Family Reunion and Ill Omens

Our first morning back in the city was dominated by debates on how to tackle the multitude of tasks we had found ourselves with, both personal and with regards to our encounters in the Lurkwood. We settled on first visiting the Axe of Mirabar and began heading through the bustling city towards the central elevating platform. What a city! Despite the harsher conditions due to the proximity of the Spine, entrances to the Underdark and the often freezing temperatures, the colourful display of goods, services and individuals on this market day rivalled that of fair Neverwinter. The buildings told their own tale of a merging of dwarven and other cultures as long time ago with architecture changing with age of the respective structures. Yet even the newer houses showed the intricate stonework and sturdiness that so many domiciles in my home lacked due to its rapid expand to accommodate the ever-growing population of the port city. Every street here was lined by rows of gems set in the kerbs, though Grum quickly pointed out that they were not only worthless but vandalization also was cracked down on fiercely by the local law enforcement.
As we descended the pully-operated lift, Grum in his usual roundabout fashion explained some of the general layout of the city. According to him, most of the lower layers to the city came to be at first through mining activities that to this day dominated the lowest reaches. While the first lower layer housed numerous dwarven shops, inns and other businesses, the main heart of their culture was the temple to Moradin in the undercity, surrounded by smaller shrines to the other Moradinsamman deities. Furthermore, there was the Hall of All Fires, an enormous cavern lined with furnaces that could house several thousand individuals. And of course, there was the Shadow District located in the temple of Dumathoin, that strangely well-known secret policing force of Mirabar. Dwarves accounted for roughly three quarters of the population, the remainder split between swirfneblin, halflings, a few humans, fewer dragonborn and tieflings and hardly any elves. When asked more about the various businesses one could find down here, Grum lost himself quicky in tales around the (in)famous Iron Hearth inn, which appears to be the place to be if one wanted to learn news about the city, find employers or employees, sought to drink oneself stupid or had literally any other business to sort out.
When our descent came to a surprisingly smooth halt, we found ourselves in a circular room from which multiple doors branched into the various sectors of the lower city. From there, Grum led us through a handful of tunnels connecting vast caverns towards the central quarters of the Axe. The strikingly well-fortified building greeted us with massive stone walls and several guard towers overlooking the surrounding areas in which numerous barbicans testified the undoubtably well-trained and armed forces housed here. The military theme was continued by the interior facilities and furnishings we came across on our way to deliver our report. A gruff, older dwarf with a bald head but an all the more impressive, mighty snow-white beard introduced himself as Adrik and replied to our question about the issued contract of eradication of monsters infesting some of the lower reaches of the mines that these tunnels are underneath the city and as such the vermin crawling there would also pose a significant risk to the inhabitants of the city he had sworn to keep safe. For more information and a possible guide we should enquire at the temple of Dumathoin. Through his harsh exterior demeanour, his curiosity about our ragtag group could not fully be masked, and eventually Teynos began telling the tale of our encounter with the green dragon of Thundertree. At the mention of the giant lizard the old warrior immediately flashed a dagger and suspiciously glanced around for any signs of the wyrms in our vicinity but then calmed down and quickly was fully enveloped in the tale. Upon saying our farewells, he could not resist but ask us to tell him of more war tales when we would return, anything to speak to his martial soul, I presume,
Once outside the fort of the Axe, Grum proposed to visit his family for a bit since he had some catching up to do and we were welcome to join and meet the other Rockbrews. Of course, we were all too eager to shed some more light on the enigma that was Grum and thus accompanied him to the largest cavern we had been to so far. The sheer scale I find hard to wrap into words that would do it justice on a meagre page, a hall so large that despite the various light sources of lanterns, glowing rocks and clearly magical lamps no ceiling could be seen. The streets seemed beset with even more gem linings than we had encountered before and the general worker attire of the citizens of Mirabar made way for more fine garments, silks and colourful attires. Clearly the more influential district in this marvellous place, if dwarven civilisations were anything like the ones above ground where those with money were those truly holding power. Grum temporarily dipped out of view into a side alley at some point and reemerged somewhat changed to how he left. His mottled brown cloak, partially stained travelling gear and boots had disappeared and instead he was now clad in a much more festive robe of some finely flowing material, clean, black boots and a golden chain around his neck with a pendant of the brewery guild. I had only seen him once in his formal garb, years ago when he announced the launch of a new ale in Neverwinter, and just as last time it was a bit of a hilarious shock to see my dear friend in an outfit that clearly was made for him a long time ago and he never got accustomed to wearing. Still, it sat surprisingly well and certainly made him fit in a lot better with the surrounding crowd than the rest of us.
