was so startled that he fell to the floor, and not being able to see anything, decided not to move.
"He has his dagger." All four of them were extremely worried at this point.
"Zat, can you see him?" Zat's control over electricity comes not from the Weave, but from his own aura. Because of this, he has the ability to see the auras of others, regardless of the conditions.
"No, but…oh crap."
"What?" All of them moved a bit closer to where Zat's voice was coming from.
"Well, uh…he…he jumped out the window."