Guardian of the Mnemonicon

[stevebarracuda]

Stories of the Mnemonicon

If any would wish to RP in this thread, feel free to join the Adventure—it will alter the choices.
But IG interactions will as well and equally. Thanks in advance.

[stevebarracuda]

A man of Halruaan ancestry departs the high-sail ship, stepping upon dock of the city Baldur's Gate. The wizards of this city are known far and wide, for collecting the rarities of the dragon winged species, the creation of the Hall of Mirrors, and the work of the Temple of Gond. In particular, the task, nee quest, to find the weaknesses of the scaled beasts of all types, beginning with those that are but cousins to the greater and noble Dragon, has brought this Halruaan here, and now.

Rumor has it that many adventurers of the Sword Coast have seen, fought and felled winged beasts, reaching south beyond the Shining Sea, but more importantly for this story, traveling north, towards Waterdeep, where a certain mystic conclave known as the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors, has made effort to "expand" its watchful eye—some say the eye of Deneir itself, to this growing metropolis. If fate would have it, the one that carries the name Odilon—this Halruaan that wears outwardly his confidence with the manipulation of the Weave—might make name for himself, and with his mission to begin the Mnemonicon. For that mission to begin, he must gain audience with those pledged to the great order of Candlekeep, which by now coincidence in plans, lay a number of days travel from this city upon the Sword Coast, known colloquially as "the Gate."

The long journey required rest, and bed and food found only upon firm land, and Odilon, was given direction to the Blade & Stars Inn. Upon arrival, Odilon soaked in the details this establishment that offered a quiet atmosphere compared to most inns, and with quality meals served. A few sailor-types of a typical drunken nature did question him about his odd clothing—the Halruaan not realizing he stood out as a sore thumb against the local style—but a man of his home region, far from the Sword Coast, dressed in clothing known of fashion to Waterdeep, he should not have been so easily surprised. He made a mental note of this, and continued on to observe and learn. Conveniently, the well watered sailors informed him that a sorcerer in the Palace District sought brave souls to collect the eggs of the beast known as the wyvern. Odilon, knowing the signs, could see that fate brought him directly into the path he sought.

Odilon's adventures would begin tomorrow...but what would his first step be?

[stevebarracuda]

Dawn appeared over the eastern horizon—rays of Lathandar's glory attempting to break through an early morning fog and mist that engulfed the city of Baldur's Gate. But the Morninglord was stymied by the power of the Queen of the Depth's hold over the Gate—the sentient forces behind nature's way are always related to conflict, a push and pull between domains...or so say the wise and divinely gifted seers.

This early dawn moment was perhaps a common occurrence for those accustomed to living upon this particular stretch of the Sword Coast, but for Odilon—who stood at his room window in the Blade & Stars Inn, looking out upon the city streets for more or less the first time—it was a first in this new city, and he put no judgements upon this environment, only sought to learn its ways, through a pure observation of surrounding circumstances...which is what seemed most appropriate, at this early and silent hour of the day.

Turning from the window, and returning to the center of the room where his day cloths lay hanging upon a chair back, he quietly said a few words of arcane speech, and pointed to the fireplace, where a flare appeared to launch into dry and waiting wood, causing an immediate fire, and warmth, to build in the smallish accommodation. "This will do nicely...." Odilon says, to the air.

Odilon dressed quickly, as would a man with a pressing agenda, possibly looking to exit the Inn with haste so that he may observe the city from it's most earliest waking hour, until the shadows of the night have become oppressive enough that he would choose to return to a well light and lively tavern...perhaps, the Blade & Stars would change from expectation to exception and fill with a boisterous group, this coming, eventual evening. Or not. Divination is not Odilon's speciality, and he does not think in terms of wanting to know the future, until it has arrived to him.

Shortly, Odilon arrived downstairs inside in the Blade & Stars main banquet room, finding as was to be expect, just a sailor and barkeep standing. With a customary courteousness, he bid them a hello, then...from the corner of his eye, he looked to notice a writing desk upon a small loft or platform. Pausing in thought, he then requested permission from the barkeep to utilize the desk, for...he would do his diligence to inform the Watchful Order in Waterdeep of his arrival and temporary lodging in the Gate, for if they would need to contact him, it will be here, at the Blade & Stars, that Odilon could receive it. It was a short and concisely written communique:

Mages of the Watchful Order, Your faithful servant has arrived no worse for wear in the city of Baldur's Gate, as was expected and detailed in the mission I have undertaken. All is well, as well as all is new...but is there not a first day for everything? He that keepeth eyes wide and allows knowledge to be gained through the senses, is forever seeking new days. I am lodged at the Inn called the Blade & Stars, and I believe that any word you wish to share can be sent to me here...if a sending is not possible, for I do not know to what expect of wards and perceptions or arcane deliverance, within this city. When I have made contact and delivered your message to the monks of Candlekeep, I will follow this letter with what news is worthy to scribe. Yours that honors all glyphs and images...Odilon.

