Session 20230907 Finally Chanta
General Summary
Bertrum's Journal
Dear Diary
As ink meets parchment, I record the curious turn of events that have befallen us. Nightshade, with her insatiable curiosity, led us into a situation both puzzling and perilous.
Her desire for knowledge drove her to infiltrate the temple in Brightside, which, to our amazement, also doubled as a manse. She disguised herself as one of the temple's priests and ventured inside. Within, she encountered massive oaken doors that, to our befuddlement, opened into naught but a bare stone wall. Even her mystical compass pointed to the manse within the wall, but she could not uncover a means of entry. Instead, she stumbled upon the temple's strong room and committed a daring act of theft, pilfering many of its precious jade coins.
Intriguingly, I later explained to Nightshade that this peculiar situation is referred to as a "God's Sanctum." Only those personally invited by the divine may gain access to its secrets, hence her fruitless attempts at ingress.
Our next disturbance arrived in the form of identical dreams shared by Nightshade, Lyris, and myself. These nocturnal visions depicted a group of ominous figures, clad in formidable armour, conducting a relentless search, as if they hunted us. Rather than interpreting this as an act of intimidation, we collectively perceived it as a cryptic message and a caution.
Responding to this perceived warning, we decided to alter our previously established course. Instead of proceeding directly to Chanta, our destination, we chose to backtrack and revisit the Serene Monastery. There, we hoped to gather insights regarding the unsettling dream and the potential threats it alluded to.
Upon sharing our tale with the Mistress of the Grey Wall, she, too, expressed her curiosity about the enigmatic dream. Regrettably, she could not identify the sender of the shared dreams. However, she did provide us with a piece of troubling intelligence: the Wyld Hunt, a faction of Dragon-Blooded sworn to hunt down Solar Exalted, was purportedly making their way upriver to Chanta. Their guise, an embassy from the Realm, would serve as their cunning disguise. This alarming revelation led us to contemplate the wisdom of venturing to Chanta at all. Yet, when the Mistress informed us of the presence of another Solar Exalted in Chanta who had drawn considerable attention, we resolved to press forward and warn this fellow Solar of the looming danger. Our journey continued via the Storm Wind Rider spell, initially stopping in Brightside to gather a stock of lighters we had manufactured earlier. From there, we embarked directly for Chanta, drawing the watchful gaze of Fair Folk hunting parties as we sped through the skies. One of their arrows found its mark, though the injury was thankfully minor. Thus, we find ourselves en route to Chanta, guided by caution and circumspection, as we brace ourselves to confront the shadowy spectre of the approaching Wild Hunt.
Upon our arrival in the bustling city of Chanta, a realm teeming with vibrant life and intrigue, I, ever the inquisitive seeker, embarked on a mission to secure a knowledgeable guide who could navigate the labyrinthine streets of this enigmatic place. My quest bore fruitful results, leading me to a most capable companion: a former soldier, and who, in a charming twist of fate, was betrothed to a kindred spirit. Having procured such an ideal guide, we sought refuge in an esteemed inn, strategically chosen for its proximity to the establishment where the extroverted Solar, the Lord of Returning Justice, was known to frequent. It was here that we hoped to establish contact and relay our solemn message. Upon entering the inn, we encountered a spectacle. The Lord of Returning Justice, a Dawn Caste Solar whose exploits echoed through the very timbers of the tavern, regaled a rapt audience with his triumphs. His Solar Caste Mark, a radiant emblem of his divine heritage, adorned his brow like a resplendent diadem. Upon the completion of formal introductions, I ventured to request a private audience with the Lord of Returning Justice, eager to divulge the grave tidings that had led us to his presence. Much to my bewilderment, our revelation about the imminent threat posed by the Wyld Hunt barely seemed to ruffle his composure. It was his sagacious head advisor who grasped the gravity of our words, his brow furrowing with deep concern. In an effort to conceal our own Solar natures, for I harboured reservations regarding the Lord's discretion, we attributed our warning to our affiliation with the Cult of the Illuminated Ones. We contended that it was our sacred duty to safeguard and guide fellow Solar Exalted.
