A Dungeons & Dragons Campaign
Sunday, 8 July 2012
Temple of Bheestah
Hidden below the Azure Sea near the Rocks of Anguish, this Temple dedicated to the Elemental Princess of Water was the resting place of the Umbar-shard.
Rocks of Anguish
A rocky outcrop south of the City of Saphire in the Azure sea, this was for many years the hunting ground of the great serpent which brought despair to the minds of hapless sailors who were unfortunate to come unwittingly in its path. A popular spot for other beastly scavengers who deterred all but the brave or foolish from seeking the entrance to the Temple of Bheestah.
Isle of the Machines
A small island to the south-east of Shushan / south-west of Darvish Kapur where golems work unendingly to construct and repair an ancient Zygarot of the Ankivari which contains a factory for making more of the same golems.
Umbar-shard
The truly unique vessel shaped like giant metallic hammerhead shark was created by ancient Umbrians which gave it its name. Fuelled by magical items and piloted through bonding with the spirit trapped within its hulls, the ship is capable of transporting up to a dozen people either above or below the waters at great speed.
Its current bond-mate is Shade the Umbrian.
Saturday, 7 July 2012
11th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
We had been sailing for no more than a few days when the weather began to turn against us. The wind howled through our sails and waves crashed over the deck. What was once a calm blue sea had turned into a maelstrom. I gripped the railings for support and saw a dark shape skim under the water towards us. Our ship rocked violently as it passed underneath before breaching the waterline just beyond our prow. A tail as thick as I am tall surged out of the water and came down upon the decking, snapping the dhow in two. Wood splintered and rigging snapped under the force as we were sent flying into the sea.
I managed to find purchase on what was once some decking and readied myself to repel the creature. As it raised its head again, I could see that my companions had similar plans. Every now and then, between the beast’s thrashing, I could make out the small figure of Raouf clinging to some tendrils while digging deep grooves in its hide with his blade.
After what felt like a lifetime later, we dealt the killing blow and the creatures lifeless corpse sank below the crashing waves. As it disappeared from view, the turbulent ocean simmered down back to the serene mirror-like surface and we were left stranded on whatever makeshift rafts we could muster. Ahead, a collection of jagged rocks came into view. Too exhausted to mount a response, we allowed ourselves to drift with the current towards solid ground.
I awoke a few moments later to a clear blue sky and a pounding headache. Every muscle in my body ached in protest as I rolled over to cough up a hearty mixture of blood and saltwater. Never again, I swore to myself. The next trip I take will be over land. Maybe through a desert or somewhere. There was a flurry of commotion as I waved the gulls away and crawled up onto higher ground, where I saw my companions had followed suit.
We spent a few moments gathering ourselves and taking stock. It was fortuitous that most of our equipment washed up on the rafts, but it would appear that the Mufti’s wondrous carpet now resided at the ocean floor. These rocks offered little more than desolation, but we discovered one small curiosity that may bring hope: No more than 10 feet below the surface, a small aperture opened up into a tunnel that stretched out below the rocks themselves. Given the option of dehydration again or being pecked alive by gulls, we figured that whatever lay below could be no worse than where we were.
Pang was first to dive below the surface, making light work of the ocean currents. We watched as he poked his head through the hole for a few moments and then slid through the opening. Roauf and Shade were next to follow suit, leaving myself and Maissa treading water. Taking a moment to secure my equipment, I plunged beneath the waves and made for the cave mouth.
I can’t have been more than a foot into the cave when the water appeared to halt completely, as though a wall of air barred its progress. I didn’t have much time to comprehend the sudden change in environment when gravity took hold once more and I was sent tumbling into the darkness below.
We crashed and clattered down the passageway before coming to a halt on a finely worked stone floor. I stood up and worked a couple of cantrips to dry out my clothing before the form of Maissa came barrelling down the tunnel moments later. Looking ahead, the floor panned out into a huge stone cavern. Four pillars of what must have been ornately carved coral stretched from floor to ceiling and there in the centre, stood a gathering of abyssal fiends. There was little time to prepare before the beasts pounced, each with rending claws and poisonous aura. I threw up whatever shielding spells I could and had it not been for some fortune we would have been easily overpowered. As it stood, we were able to repel the creatures and an expertly thrown dagger brought a swift end to the largest beast.
Pausing for a moment to bandage my wounds, I was able to take in more of the environment around us. Littering the floor and columns were glyphs in the hundreds each one finely carved into the masonry with more care and attention than we had come to expect from the fiends. My limited study into the elemental histories told me that this was a temple to Bheestah, the elemental princess of water.
Ahead was a raised platform where several offerings sat placed within a circle of pure white salt. Whether the salt was placed to protect the offerings from the fiends, or as part of a wider ritual it was hard to say. But whoever placed them would be long gone by now.
It was only when we reached the platform did we discover the true wonder of this temple; a wall of water stretched from floor to ceiling and behind the shimmering surface loomed a dark and alien shape. Tentatively we drew nearer, weapons drawn and prepared for a second bout of combat. Instead the shape revealed itself to be a huge metallic shark-like construction, clearly of manmade design. Bolts and rivets secured the various sections of metal hide together and along the side at regular intervals were small glass windows.
I managed to find purchase on what was once some decking and readied myself to repel the creature. As it raised its head again, I could see that my companions had similar plans. Every now and then, between the beast’s thrashing, I could make out the small figure of Raouf clinging to some tendrils while digging deep grooves in its hide with his blade.