Before long, we reached our destination: a grand building housing both his family domicile and the famous Mirabarren Rockbrew Brewery, a pilgrimage destination for all that truly know their beer. Stepping around the front of the structure, Grum went up to an imposing door, knocked and eventually was greeted by an elderly dwarf in a simple robe that after an initial confused gaze at our friend fell into a wide grin (I could swear I saw the glint of a tear in his eyes) and greeted “the young master” back home. Grum introduced him as Hoisin, the housekeeper of the family who had known him since he was but a young pebble bouncing around the house (an image upon which we collectively had to hold in breaking into a loud fit of laughter). The two of them exchanged the major updates since their last meeting, Grum reporting from his success with his apprentices in Neverwinter and Hoisin surprising him that his oldest sister had managed to go through the brewery training even quicker than he had many years prior. This Jari Rockbrew seemed to now venture from helping their father run the family business in Grum’s absence to aiming to take parts of it over fully. As these tales were exchanged, we were led through magnificent hallways into a cozy living room lit by an impressive chandelier and dominated by a sturdy wooden table on the one end and an array of rather soft looking couches at the other. The walls were decorated with what must have been the de-facto heads of the family of the last few generations of Rockbrews. After what undoubtedly had to be Grum’s father, instead of his own portrait that of a young dwarven woman was put up as the last in line. The only trace of the only son in this generation of the family was a framed picture of the Rockbrew family on the mantelpiece. On somewhat tainted canvas, next to the stern features of his father and mother, a dwarf no older than perhaps ten or twenty summers cradled a baby in his arms with the older sister standing next to him.
Our musings were interrupted by the door flinging wide open and a blur rushing into the room, flinging arms around a grinning Grum and immediately showering him with questions. We later learned that Loni, his younger sister, had perhaps the strongest connection still to him. Soon after her daughter, Ann Rockbrew followed to greet her son and other guests, visibly trying to keep a scolding expression for him not visiting for a decade while hardly containing a warm smile under the mask. She proclaimed that Jari and their father were still at work but would welcome us as well when they were ready. Grum immediately pulled out a flask for his family to try some of his own brew which they both approved of, even if Ann seemed somewhat surprised at the quality she undoubtedly found herself with. Together, we retold our adventures, earning plenty of disbelieving glances from Grum’s mother, while Loni hung at his lips with an admiration that had no rival. Half-way through our tale, the door opened once more. Jari Rockbrew, the probable heir to the family business, stood stoutly in the doorframe and greeted Grum brusquely but heartily. She appeared to have come straight from the brewery, clad in work attire, her short beard somewhat stained and accompanied by a strong smell of hops. She too got to taste his most proud creation. We all involuntarily held our breaths for her verdict and released an audible sigh when she said: “not bad.”
When we eventually finished our tale, Kyla threw in that there were a handful of things we needed to still look into in the city and to possibly leave the family to their reunion for now. Thus, the natives to the city kindly organised a guide for us not to get lost in the many caverns of the lower part of Mirabar. Shortly after, a dwarf named Gloigur took us under his wings and following Nysqwen’s request, led us back to the upper city and towards the Hall of the Alliance. On the way, Kyla enquired about possible vendors for those seeking their fortune in adventuring and our guide named the Hall of Bright Blades as the prime arms and armour manufacturer and shop in the city. Further, there was Luizhana’s Emporium for all manner of magical trinkets and of course Pippo Proudfoot’s alchemy laboratory. These Proudfeet seem to have left their tracks all over the north of the Swordcoast!