Upon our exit from the inn, an intriguing sight unveiled itself: large sacks of salt were being delivered. The circumstances surrounding this delivery piqued my curiosity. I rushed back into the inn, my purpose urgent. I inquired of the Lord of Returning Justice whether he had been visited by a dream akin to the one that had haunted our nights two evenings past. Astonishingly, he had experienced such a vision. His head advisor, a paragon of wisdom, was appalled that this significant revelation had been concealed from us by his lord. Indeed, it became evident that the Lord of Returning Justice was ensnared by the tendrils of vanity, arrogance, and possibly folly. In further conversation, it was disclosed that their journey would lead them to the Noss Fens, a region southeast of Halta, where their mission involved combating malevolent spirits—hence the sacks of salt. With the Lord's disposition and their destination made clear, I departed from the inn once more, returning to my pursuit of establishing a revenue stream in Chanta. My research led me to converse with soldiers, both in Brightside and Chanta, in an effort to better understand their equipment needs, identify prevailing issues, and discern the improvements required. This knowledge served as the foundation upon which I would craft the ultimate military backpack, one designed to alleviate fatigue and enhance accessibility to vital gear. My material of choice was one capable of resisting water, and my design featured an ingenious construction, reducible to a single piece of material. The result, in my humble estimation, stands as a masterpiece of design, perhaps the zenith of my craftsmanship. With this exceptional backpack in my possession, I intend to engage with Chanta's military officers and vie for a contract to supply their army with these peerless creations. As the day waned, I entrusted our messenger god, Spring's First Kill, with a vital mission. He was dispatched to find Fear Eater, bearing with him the details of the dream that had beset us and the ominous presence of the Wyld Hunt on its inexorable approach to Chanta. I await the return of our messenger god, hopeful that Fear Eater may offer counsel, guidance, or even a measure of support in this precarious hour. Yours Bertrum Blumenthal - the Manifold Tinkerer of the Road
Upon sharing our tale with the Mistress of the Grey Wall, she, too, expressed her curiosity about the enigmatic dream. Regrettably, she could not identify the sender of the shared dreams. However, she did provide us with a piece of troubling intelligence: the Wyld Hunt, a faction of Dragon-Blooded sworn to hunt down Solar Exalted, was purportedly making their way upriver to Chanta. Their guise, an embassy from the Realm, would serve as their cunning disguise. This alarming revelation led us to contemplate the wisdom of venturing to Chanta at all. Yet, when the Mistress informed us of the presence of another Solar Exalted in Chanta who had drawn considerable attention, we resolved to press forward and warn this fellow Solar of the looming danger. Our journey continued via the Storm Wind Rider spell, initially stopping in Brightside to gather a stock of lighters we had manufactured earlier. From there, we embarked directly for Chanta, drawing the watchful gaze of Fair Folk hunting parties as we sped through the skies. One of their arrows found its mark, though the injury was thankfully minor. Thus, we find ourselves en route to Chanta, guided by caution and circumspection, as we brace ourselves to confront the shadowy spectre of the approaching Wild Hunt.
Upon our arrival in the bustling city of Chanta, a realm teeming with vibrant life and intrigue, I, ever the inquisitive seeker, embarked on a mission to secure a knowledgeable guide who could navigate the labyrinthine streets of this enigmatic place. My quest bore fruitful results, leading me to a most capable companion: a former soldier, and who, in a charming twist of fate, was betrothed to a kindred spirit. Having procured such an ideal guide, we sought refuge in an esteemed inn, strategically chosen for its proximity to the establishment where the extroverted Solar, the Lord of Returning Justice, was known to frequent. It was here that we hoped to establish contact and relay our solemn message. Upon entering the inn, we encountered a spectacle. The Lord of Returning Justice, a Dawn Caste Solar whose exploits echoed through the very timbers of the tavern, regaled a rapt audience with his triumphs. His Solar Caste Mark, a radiant emblem of his divine heritage, adorned his brow like a resplendent diadem. Upon the completion of formal introductions, I ventured to request a private audience with the Lord of Returning Justice, eager to divulge the grave tidings that had led us to his presence. Much to my bewilderment, our revelation about the imminent threat posed by the Wyld Hunt barely seemed to ruffle his composure. It was his sagacious head advisor who grasped the gravity of our words, his brow furrowing with deep concern. In an effort to conceal our own Solar natures, for I harboured reservations regarding the Lord's discretion, we attributed our warning to our affiliation with the Cult of the Illuminated Ones. We contended that it was our sacred duty to safeguard and guide fellow Solar Exalted.
Upon our exit from the inn, an intriguing sight unveiled itself: large sacks of salt were being delivered. The circumstances surrounding this delivery piqued my curiosity. I rushed back into the inn, my purpose urgent. I inquired of the Lord of Returning Justice whether he had been visited by a dream akin to the one that had haunted our nights two evenings past. Astonishingly, he had experienced such a vision. His head advisor, a paragon of wisdom, was appalled that this significant revelation had been concealed from us by his lord. Indeed, it became evident that the Lord of Returning Justice was ensnared by the tendrils of vanity, arrogance, and possibly folly. In further conversation, it was disclosed that their journey would lead them to the Noss Fens, a region southeast of Halta, where their mission involved combating malevolent spirits—hence the sacks of salt. With the Lord's disposition and their destination made clear, I departed from the inn once more, returning to my pursuit of establishing a revenue stream in Chanta. My research led me to converse with soldiers, both in Brightside and Chanta, in an effort to better understand their equipment needs, identify prevailing issues, and discern the improvements required. This knowledge served as the foundation upon which I would craft the ultimate military backpack, one designed to alleviate fatigue and enhance accessibility to vital gear. My material of choice was one capable of resisting water, and my design featured an ingenious construction, reducible to a single piece of material. The result, in my humble estimation, stands as a masterpiece of design, perhaps the zenith of my craftsmanship. With this exceptional backpack in my possession, I intend to engage with Chanta's military officers and vie for a contract to supply their army with these peerless creations. As the day waned, I entrusted our messenger god, Spring's First Kill, with a vital mission. He was dispatched to find Fear Eater, bearing with him the details of the dream that had beset us and the ominous presence of the Wyld Hunt on its inexorable approach to Chanta. I await the return of our messenger god, hopeful that Fear Eater may offer counsel, guidance, or even a measure of support in this precarious hour. Yours Bertrum Blumenthal - the Manifold Tinkerer of the Road