After what felt like a lifetime later, we dealt the killing blow and the creatures lifeless corpse sank below the crashing waves. As it disappeared from view, the turbulent ocean simmered down back to the serene mirror-like surface and we were left stranded on whatever makeshift rafts we could muster. Ahead, a collection of jagged rocks came into view. Too exhausted to mount a response, we allowed ourselves to drift with the current towards solid ground.
I awoke a few moments later to a clear blue sky and a pounding headache. Every muscle in my body ached in protest as I rolled over to cough up a hearty mixture of blood and saltwater. Never again, I swore to myself. The next trip I take will be over land. Maybe through a desert or somewhere. There was a flurry of commotion as I waved the gulls away and crawled up onto higher ground, where I saw my companions had followed suit.
We spent a few moments gathering ourselves and taking stock. It was fortuitous that most of our equipment washed up on the rafts, but it would appear that the Mufti’s wondrous carpet now resided at the ocean floor. These rocks offered little more than desolation, but we discovered one small curiosity that may bring hope: No more than 10 feet below the surface, a small aperture opened up into a tunnel that stretched out below the rocks themselves. Given the option of dehydration again or being pecked alive by gulls, we figured that whatever lay below could be no worse than where we were.
Pang was first to dive below the surface, making light work of the ocean currents. We watched as he poked his head through the hole for a few moments and then slid through the opening. Roauf and Shade were next to follow suit, leaving myself and Maissa treading water. Taking a moment to secure my equipment, I plunged beneath the waves and made for the cave mouth.
I can’t have been more than a foot into the cave when the water appeared to halt completely, as though a wall of air barred its progress. I didn’t have much time to comprehend the sudden change in environment when gravity took hold once more and I was sent tumbling into the darkness below.
We crashed and clattered down the passageway before coming to a halt on a finely worked stone floor. I stood up and worked a couple of cantrips to dry out my clothing before the form of Maissa came barrelling down the tunnel moments later. Looking ahead, the floor panned out into a huge stone cavern. Four pillars of what must have been ornately carved coral stretched from floor to ceiling and there in the centre, stood a gathering of abyssal fiends. There was little time to prepare before the beasts pounced, each with rending claws and poisonous aura. I threw up whatever shielding spells I could and had it not been for some fortune we would have been easily overpowered. As it stood, we were able to repel the creatures and an expertly thrown dagger brought a swift end to the largest beast.
Pausing for a moment to bandage my wounds, I was able to take in more of the environment around us. Littering the floor and columns were glyphs in the hundreds each one finely carved into the masonry with more care and attention than we had come to expect from the fiends. My limited study into the elemental histories told me that this was a temple to Bheestah, the elemental princess of water.
Ahead was a raised platform where several offerings sat placed within a circle of pure white salt. Whether the salt was placed to protect the offerings from the fiends, or as part of a wider ritual it was hard to say. But whoever placed them would be long gone by now.
It was only when we reached the platform did we discover the true wonder of this temple; a wall of water stretched from floor to ceiling and behind the shimmering surface loomed a dark and alien shape. Tentatively we drew nearer, weapons drawn and prepared for a second bout of combat. Instead the shape revealed itself to be a huge metallic shark-like construction, clearly of manmade design. Bolts and rivets secured the various sections of metal hide together and along the side at regular intervals were small glass windows.
[ Incomplete. ]
10th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
As day broke and the sun crept over the structure, we began to see a change in the script that covered the doorway. Where before it was indecipherable, now three symbols stood prominently over the doorway which in common read out as “FIRE OPEN NOW”. As I stood there trying to unravel the riddle before us, the young boy Raouf strode forward and read the words aloud in a language I can only imagine to be Umbrian. No sooner had he finished the last syllable, the great stone doors began to slide inwards and we were met by a blast of heat beyond anything I had experienced.
Hours passed as we took turns trying to decipher a means of entry. Raouf had given up and returned with several coconuts which were well received, Shade was left constructing some kind of sail for reasons best known to himself, Pang and myself took cover under some trees to watch Maissa continue to throw various objects through the doorway out of little more than desperation.
The afternoon dragged on and the sun crawled across the sky until but a sliver of light fell over the trees and onto the stone doorway. With little more to do, we watched the light slowly disappear and as it did so the heat that emanated from within rapidly extinguished. Cautiously, we made our way into the darkness.
We made our way down a sloping corridor, dispatching several guardians on the way and came out to a large central chamber. Hulking clay men lined the walls for as far as the eye could see and in the centre, an assembly line ticked onwards. Unlike the heavy handed process of the clay men outside this process was more detailed, more organic. Crystals were collected from a central sieve and were passed down from automation to automation and in doing so, became more recognisable with each stop. By the end of the process, these rough glass crystals had become the clay men where after they were unceremoniously dumped in a lifeless pile. It seemed that like the clay men, this process had instruction but suffered a fault and was never corrected thus continuing to manufacture duds.
After some examination, one curious property of the crystals is that they seem to absorb either heat or magic. Small fire spells and cantrips are snuffed almost immediately, whereas my larger spells are consumed to the point of saturation. After which, the crystals violently expel the excess energy.
Despite my objections, it was made clear that such a factory cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. If someone like Wassim learned of it and were able to reactivate the clay men, he would have an army far greater than anything seen in the Caliphate. So Pang tossed a torch into one of the crystal piles and we made our escape. Behind us, the crystals began to glow with stored energy and one by one they hit total saturation. We were barely out the door before the explosion rocked the island, stone and debris came clattering down from the sky as we ran for cover.