At the Alliance, Nysqwen took the lead and after brief introductions we were brought into a small private audience chamber. Before long, a brown-haired and -bearded dwarf entered, clad in massive plate mail with the symbol of Moradin embossed over the chest. Osrik Stonedigger truly was an impressive appearance, one that made it very clear that one would not wish to be on the other side of his war hammer. Together, Nysqwen and I told once more of the things that had befallen us in Neverwinter and on our journey here, expressing Lord Neverember’s concern regarding the current developments. Occasionally, Osrik interjected with clarifying questions, telling of his experience as a strategist and war veteran who knew which seemingly random events might add together to some larger picture. He also easily conveyed the sense of being someone who deeply cared about the people living in the areas the Alliance spread their influence over. He confirmed that the orc attacks descending from the Spine of the World had grown in number and ferocity recently and the mines continued to be plagued with all manner of uncivilised creatures. Mostly, they were in constant strife with the roaming duergar bands, but at least for a while now there had been less illithid encounters. With our tales involving various drow, he mused that there might have been a bit of a cluster of run-ins with the dark elves as of late, and some fomorians that seemed to revel in raiding mines. He spoke of rumours he had heard about gnoll activities in the Lurkwood, upon which we all exchanged knowing glances and I took the executive decision to tell him also about our run-ins with the humanoid hyenas, albeit without mentioning us knowing a treant of all things. Kyla described the markings that the leader of the gnoll tribe had displayed. The commander cursed something in dwarvish and identified it as the mark of Yeenoghu, a kind of deity that the gnolls worshipped, allegedly stemming from some deep recess of the Abyss and the literal father of their kind. According to legends, this being on occasion has roamed our own plane and usually left an unmistakable trail of destruction in his wake. He proclaimed he would need to mull on this and other reports further but if we wanted some more information on the Lurkwood or other things we should seek out Nada, the librarian of the Hall. Further, a friend of his, Dragan Rockbreaker, a captain in the Axe of Mirabar, might be a valuable contact if we wanted to approach the organisation on behalf of the Lords’ Alliance.
We left Osrik with much to think about and perhaps more questions than we had at our arrival. Thus troubled, we immediately went to find this Nada he had mentioned and soon met with a dwarven woman in a simple robe and with small spectacles, that in conjunction with her short haircut and only mild fuzz around the chin made her eyes appear strangely large in her face. She told us that the main infestation that the Lurkwood was plagued with as far as reports in recent years went were giant spiders that seemed to breed like rabbits in the dark recesses of the forest. There were some other reports of more sinister creatures and she promised she would inquire and gather what she could over the next few days for us to have a look through.
With this at least on its way, we let the Hall of the Alliance and finally stepped out again into the cool afternoon. Much to our surprise, where we were thinking of finding Gloigur, we found the dwarf in a heated debate with Grum who apparently had taken an educated guess as to where he might find us and now was deep in an argument whether bottom- or top-fermented beers were the way forward.
The remainder of the afternoon we spent gathering various bits of equipment for us all. Teynos was on the lookout for a pouch for his staff and found a tailor that was willing to make one for the next day. Looking for a jeweller to part ways with the gems we had accumulated over our travels and to find some diamond spell components for Kyla, she eventually found a small shop called the Golden Hammer where Thei Goldsmith seemed to be well sought-after given the amounts of customers he could boast this late in the day. Master Goldsmith himself appeared as sparkling as his wares, with hair and beard richly decorated with golden clasps and pins. He gave us a good price for what we currently could offer and promised to make us a good price if we were to return to him with decent quality stones from further excursions. While keeping Gloigur well-entertained with what Grum referred to as a “Fußpils”, Kyla and I entered a bookshop where she looked for and found a tome about the well-established and more fringe religions and deities across Faerûn. I on the other hand found a massive book with collected tales by the famed Calimpanni author Sheherazade which I had been searching for for years. It even has an inscription, though it is in a language I am woefully unfamiliar with.
From there, our path brought us to the Hall of Bright Blades, a two-story building that itself looked more like a fortress than a simple weapon shop. Multiple guards eyed us on our way towards the entrance, where we passed through some kind of magical curtain to enter the proper store. Upon striding through the slightly shimmering barrier, I felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, but the moment of bliss soon turned into bemused wonder (and mostly on Kyla’s behalf outrage) when we became aware that all our armour and weapons had suddenly disappeared! We were quickly greeted by a human woman who explained that this was a mere safety precaution and promised that we would get everything back as soon as we left. It took some convincing, but eventually all of us were content with what had happened, and we could resume our perusing of their wares. The interior of the shop was strangely warm and the prevailing sound of metal clinking on metal let us conclude that the forge associated with the store must be located just below the sales area. Further rooms branched off the main hall we were standing in, plaques proclaiming them as being dedicated to specific types of gear. The woman that greeted us initially led us to one of the rooms where she showed us bags in which the belongings of entering customers were temporarily kept so that we could access the wild assortment of collected weaponry that we would want to sell. The vendor then showed us various mundane and enchanted pieces that would be of interest to us, from which Nysqwen purchased a belt that promised a magical return of thrown weapons, and Grum a new sickle that had faintly silvery glowing runes engraved along the spine of the blade.