He then placed below the script, his mages sigil.

Without further delay, for now the rays of day must have opened the sky above to the city streets, Odilon requested the quickest direction to a local guild that delivers communication along the Coast. Such that it would be, the docks from which he first arrived would be heard to be the surest solution to finding a suitable agency to bring his letter to the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors of Waterdeep.

Odilon pushed open the great door to the Inn, and the sights, sounds and smells of the East District were immediately upon him. The city had made a noticeable transformation from the vantage point of his room window just an hour earlier, to what he now could see was a veritable metropolis. Striding through the city, at this point of his early day journey, would be easy, as he only had to retrace his steps from the Blade & Stars to where the docks received him, so very recently in time. Immediately, he came upon a woman of elven heritage and wearing purple robes, standing idle but fraught with worry upon her face, just in front of the Blade & Stars. Odilon was unable to resist addressing her, speaking to her. The woman frowned slightly at his approach, then response to him directly, but then no more: "Hello there. Just so you know, all my jewelry is locked away and hidden safely..."

Odilon was taken aback by her words, wondering if his appearance, his fashion and features, were such that a Baldurian would be fearful of his very presence. "I mean only to assist you, if that were your desire, my good woman. But I will trouble you not." Seeing that she had nothing more to say to him, he continued east, his outlook slightly less positive than was minutes before. "Troubling....," he said to the air, but for now, refused to accept his first interaction as an indictment of the character of those that lived in this city, when seeing a foreigner.

He continued on, and upon his walk made note of passing—now twice—the Merchant's League headquarters Carrying on, he walked straightaway to find a messenger heading north, which by all rights, he found success with ease. Then, having only traveled east when first arriving at the docks, he decided to continue his path heading west, which guided him to the...

"Grace is the divine ability to cope with every circumstance." These words were said to him by a passing woman. How odd, he thought to himself. Is it such that wisdom is dispensed at leisure by the common people to any that are passersby? It was worth making a note of what was said to him, so he did, taking out a small pamphlet of bound paper and, using a small device consisting of a metal tube holding a tubular stick of wood that itself encompassed stick of graphite, he recorded the words of wisdom...possibly for later use, himself.

As he continued to stroll at a healthy but tempered pace, more than a handful of individuals wearing armor and helmet did pass him at a much hurried pace. This experience put him on slight guard, that maybe an event was occurring that required the need of such individuals readied for battle. "It is well served to be prepared to be surprised on all levels..." he admitted to the air. Odilon's eyes did keep scanning the lanes ahead, lest he find himself too surprised, even for his own skill...for though the Gate was known to house Faerun's most successful and powerful mercenary force, it was also rumored that Guilds of less than a lawful nature ran and "owned" portions of the city. And he was walking in the docks, after all...and Waterdeep was little different in this regard.

(to be continued...)

[stevebarracuda]

"Ah...the Lord's Alliance representation...a good place to find myself." So said Odilon aloud as he came upon the large architectural monstrosity of stone build to defend a kingdom...or a belief. The courtyard was fenced, but the gate open, and near the door stood a man that seemed to have an face for knowing of things. Without delay, Odilon approached him, looking to establish a link between his life in Waterdeep with the here and now...

"Good eve sir...," Odilon gives as a greeting to the stern faced man. Within seconds, Odilon is faced with a man who is little amused with pleasantries. "Did you say bring you goods from the Temple of Gond...why sir, that would be my pleasure, for...." How quickly it appears to Odilon, though he may be willing to give assistance, his unique position and desire to inquire at the Temple of Gond is lost on the man-at-arms standing in front of the Lord's Alliance building. There is only the basics here—not to mention the rudeness and the lack of care—but why not achieve two results for the price of one action?

"I thank you for the possibility...for now I am off...." Odilon replies to the man-at-arms, noting that this person will not be much use, but hopefully, will honor the quest that Odilon has set upon.

Lantern in hand, Odilon walks the northern portion of the Harbor District, where few citizens abound this late in the evening. "The menu tonight, is fish, fish and more fish. Yes, I like fish." is heard from a man circling the public Sundial. "How fortunate that I have a direction in life..." Odilon says to himself, not interested in disturbing this citizen who has accepted their continual, endless and dictated life of a fish eater.

Odilon reasons that there is more to life than just eating fish.