The clay men around us had ceased their routine and began to congregate, shoulder to shoulder, around the building. I watched as the last one fell into place and, as one, the raised their faces to the sky and let out a deep droning cry. It echoed throughout the island, washing over the trees and almost deafening us in the process. While I scrambled to my feet, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up as a huge magical aura now engulfed the island’s interior. Overhead, black clouds began to form in what what once a clear azure sky, thunder crackled and lightning began to dance between them. Then it rained. It was a torrent of water, unrelenting until every inch of this area was soaked through.
We collected as much water as we could, in everything from waterskin to coconut shell. By now the flaming structure was smouldering and the golems had fallen into inactivity. Knowing there was nothing more for us here, we returned to the ship and once again set sail for Shushan.
Hours passed as we took turns trying to decipher a means of entry. Raouf had given up and returned with several coconuts which were well received, Shade was left constructing some kind of sail for reasons best known to himself, Pang and myself took cover under some trees to watch Maissa continue to throw various objects through the doorway out of little more than desperation.
The afternoon dragged on and the sun crawled across the sky until but a sliver of light fell over the trees and onto the stone doorway. With little more to do, we watched the light slowly disappear and as it did so the heat that emanated from within rapidly extinguished. Cautiously, we made our way into the darkness.
We made our way down a sloping corridor, dispatching several guardians on the way and came out to a large central chamber. Hulking clay men lined the walls for as far as the eye could see and in the centre, an assembly line ticked onwards. Unlike the heavy handed process of the clay men outside this process was more detailed, more organic. Crystals were collected from a central sieve and were passed down from automation to automation and in doing so, became more recognisable with each stop. By the end of the process, these rough glass crystals had become the clay men where after they were unceremoniously dumped in a lifeless pile. It seemed that like the clay men, this process had instruction but suffered a fault and was never corrected thus continuing to manufacture duds.
After some examination, one curious property of the crystals is that they seem to absorb either heat or magic. Small fire spells and cantrips are snuffed almost immediately, whereas my larger spells are consumed to the point of saturation. After which, the crystals violently expel the excess energy.
Despite my objections, it was made clear that such a factory cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. If someone like Wassim learned of it and were able to reactivate the clay men, he would have an army far greater than anything seen in the Caliphate. So Pang tossed a torch into one of the crystal piles and we made our escape. Behind us, the crystals began to glow with stored energy and one by one they hit total saturation. We were barely out the door before the explosion rocked the island, stone and debris came clattering down from the sky as we ran for cover.
The clay men around us had ceased their routine and began to congregate, shoulder to shoulder, around the building. I watched as the last one fell into place and, as one, the raised their faces to the sky and let out a deep droning cry. It echoed throughout the island, washing over the trees and almost deafening us in the process. While I scrambled to my feet, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up as a huge magical aura now engulfed the island’s interior. Overhead, black clouds began to form in what what once a clear azure sky, thunder crackled and lightning began to dance between them. Then it rained. It was a torrent of water, unrelenting until every inch of this area was soaked through.
We collected as much water as we could, in everything from waterskin to coconut shell. By now the flaming structure was smouldering and the golems had fallen into inactivity. Knowing there was nothing more for us here, we returned to the ship and once again set sail for Shushan.
9th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
We sailed for a night and a day, the burning sun unrelenting overhead as the heat sapped every ounce of moisture. This is said to be a difficult journey for even the most seasoned of mariners and the nature of our departure left us little time to prepare. It didn’t take long for our water skins to run dry and the sun burned away whatever energy we had left.
In the distance, salvation appeared on the horizon. A small island loomed into view, palm trees surrounding its coastline. If we could find a river or any signs of civilisation, we would find water.
Shade adjusted course and we circumnavigated the island hoping to see any sign of habitation but were just met with cliff and beach for several miles. Yet every now and then, through gaps in the tree line, we could see what looked like a stone structure that jutted high into the air. The island itself was crescent shaped, with golden sandy beaches covering most of the coastline punctuated by rocky outcroppings here and there.
By that point, anything was better than spending another hour on that sun-bleached deck. So the ship dropped anchor and we rowed towards the shore, the stone structure disappearing from view as we drew closer. Night fell as we hacked our way through dense tropical forest. A combination of exhaustion and the difficult terrain turned the journey into what felt like a marathon. And then, as abruptly as the jungle started, it stopped. Ahead of us stretched several hundred yards of marshland which ended at yet more trees. Something was different here though, the trees on the other side were laid out in a more deliberate pattern and behind them loomed the structure. It was a ziggurat of carved stone that stood several hundred feet high, the stones themselves reaching up to my waist.
As I dimmed my light spell and focused towards the distance, I could just make out movement behind the neatly planted trees. At first they were easy to miss, their brown skin blending into the mud and stone but their presence was hard to ignore. Huge clay men were gathered around the ziggurat, all performing various automated acts of construction. Some were gathering the stone and mud and compressing together, some were hewing these masses into rectangular blocks and yet more would collect these blocks and crush them down into clumps of stone and grit. The rest served as a conveyor line, transporting the blocks to the various stations for processing. It was if they had been given the task of assembling this structure and no one had ever given instruction to stop.
Beyond their routine, the constructs were largely oblivious to our presence as we made way through the construction to the building at the centre. As far as ancient structures go it was reasonably basic. It had four triangular faces which all came together in a point at the very top and at one of the points along the base you could see a large stone doorway that cut into the shape. The stone that made up the outer layer was covered in runic script in a language beyond my understanding but had the familiar markings of the Ankivari.