From there, given the time of day, we decided it was time to loosen up a little after all the travelling and near-death experiences and go for a good ol’ pub crawl. Starting in the lower city in the Eye of the Beholder, we went through at least five establishments before, much to my shame or pride, I cannot quite decide yet, the evening became a blur of drink, song and dance with my dear friends. That berry ale from the Beholder though, I need to make a note of coming back to!
 
Thankfully, this was not my first rodeo and I must have taken care to douse myself with enough water that when I came back to my senses on the next morning, my head was not an utter mess. Over breakfast, Nysqwen filled those of us with a spotty memory in that after an especially ferocious dancing fit, Teynos must have gotten lost somewhere while babbling something to do with his new pouch. Together, we set out to look for the half orc, with Kyla magically asking the Raven Queen for guidance in the search. We indeed found him at the tailor where he had commissioned his bag the previous day and was just debating that mushrooms should be just as acceptable a currency as gold, with them being so much easier to cook a meal from out in the wild than hard metal coinage. Sighing, though at least in my case also broadly grinning, we settled his debt and, led again by Gloigur made for Luizhana’s Emporium. Grum said he was not familiar with the place himself, it must have opened within the last 20 years or so. Our guide led us to what turned out to be a large tent in the upper city. However large it appeared from outside, much to my surprise it was a veritable tent palace on the inside with multiple layers, curtained-off sections and shelves upon shelves of knick-knacks, artifacts, scrolls, books, jewellery and weaponry from what looked like all over Toril. An old female tiefling with a voice in which I could get lost in greeted us and introduced herself as the owner of the Emporium. Everything about Luizhana bespoke a previous life filled to the brim with stories, many of which likely rivalled those collected by Sheherazade in outrageousness. Her dark purple forearms were covered in faded scars, her lightly curved horns chipped in places, yet her flowing green cloak avoided all the precariously placed wares in her shop with a dexterity that only came from immense amounts of practice in moving in just as precarious locations. The picture was completed by a three-eyed toad that squatted on the counter next to her and eyed us as intensely as Luizhana herself. The wares she offered were equally fascinating, though for the most part also just as pricey. Still, much to the generosity of my friends, I eventually left (for now) this tent of wonders with a shiny new rapier and a circlet that would hopefully aid us in some of the battles ahead.
 
From there, we scattered for the remaining afternoon, with Grum and his sisters going to the Red Barrel for some scheming and Kyla, Nysqwen and Teynos to the temple of the Raven Queen to possibly gain some more information about the Lurkwood and possibly Yeenoghu. In the meantime, I retreated to my room for a few hours to work on some new material, so many new sights, experiences and impressions over the last weeks that want to be put into song! It feels like forever ago that I got to flex the musical muscles, about time to get a few lines on parchment. Eventually though, I headed downstairs to join Grum and the others. In the tavern room, a colourful human was telling a tale of the shepherds of the Lurkwood that are fabled watchers of all life that wanders within and protectors towards those that raise their axes without thinking. Allegedly, no one has seen these creatures in hundreds of years, and they only reveal themselves to those pure of heart and good of intent. I almost burst out laughing, side-eyeing Grum who wisely hid his face behind a tankard for most of the story. I approached the raconteur upon him ending his telling with a drink in hand for the both of us to hear about the origin of his story and opinion on its veracity. According to him, tales such as this were numerous in the lands surrounding the Lurkwood and while there may be some kernel of truth hidden within, it seemed an outrageous idea for beings as large and powerful as these supposed watchers to never have been sighted by travelling folk. Still, he agreed that it was a comforting thought that some forces beyond our immediate comprehension might strife for what is good in the world. Since he learned of my own profession in the exchange, he bade me to perhaps share some of my own repertoire, and thus the next hour was spent on a retelling of the story of the Rat King and how an illustrious band called the Greenscales saved the city of Neverwinter from certain doom. I might have taken a handful (okay, maybe more than a handful) creative liberties in the weaving of the tale and made sure that there remained enough wonder to have the audience question whether it all could be true or not, as one is want to do when trying to capture the minds of folk that want to escape from the worries of their every day lives. My fellow colleague shot me a curious glance here or there, but I made sure that the members of this adventuring group did not bear too close a resemblance with any of the people present.