There is but one gateway leading north to the Palace District, and guided by directions from Sergeant Schmidt of the Lord's Alliance, he is determined to find the Temple of Gond on the other side. But what he encounters first, is the Wide.

"Where something is offered, something is gained...," Odilon says to himself after observing the crowd that trades at the Wide. A mystic, a magical painter, a merchant surrounded by an eclectic assortment of barely used to barely functional arms, armor and other trinkets....

"Trinkets!" says Odilon after viewing what is listed for consignment through he that is introduces himself as Harvey Mudd. "Trinkets!...why merchant sir, modesty may follow he that knows and may know more than another, but what you sell could only be described as rare, indeed!"

For a moment, Odilon feels foolish, as the merchant just shrugs in response and continues to offer what he offers, with little emotion attached to the work. But then...the situation of the market becomes more busy....

A woman passes, and Odilon gives a neutral greeting. She replies with a polite nod and smile as she passes. Feeling good about the response, Odilon prepares to inquire...but the woman leaves the area with haste and purpose...nothing that Odilon can respond to.

Alas, he returns his attention to Mudd.

Oh, how Odilon scours the list with enthusiasm. The details of each item, the magic that courses through such weapons, armor, wands and what-else...they all capture his curiosity. When possible, he listens from Mudd or reads from a scroll the story of each item may have come, the adventurer that utilized such prized items, etc.. When something far too unique to ignore is understood by Odilon, he takes the time to copy that information into a small book, of simple and easy design. It is not entire stories or knowledge that Odilon makes note, but of details relating to whatever—it is the juxtaposition of letters, single words of magnificence, and rarely, entire sentences, that he copies into this plain and simple book.

"Ah ha...," says Odilon, each and every time something captures his attention. "To what is it I do?" he asks to Harvey, when he sees the eyes of Harvey watch him. "It is but my way that I shall guard what needs to be protected, so that when He must find reference, I will be able to apply this to the grand Work." Said with confidence—though it's meaning may very well be lost on Mudd—Odilon finishes his perusal of wares them offers something to the collection. "Where something is offered, something is gained..."

"I bid you farewell, sir...I come again in a short few days, to see if something is gained!"

And remembering time is short, he continues north, to where his intuition says the Temple of Gond lies. And so it is...a travel uninterrupted, Odilon soon finds himself facing the grand edifice that is the Temple of Gond. Humbled, his outwardly response is limited: "Right...here we are."

Inside, he is overwhelmed by the contraptions, workbenches, etc... "A holy place of invention..." escapes his lips, but would more obvious words be spoken, and thus have an effect on those that life them day-to-day...? Without delay, Odilon finds himself in conversation with the priest—a broad-shouldered man, carrying a jeweled hammer. Though clothed in neatly kept clothing, his attire is fit for a workshop environment. "I see to acquire..." is spoken by Odilon, and the simple quest is revealed, and a step to completion, made with Artificer Pike.

"Sir...may I...inquire further..." lingers in the air.

[stevebarracuda]

"I will await an answer...for however long it takes. But, I shall do it without burden!" Odilon smiles. "You may send anyone that is interested to the Blade and Stars Inn, where I keep a room."

Leaving the Temple of Gond, the travel is short to the Lord's Alliance, and Schmidt is there waiting. The dialogue between the quest giver and the quest maker, is short, and brash. "You may one day learn to appreciate those that are willing to help...," Odilon replies as a last word before turning on his heels. "Politeness is a scarce commodity in this city?" he asks to himself.

With an initial contact with the Temple of Gond, and word left within for further engagement, Odilon turns his attention to the other poles of power—those that practice or even worship, the power of the Weave.

Having earlier received direction to the Mystran Church of Baldur's Gate, Odilon makes little delay in the travel from district to district. As he had wondered at a previous moment, when looking out the window of his room at the Blade and Stars, and spying two purple banners adorning the entrance of a nearby building, the Church of Mystra was so close to him at his initial arrival. Now, at present, standing under these two banners and statues of open-armed angels, Odilon prepared himself—and his words of greeting to the residing priest—to be as wise as possible...for to be representative of the Watchful Order, and for him to operate and possibly reach his goals in this city, he would need all the help that any with faith in the Art, could grant him.

The church interior was quiet except for the shuffling of a robed priestess, taking care of duties near the great symbol of Mystra, that hung above an altar layered with offerings, scrolls, and numerous objects related to the arcane, the Art.