In the distance, salvation appeared on the horizon. A small island loomed into view, palm trees surrounding its coastline. If we could find a river or any signs of civilisation, we would find water.
Shade adjusted course and we circumnavigated the island hoping to see any sign of habitation but were just met with cliff and beach for several miles. Yet every now and then, through gaps in the tree line, we could see what looked like a stone structure that jutted high into the air. The island itself was crescent shaped, with golden sandy beaches covering most of the coastline punctuated by rocky outcroppings here and there.
By that point, anything was better than spending another hour on that sun-bleached deck. So the ship dropped anchor and we rowed towards the shore, the stone structure disappearing from view as we drew closer. Night fell as we hacked our way through dense tropical forest. A combination of exhaustion and the difficult terrain turned the journey into what felt like a marathon. And then, as abruptly as the jungle started, it stopped. Ahead of us stretched several hundred yards of marshland which ended at yet more trees. Something was different here though, the trees on the other side were laid out in a more deliberate pattern and behind them loomed the structure. It was a ziggurat of carved stone that stood several hundred feet high, the stones themselves reaching up to my waist.
As I dimmed my light spell and focused towards the distance, I could just make out movement behind the neatly planted trees. At first they were easy to miss, their brown skin blending into the mud and stone but their presence was hard to ignore. Huge clay men were gathered around the ziggurat, all performing various automated acts of construction. Some were gathering the stone and mud and compressing together, some were hewing these masses into rectangular blocks and yet more would collect these blocks and crush them down into clumps of stone and grit. The rest served as a conveyor line, transporting the blocks to the various stations for processing. It was if they had been given the task of assembling this structure and no one had ever given instruction to stop.
Beyond their routine, the constructs were largely oblivious to our presence as we made way through the construction to the building at the centre. As far as ancient structures go it was reasonably basic. It had four triangular faces which all came together in a point at the very top and at one of the points along the base you could see a large stone doorway that cut into the shape. The stone that made up the outer layer was covered in runic script in a language beyond my understanding but had the familiar markings of the Ankivari.
7th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
Dawn broke over the city and leaving little to chance, we confronted the two brothers. Hakim was mortally wounded in the fray and no sooner had he fallen, the man-mountain Ramzi yielded. No more blood needed to be spilled and we would not gain answers from the dead.
It quickly became apparent that Ramzi was no mastermind, but a pawn. We all were. He and Hakim were just bodyguards to the Sheik, hired by the Sheik’s own brother. A man they knew only by the name “H”. The puppeteer had been revealed and we had been dancing to his tune all along.
We did not have long to digest this though as heavy, almost regimental footfalls could be heard further up the streets. Had we waited any later and the White Palace guard would have burned us alive in that building. We took refuge in the city sewers, and planned our next move. Raouf had taken to the rooftops while we made way to the mosque via the Gilded Quarter. I had to make sure my family was safe. If the guards were looking for me, the estate would be the first place they’d look.
We ran for what felt like a lifetime. Those patrols unlucky enough to stop us were torn to shreds. I could not stop, I could not be diverted. It was not the time for thought or planning. I made a pact with the beast within and let it free. “Get me home” I told it. And it did.
Up ahead I could see our courtyard, filled with palace guards. Behind them, flames engulfed the building and began to spill over to houses nearby. The street was strewn with debris, some familiar, much too charred to even recognise. I felt a hand press down upon my shoulder and a voice telling me that we must press on, the Mosque would protect us.
It is still hard to recall the events that transpired after that. My world was a maelstrom of motion and noise. By the time I regained some focus, we were sitting on the floor of the Mosque. Ramzi was nowhere to be seen and from the look on Maissa’s face, won’t be joining us later. Outside, the Muftis were shouting at the palace guards who by now would have us surrounded. As Majlis began to assault the Mosque walls, I came to realise that this would be our final stand.
Kismet, it seems, would have other plans. I looked up into the face of another, much younger Mufti. An initiate maybe, too weak to be any good outside. He ushered us along the corridors to a huge domed room and indicated to the floor where a carpet of the finest craftsmanship lay.
Even in my haze, I could feel the power emanating from this wondrous artefact.
Moments later, we were soaring over the city. Below us, the fires raged as Wassim’s grip tightened. The Pearl was now blackened with soot and treachery. We kept the carpet aloft for as long as we could before landing on an abandoned dhow ship where we made ready to set sail for the City of Sapphire.
It quickly became apparent that Ramzi was no mastermind, but a pawn. We all were. He and Hakim were just bodyguards to the Sheik, hired by the Sheik’s own brother. A man they knew only by the name “H”. The puppeteer had been revealed and we had been dancing to his tune all along.
We did not have long to digest this though as heavy, almost regimental footfalls could be heard further up the streets. Had we waited any later and the White Palace guard would have burned us alive in that building. We took refuge in the city sewers, and planned our next move. Raouf had taken to the rooftops while we made way to the mosque via the Gilded Quarter. I had to make sure my family was safe. If the guards were looking for me, the estate would be the first place they’d look.
We ran for what felt like a lifetime. Those patrols unlucky enough to stop us were torn to shreds. I could not stop, I could not be diverted. It was not the time for thought or planning. I made a pact with the beast within and let it free. “Get me home” I told it. And it did.
Up ahead I could see our courtyard, filled with palace guards. Behind them, flames engulfed the building and began to spill over to houses nearby. The street was strewn with debris, some familiar, much too charred to even recognise. I felt a hand press down upon my shoulder and a voice telling me that we must press on, the Mosque would protect us.