Just a bell ago, the others have returned and told us that there was not much new knowledge gained from the members of the temple. However, Kyla had been bestowed with a new vision while Nysqwen and Teynos got some more indoctrinations into the fabulous works of the Raven Queen by the local high priest. What she told us speaks of far worse fates converging than anything we have seen thus far, though some things in motion we might have crossed paths with. Just remembering her words sends cold shivers down my spine. Mystra, what does this all mean? As best as I now recall from memory, the vision went something like:
 
Absolute Darkness, absolute Quiet.
Then – steps in the dark, echoing in the Emptiness.
A grey vastness begins taking shape, as far as the eye can see. All is covered in the splintered bones of the legions of the fallen. Empty eye sockets staring into eternity.
A sudden flash of black as a mighty raven appears, midnight-hewn wings thundering through the emptiness. It circles above Kyla, whispering of times long past. Then a second apparition, this one a tall, veiled woman in a cloak of shadow and feathers. Lifeless, white eyes engulf the cleric, a gaze peering past skin and bones straight into the soul.
“You seek answers, child of shadow… They have been hidden – yet not forgotten!”
A waving of a pale hand, parting the darkness to images of sceneries that are contorted as through a veil of fog.
A black blade, resting in a jagged chasm with walls of pulsing darkness. Hands of living shadow, grasping for the weapon yet being held back by some unseen force. A voice hisses from the deep: “The Blade calls – And someone will answer!”
A circle of arcane weavers conducting a ritual, whilst dark fog condenses in their midst. Suddenly, a portal tearing open and from darkness a mask appears. A person snatches for it, their eyes suddenly peering empty, their skin turning a sickly grey and their mouth falling open to a voiceless cry, before falling to the ground. Another wizard stepping forth, unimpressed, picking up the mask. “Her whispering returns to mortal hands!”
A crumbled sepulchre, deep in a forgotten vault. Ruins of black stone shimmering in the light of blue ghost flames. In the midst hovers a staff, pulsing with restless souls, fighting to flee their imprisonment. Someone approaches, his fingers meeting the artefact – a bloodcurdling scream tearing through the air. “The web of souls is cast once more!”
The silk of the cloak glides through the hands of a young woman, a city of black stone and violet light at her feet. Her form begins to shift – skin turning darker, eyes aglow with a red light. She rises and spiders flock from the shadows, serving their mistress. “The mantle has found its new bearer!”
A temple in the Underdark, forgotten and sealed. A band of seekers stands before an old statue whose heart pulses with Darkness. One of the figures touches it, then blackness swallows all light in the room. “The Twilight returns – and with it the shadows it casts!”
Upon a black altar, surrounded by thick, violet wafts of mist rests a dark sceptre. A figure carefully steps closer, whispering an old incantation. The air crackles and dark vines sprout from the ground, form into claws and grasp for the one claiming the artifact. “It only serves one who is not afraid of the dark!”
An old, forlorn gaol. Chains dangling from the ceiling, some empty, others still clasping the skeletal remains of former prisoners. One of the chains begins quivering, as if breathing. Then – a loud crack, the chain tearing the chamber apart with all its might. “Binding and Control – yet who is leading and who is being led?”
An endless tunnel, swallowed by rock and darkness. Voices echoing in the void, but no source can be seen “A shadow, hidden even from shadows themselves!”
A ruined temple, overrun by chaos. Amidst the rubble lies a golden amulet with a fine tear, covered with dark spots. Yet it shatters to dust upon a faint touch. “The hidden blade turned dull, its power waning with time!”
A dull, empty shrine, covered in cobwebs. Where once was housed an idol, only a jagged crack in reality remains. “The fingers of the Spider Queen do no longer reach this world!”
An ancient world tree, roots dug deep into the earth. Somewhere amidst its branches rests a gleaming shard, once an artefact of dark might. “The Darkness that it held was expended – But by what?”
A dark forest, sick and cursed. Something slumbers beneath the ground, its pulse an echo of a former power. A finely chiselled face – Nature itself seems to tremble before it. “Neither destroyed nor forgotten!”
The Raven Queen lifts a hand and the visions fade. Her lone voice remains, a cold echo on the mind. “Some of those forces have risen again. Others still slumber – yet their rest is not eternal. Those who seek will find them. The question is not if they will be used but by whom. Death does not forget – But sometimes the living remember too late!”