"Well met my child. How may I help you?" asked Neela Daren, the robed priestess, who's cloth was adorned with arcane symbols related to Mystra and the Weave. Odilon took the invite to speak with a certain...excitement. And though the Priestess may not have seen it coming, Odilon delivered a monologue on his role, his reason for coming to the Gate:

"Priestess of Mystra...I am called Odilon, and I serve as missionary to the great Watchful Order of Magists & Protectors, which is based in the City of Splendors. I do not doubt that one of your rank with the Church of Mystra is familiar with the Watchful Order, as all that devote themselves to the Art, communicate in order to guide and further the study of the Weave. As I say this, I further admit my allegiance to the Lord of all Glyphs and Images. He is most devoted to divine hierarchy that stands under Mystra. To say it further—our faiths and calling are as one."

Odilon shifts to one side, a small pause as he continues to unload his story upon the unsuspecting Priestess.

"I have offered myself to the Watchful Order to expand the Order's mission to gather and archive information, such that through the faithful of Deneir, that which is empowered by the Weave can one day replenish the Weave...a cycle of mystic life, if you will grant me that interpretation, Priestess."

"To fulfill my pledge, and uphold this mission I have set myself upon, the Watchful Order has requested I acquire a Mnemonicon...do you know of this object? It is a container that could hold many aspects of the Art—be it divine or arcane...or more—from which others may learn, invent and create greater gifts to the progress of the Art. It is an container that must be created by those with the skill, talent and arcane might that is fitting to the task."

At this point, Odilon puts his question to the Priestess...with as much diplomacy as he can muster.

"In your great wisdom, I ask you to impart what I have said upon others that you may know have a dedication and willingness to progress the Art through a grand collection of all knowledge and invention. What I ask is that any that come to pray before Mystra in your presence, be told the opportunity to join in this faction task, the creation and sharing of all the Mnemonicon may contain, in the name of progression of the Art, itself."

Proud that he was able to impart his mission to the Priestess, Odilon gives her honest bow of thankfulness, and excuses himself from delaying the Priestess in her tasks, any longer.

"Remember this: Love Magic. Respect magic. Do not overuse magic." Says the Priestess Neela, as Odilon removes himself from her direct presence.

"I will take these words to heart...," he says as he turns to leave.

At the door to exit the Church, Odilon turns a last time to look upon the great symbol of Mystra. He concludes that if faith in his mission is to guide him—as faith would guide any pledged knight—that faith in the Art, Mystra's Weave...that from this presentation to the Priestess, she will put others of like mind, in front of Odilon's path....

[stevebarracuda]

After a number of hours inside the Elfsong Tavern, Odilon takes to a more comfortable chair, and opens one of the many bound booklets of paper that he travels with.

He flips to a particular page in the bound paper stack, and runs his finger along a few images that are drawn there.

The open book, the page, is easily seen by any persons that would be found in the Elfsong Tavern at that time, being near the roaring fireplace—even in the dimmed light of the interior.

[stevebarracuda]

Odilon the Guardian finds a more secluded corner in the upper areas of the Elfsong Tavern. A table, a chair...simple things needed for his task ahead. But the situation is not perfect—he calls over a barmaid and asks for a candle...no, two candles. When then arrive, with a small flick of his fingers and lightly spoken words, they light through simple cantrip cast.

Odilon looks around the room for a moment, thinking. He watches whatever faces might be there. Satisfied with his survey, he reaches for a satchel and opens it, placing a large book upon the table, along with his comfortably used notebook.

The large tome is in good form, newly bound and, would one be able to investigate it directly, easily notice it recently penned—the ink inside fresh and bright. Odilon turns to a certain marked section with this tome, then, opens his own notebook and begins to compare what he had written there, last:

• 
  "The ranger is not cursed...that is for certain. But whatever ailment continues to affect his health, it is by possession of the original that he continues to suffer. By his own will, of opening the original Forbidden Book, he has diseased himself...and what is yet to be known, is what shall cure him...though it may well be simply to release the original from his possession.
  
  Though I asked to take it from him so that I may do more than the few incantations cast upon it—such as it was that the Analyze Dweomer spell did educate me so far on these details—I am know very much glad I do not possess it.
  
  This copy, what which the Ranger provided me, contains a value...it's true value...but I am yet to unravel enough.
  
  I must continue on....for the Ranger's sake, and possibly, us all...."

Odilon looks up from his notes, and pauses in reflection. In his mind's eye, he sees again the original tome that was momentarily examined and analyzed from the Ranger's possession. He dwells on the memory...

Hidden: show

"Such as it is...it is evil....," says Odilon softly, his eyes wide and glassy, from the staring into the memory. The candlelight used to view the pages of the books reflects and dances on the edge of his pupils.

Soon, Odilon returns his attention to the actual text of the copy-book he was provided by the Ranger. "The truth must lie in the words written themselves...as it always does, so says the Faithful of Lord of All Glyphs...." thinks Odilon to himself. And so, the Guardian of the Mnemonicon, reads on....