It is still hard to recall the events that transpired after that. My world was a maelstrom of motion and noise. By the time I regained some focus, we were sitting on the floor of the Mosque. Ramzi was nowhere to be seen and from the look on Maissa’s face, won’t be joining us later. Outside, the Muftis were shouting at the palace guards who by now would have us surrounded. As Majlis began to assault the Mosque walls, I came to realise that this would be our final stand.
Kismet, it seems, would have other plans. I looked up into the face of another, much younger Mufti. An initiate maybe, too weak to be any good outside. He ushered us along the corridors to a huge domed room and indicated to the floor where a carpet of the finest craftsmanship lay.
Even in my haze, I could feel the power emanating from this wondrous artefact.
Moments later, we were soaring over the city. Below us, the fires raged as Wassim’s grip tightened. The Pearl was now blackened with soot and treachery. We kept the carpet aloft for as long as we could before landing on an abandoned dhow ship where we made ready to set sail for the City of Sapphire.
6th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
I awoke the next day wrapped in fine silk sheets to the familiar smell of coffee. My clothes were washed and neatly folded at the foot of the bed and outside the sounds of the city drifted through my windows. It was a sensation I had taken for granted for so many years now, but today I would savour it. I glanced over at the clothes I had worn over the last few days, now tattered and torn and made a mental note to visit the tailor to pick up some more practical attire.
The bazaar was buzzing with activity, it appeared that my companions had the same idea as the merchants were awash with foreign (yet familiar) coin. I collected my new apparel and paid a visit to the local curio merchant since I heard word that he had procured a collection of mystical trinkets. What good is gold if you let it rot in the coffers anyway? I had earned this.
We met again in our familiar haunt of Manzil-e-Shamar to mull over the enigma of the Vizier's note. It was certainly not magical, so I reluctantly handed the note over to Raouf in hopes that he could decode the message within. After some scrutiny he was able to discern thus; the wax seal was not formed from a signet ring but rather it was carved, or forged by a skilled hand. Secondly, the parchment had been treated with a toxin of sorts but what he was unsure as to its nature or origin.
Fearing the worst, we bid haste to the Gilded quarter. There we would find a master apothecary who could aid us with either information or antitoxin. After some scrutiny she was able to allay our concerns, the toxin that coated the pages was not intended to kill on contact. However, the similarities between this note and other we had found left no doubt that this was another message from the mysterious “H”.
Our thoughts were cut short by the sound of heavy footfall outside, a large contingent of royal guard marched down the street towards the coffee house in which we had met the Princess Salima. With little better to do with our day, we followed.
The coffee house was a hive of activity, government officials occupied nearly every seat, tables were strewn with paperwork and in the eye of the storm sat Wassim al-Kupari, brother to the Sheik. The gossip going around is that someone had tried to assassinate the Sheik and had nearly succeeded. The Vizier had not been seen for some time and the current lack of leadership called for the next in line to be ready to take the reins.
Before concluding his business, Wassim beckoned our Jandisari companion over and after some chitchat we were extended an invitation to the white palace later that evening to discuss matters away from prying ears.
The banquet hall was vast. Pillars of polished white stone surrounded a long table adorned with flowers, fruits and cured meats. At the head, flanked by several highborn and government officials sat Wassim, his wife and daughter.
After some time many of the guests were ushered out, leaving us, the al-Kapuri and some select members of Wassim’s inner circle. From here the conversation turned sharply to ourselves, our mission thus far, the identity of the mysterious H, and curiously; Raouf’s ties to the al-Kapuri family. He told us that the Sheik's assassin and the man we sought were one in the same and that the two brothers from Raouf’s past are working alongside him. Before leaving, Wassim imparted one last gift: an address in Mardoun quarter where we could find the brothers.
The bazaar was buzzing with activity, it appeared that my companions had the same idea as the merchants were awash with foreign (yet familiar) coin. I collected my new apparel and paid a visit to the local curio merchant since I heard word that he had procured a collection of mystical trinkets. What good is gold if you let it rot in the coffers anyway? I had earned this.
We met again in our familiar haunt of Manzil-e-Shamar to mull over the enigma of the Vizier's note. It was certainly not magical, so I reluctantly handed the note over to Raouf in hopes that he could decode the message within. After some scrutiny he was able to discern thus; the wax seal was not formed from a signet ring but rather it was carved, or forged by a skilled hand. Secondly, the parchment had been treated with a toxin of sorts but what he was unsure as to its nature or origin.
Fearing the worst, we bid haste to the Gilded quarter. There we would find a master apothecary who could aid us with either information or antitoxin. After some scrutiny she was able to allay our concerns, the toxin that coated the pages was not intended to kill on contact. However, the similarities between this note and other we had found left no doubt that this was another message from the mysterious “H”.
Our thoughts were cut short by the sound of heavy footfall outside, a large contingent of royal guard marched down the street towards the coffee house in which we had met the Princess Salima. With little better to do with our day, we followed.
The coffee house was a hive of activity, government officials occupied nearly every seat, tables were strewn with paperwork and in the eye of the storm sat Wassim al-Kupari, brother to the Sheik. The gossip going around is that someone had tried to assassinate the Sheik and had nearly succeeded. The Vizier had not been seen for some time and the current lack of leadership called for the next in line to be ready to take the reins.
Before concluding his business, Wassim beckoned our Jandisari companion over and after some chitchat we were extended an invitation to the white palace later that evening to discuss matters away from prying ears.
The banquet hall was vast. Pillars of polished white stone surrounded a long table adorned with flowers, fruits and cured meats. At the head, flanked by several highborn and government officials sat Wassim, his wife and daughter.
After some time many of the guests were ushered out, leaving us, the al-Kapuri and some select members of Wassim’s inner circle. From here the conversation turned sharply to ourselves, our mission thus far, the identity of the mysterious H, and curiously; Raouf’s ties to the al-Kapuri family. He told us that the Sheik's assassin and the man we sought were one in the same and that the two brothers from Raouf’s past are working alongside him. Before leaving, Wassim imparted one last gift: an address in Mardoun quarter where we could find the brothers.
5th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
As the ship skimmed through the skies, I made myself comfortable within the masses of tarpaulin and drifted into the welcome embrace of sleep. I remember dreaming of my home, of waking to the smell of fresh coffee that Nasir would always brew before leaving for the bazaar.
He was a kind soul, whereas A’isha and I would row ‘til the early hours from which I would be frequently ejected from the household, Nasir would always be the one to usher me back.
I remember waking to the sound of distant thunder and the course chafe of the ships tarpaulin. Several of my companions stood around conversing around Xo-Tang and while I couldn’t make out words, their expressions spoke volumes. I rolled over to follow their line of sight and suddenly realised their concern; huge storm clouds began to circle the skyline as far as the eye could see.
The ship descended to a lower altitude and I began to secure myself to the ship’s railings with a line of rope when 4 thuds on the ship’s deck forced my attention. The creatures were beyond anything I have ever imagined; beetle heads and wings rested upon cat-like bodies and from the tail extended a long curled barb not unlike the desert scorpion. It took several minutes to repel the nightmarish fiends and once the last corpse fell, the winds that had buffeted the ship suddenly died down to a simple breeze.
We arrived in Darvish Kupar a few hours later as the ship glided down through the sapphire waters with ease. I gathered my belongings and bode Xo-Tang farewell. It was not our proudest moment; the trail of the lamp had gone cold, the draconic library was lost, the Dead Isle remains unsanctified and Pang was no closer to learning the identity of his aggressor.
It was Raouf who first noticed the men following us. Their efforts to conceal were clumsy, unpracticed and far too direct for this time of day meaning we were obvious targets. We made efforts to disguise our numbers as the boy darted down an alley with the aims to circle up behind them. Once we were in a clear enough area, the men were confronted and revealed that they were simple messengers, sent from the Vizier himself. They handed us a parchment scroll that bore the Vizier’s personal stamp but the message within was completely blank. Vexed, we sent the men away and retired for the evening to ponder its meaning.
He was a kind soul, whereas A’isha and I would row ‘til the early hours from which I would be frequently ejected from the household, Nasir would always be the one to usher me back.
I remember waking to the sound of distant thunder and the course chafe of the ships tarpaulin. Several of my companions stood around conversing around Xo-Tang and while I couldn’t make out words, their expressions spoke volumes. I rolled over to follow their line of sight and suddenly realised their concern; huge storm clouds began to circle the skyline as far as the eye could see.
The ship descended to a lower altitude and I began to secure myself to the ship’s railings with a line of rope when 4 thuds on the ship’s deck forced my attention. The creatures were beyond anything I have ever imagined; beetle heads and wings rested upon cat-like bodies and from the tail extended a long curled barb not unlike the desert scorpion. It took several minutes to repel the nightmarish fiends and once the last corpse fell, the winds that had buffeted the ship suddenly died down to a simple breeze.
We arrived in Darvish Kupar a few hours later as the ship glided down through the sapphire waters with ease. I gathered my belongings and bode Xo-Tang farewell. It was not our proudest moment; the trail of the lamp had gone cold, the draconic library was lost, the Dead Isle remains unsanctified and Pang was no closer to learning the identity of his aggressor.
It was Raouf who first noticed the men following us. Their efforts to conceal were clumsy, unpracticed and far too direct for this time of day meaning we were obvious targets. We made efforts to disguise our numbers as the boy darted down an alley with the aims to circle up behind them. Once we were in a clear enough area, the men were confronted and revealed that they were simple messengers, sent from the Vizier himself. They handed us a parchment scroll that bore the Vizier’s personal stamp but the message within was completely blank. Vexed, we sent the men away and retired for the evening to ponder its meaning.
4th of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
The sun rose over the caliphate and the warm sunlight washed over us. I woke on the hard floorboards and was greeted by the hum and crackle of the ship’s power-sphere. Opening my eyes, I took just a short moment to breathe in the new day before memorising some select entries in my spellbook. It was a warm breakfast and a soft bed short of the perfect morning.
A few hours passed uneventfully, when from the bridge I heard Xo-Tang growl a sharp warning. No more than a few hundred yards and closing was a second airship, much sleeker than our own and parading a jet-black banner. You could tell by the grim expressions of our dragonborn cohort that this was not a welcome sight.
We had no more than a few minutes preparation before the pirates began to board us. They were unlike dragonborn I had seen before, green-scaled with a pair of short leathery wings. We used the ship’s size to our advantage, heaving attackers overboard almost as fast as they arrived. Soon after we dispatched the last invaders, the second ship cut loose and began to build distance. Our cheers of triumph were answered by the thundering booms of cannonfire and our ship began to lurch violently out of control.
I managed to tether myself to some decking before the ship hit the water which proved fortunate as many of my companions were flung overboard during the impact. It was then that we noticed Xo-Tang had collapsed at the helm and the ship had lost all power. It would seem that the pirates had lost interest for now but the Jandisari warned us that hunters rarely leave a wounded prey. So, we secured the ship and began to swim to the shoreline in search of whatever aid could be found.
Several minutes later I crawled onto the beach, covered in seaweed and coughing up water. Ahead, Shade had taken several steps before stopping in his tracks. After beckoning us forward, he motioned to several figures who now dotted the landscape. We were wet, exhausted and in need of aid. Knowing this was not a fight we could win, we raised our hands and walked slowly towards the natives.
It was then that I noticed that along with the warriors, women and children could be seen peeking through the undergrowth. These were not a warband, but instead just people coming out to see the commotion. Turns out that the love for street-theatre is universal after all.
The one in charge went by the name Ho, leader of the Mashavites. They were a tribe local to these islands who traded regularly with T’chin navigators who travel through from the empire. We followed them through the dense undergrowth for a couple of hours before it opened up into a vast treetop village with rope-bridges joining up the various makeshift structures.
Ho ushered us up to a particular hut to meet Riah, the tribe’s shaman. Unlike Ho, she was very pale in complexion; possibly a birth defect or the result of her shaman-esque magics, it was hard to tell. Like the others, she had a very good grasp of the common tongue but her accent was more refined, almost highborn in tone. Maybe she is not native to this island, or spent significant time away from it.
I was surprised at how accepting they were of us, Ho had brought us food and comfort and Riah asked for no compensation in brewing a remedy for Xo-Tang’s ailment. After some doses of the concoction, Xo-Tang was roused though still very weak. He motioned for Pang and began to write out a list of items that he needed to complete the mending ritual for the ship to fly again.
The first component on the list was a flower that grew on the outskirts of the village, possibly our easiest prize. The next was not so simple, the tongue of what the locals called “the pig-lizard”. The beast was about the size of a wild boar and had 2 teeth that protrude out from its bottom jaw like tusks. Establishing that taking the beast on head to head would have gotten somebody gored, Raouf began building a simple pitfall trap from poisoned wooden spikes. We then drove the beast into the trap where Shade enacted a coup-de-gras and claimed our prize.
Moss, mushrooms, blessed water and a flint from my pack were the last items on the list and it did not take long for us to gather everything we needed.
Only then did we notice the smoke that spiralled out towards the northern part of the island. The Black Scales had returned to claim their bounty and the Mashavites were being slaughtered while trying to stop them.
The battle was long and brutal, dragonborn were a new nemesis to me and they fought with the ferocity that I had come to expect from our own scaled cohort. It is a mercy that the caliphate maintains good relations with the empire as a war would likely wipe us out entirely. As for these pirates, this kind of incursion is unheard of in Darvish Kupar. It is difficult enough for our sailors to navigate the golden coast, now they must fear the azure seas as well? I fear this does not bode well for the future of my city.
When we returned to the village, Xo-Tang was in much higher spirits. The components we had brought had been transmuted into a thick golden paste. How that would repair the vessel, I did not know. The empire has been very guarded of its secrets and it is unlikely Xo-Tang would feel the will to share.
No sooner had the paste dried, the sphere began to hum again and Xo-Tang gently lifted the boat out of the water. Now we were free to continue our journey towards The City of Pearl.
A few hours passed uneventfully, when from the bridge I heard Xo-Tang growl a sharp warning. No more than a few hundred yards and closing was a second airship, much sleeker than our own and parading a jet-black banner. You could tell by the grim expressions of our dragonborn cohort that this was not a welcome sight.
We had no more than a few minutes preparation before the pirates began to board us. They were unlike dragonborn I had seen before, green-scaled with a pair of short leathery wings. We used the ship’s size to our advantage, heaving attackers overboard almost as fast as they arrived. Soon after we dispatched the last invaders, the second ship cut loose and began to build distance. Our cheers of triumph were answered by the thundering booms of cannonfire and our ship began to lurch violently out of control.
I managed to tether myself to some decking before the ship hit the water which proved fortunate as many of my companions were flung overboard during the impact. It was then that we noticed Xo-Tang had collapsed at the helm and the ship had lost all power. It would seem that the pirates had lost interest for now but the Jandisari warned us that hunters rarely leave a wounded prey. So, we secured the ship and began to swim to the shoreline in search of whatever aid could be found.
Several minutes later I crawled onto the beach, covered in seaweed and coughing up water. Ahead, Shade had taken several steps before stopping in his tracks. After beckoning us forward, he motioned to several figures who now dotted the landscape. We were wet, exhausted and in need of aid. Knowing this was not a fight we could win, we raised our hands and walked slowly towards the natives.
It was then that I noticed that along with the warriors, women and children could be seen peeking through the undergrowth. These were not a warband, but instead just people coming out to see the commotion. Turns out that the love for street-theatre is universal after all.
The one in charge went by the name Ho, leader of the Mashavites. They were a tribe local to these islands who traded regularly with T’chin navigators who travel through from the empire. We followed them through the dense undergrowth for a couple of hours before it opened up into a vast treetop village with rope-bridges joining up the various makeshift structures.
Ho ushered us up to a particular hut to meet Riah, the tribe’s shaman. Unlike Ho, she was very pale in complexion; possibly a birth defect or the result of her shaman-esque magics, it was hard to tell. Like the others, she had a very good grasp of the common tongue but her accent was more refined, almost highborn in tone. Maybe she is not native to this island, or spent significant time away from it.
I was surprised at how accepting they were of us, Ho had brought us food and comfort and Riah asked for no compensation in brewing a remedy for Xo-Tang’s ailment. After some doses of the concoction, Xo-Tang was roused though still very weak. He motioned for Pang and began to write out a list of items that he needed to complete the mending ritual for the ship to fly again.
The first component on the list was a flower that grew on the outskirts of the village, possibly our easiest prize. The next was not so simple, the tongue of what the locals called “the pig-lizard”. The beast was about the size of a wild boar and had 2 teeth that protrude out from its bottom jaw like tusks. Establishing that taking the beast on head to head would have gotten somebody gored, Raouf began building a simple pitfall trap from poisoned wooden spikes. We then drove the beast into the trap where Shade enacted a coup-de-gras and claimed our prize.
Moss, mushrooms, blessed water and a flint from my pack were the last items on the list and it did not take long for us to gather everything we needed.
Only then did we notice the smoke that spiralled out towards the northern part of the island. The Black Scales had returned to claim their bounty and the Mashavites were being slaughtered while trying to stop them.
The battle was long and brutal, dragonborn were a new nemesis to me and they fought with the ferocity that I had come to expect from our own scaled cohort. It is a mercy that the caliphate maintains good relations with the empire as a war would likely wipe us out entirely. As for these pirates, this kind of incursion is unheard of in Darvish Kupar. It is difficult enough for our sailors to navigate the golden coast, now they must fear the azure seas as well? I fear this does not bode well for the future of my city.
When we returned to the village, Xo-Tang was in much higher spirits. The components we had brought had been transmuted into a thick golden paste. How that would repair the vessel, I did not know. The empire has been very guarded of its secrets and it is unlikely Xo-Tang would feel the will to share.
No sooner had the paste dried, the sphere began to hum again and Xo-Tang gently lifted the boat out of the water. Now we were free to continue our journey towards The City of Pearl.
3rd of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
The Journal of Rafiq al-Rashid
It took several hours to transport the draconic library out of the hellish temple but it was worth the effort. I could not allow such artifacts to be burned alongside the Ankivari heresy. My grasp of the draconic language is simple at best, and the archives were written in a script far older than any word now spoken. It was difficult to make out much more than phrases and fragments, until Pang placed a book in my lap, opened on a page that depicted a map of this very island.
I traced our path on the map from where we landed at the southernmost point, through the forest to this temple and there in the north was a marking. A tiny circle overlapped part of the cliffs where a river flowed off into the ocean.
The books were large, too large to take with us despite my objections. So I tore the map from the book and we proceeded through the dense undergrowth towards the the northern cliffside.
After what felt like several hours, we came to the edge of the island; a sheer cliff face maybe four hundred paces high the plunged deep into the surf below. From our vantage point we were able to make out a large cave entrance that bore deep into the cliffside. We rigged up a couple or harnesses and descended down the cliff face into the cave below, entirely unprepared for what we would find.
The creatures were clad in leather, hide and chain from head to toe, their faces obscured by dark red protective eyewear. They asked no questions, nor gave any quarter and nearly overwhelmed us several times during the fight. Maggots and bile spilled from every wound we inflicted and they fought with unholy vigor. Could these creatures have been the result of the Ankivari library that rots the heart of this land? Or was there another force in play here? So many questions filled my head, but luckily we were granted a single answer. In one of the side caverns lay six large reptilian eggs, immediately recognisable as the final goal of Xo-Tang’s quest.
Spending little time with the rotting cadavers, we made our way to the cave entrance and found the Jealous Wyrm and her captain waiting for us.
I traced our path on the map from where we landed at the southernmost point, through the forest to this temple and there in the north was a marking. A tiny circle overlapped part of the cliffs where a river flowed off into the ocean.
The books were large, too large to take with us despite my objections. So I tore the map from the book and we proceeded through the dense undergrowth towards the the northern cliffside.
After what felt like several hours, we came to the edge of the island; a sheer cliff face maybe four hundred paces high the plunged deep into the surf below. From our vantage point we were able to make out a large cave entrance that bore deep into the cliffside. We rigged up a couple or harnesses and descended down the cliff face into the cave below, entirely unprepared for what we would find.
The creatures were clad in leather, hide and chain from head to toe, their faces obscured by dark red protective eyewear. They asked no questions, nor gave any quarter and nearly overwhelmed us several times during the fight. Maggots and bile spilled from every wound we inflicted and they fought with unholy vigor. Could these creatures have been the result of the Ankivari library that rots the heart of this land? Or was there another force in play here? So many questions filled my head, but luckily we were granted a single answer. In one of the side caverns lay six large reptilian eggs, immediately recognisable as the final goal of Xo-Tang’s quest.
Spending little time with the rotting cadavers, we made our way to the cave entrance and found the Jealous Wyrm and her captain waiting for us.
2nd of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
Incomplete Entry
Temple of the Shaitun – the party find a temple dedicated to the demonic Shaitun within the island and a collection of priceless tomes on the T'chin Empire. Having defeated the ghostly presence within the temple and its magical protections, the party dedicate the temple to destruction after moving the tomes to a safer location outside. They find a map that indicates the possible location of the eggs in one of the tomes
1st of Garm-mah, 641 S.C.
Incomplete Entry
Rescue by Airship – the party find much time has passed in their absence and the fey maze has changed shape in the meantime. Whilst contemplating their course of action, an airship captained by Xo Tang arrives on the island looking for the Six Dragon Eggs.Isle of the Dead – the party having convinced Xo Tang there was no sign of the eggs on the Fey Isle are tasked with recovering the eggs on another island infested by zombies.
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