Lore According to Arkanis

[DM Arkanis]

Lord Dhelt received the missive with a frown. He had had no visions from Lord Helm and hearing that there are things going on in Baldur’s Gate he knows that he should investigate. As he prepares himself for the journey he reflects on the dream that he had, showing a vindictive and spiteful woman wielding a scourge, and flaying the skin off people… it was a terrible dream, and the worst part was that he knew the woman, and her brother. Something has to be done.

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“We sent the Hag as you requested to her" the old witch says, " She did not believe it, as we knew she wouldn’t. You overplay your hand in this.” Jeryth Phaulkon smiles at the old woman’s words; she knows more than the old Olthor does though.
“Venerable Elder, appreciate you meeting me here in the Witches Hall. My Lady understands you are hesitant to be involved, but there is much at stake.” Jeryth had travelled by magical means to Immilmar, and the Old Witch hadn’t – she was very much still clinging to the Old Ways
Jeryth knew that she was an outsider here, even though she is Chosen of Milleki. There are rules in Old Rashemen. Rules older than the Lady of the Forest.
Snorting, the old witch waves a gnarled hand, “We worship the Three and they respect the old-ways. We want no part in this. It does not involve us.”
“Is that why the hag revealed the truth about the Dwarf? That path is folly, and not important to the task given us…”
Laughing, “What care we about a Dwarf? Our sister’s friends are her strength and weakness both and what she does with them is her concern. If the Supreme Ranger desires her assistance, YOU should be the one who asks. Leave us out of this from now on.” The Olthor stands, and the large Dire Wolf behind her shifts. He’d growl, except it is disrespectful in this place. He sniffs the outsider from a distance instead. Powerful magic in that one.
Bowing, Jeryth nods, “As you wish” and she turns and strides from the hall. The Shadoweir waiting outside the door moves silently to join her, and speaks in Elvish, in low tones, “Did you succeed?”
Without looking at her shadow, Jeryl replies in the common-tongue, “Yes, archer we did. We got what we came for.”

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Wearing a bright-blue cloak and being slightly hunched over, an elderly dwarf with sparkling blue eyes moves from the stove to the kitchen table with two mugs of steaming tea. The afternoon sun glints through a large plate-glass window, and his companion, a large, balding human man in a monk’s robe smiles and accepts the tea. “Thank you my friend.”
“No, my lord it is I who must thank you for helping me. This quest my father has me on has more layers than an elven birthday cake.”
Chuckling, the bald man folds his hands into his robes, “I have to tell you that I was reticent to help the prankster. Had I not got your missive, I would have locked him in the Great Library for a hundred years to cool his heels a bit…”
Blinking, the Dwarf isn’t sure if his friend is serious or not, until he sees the corners of the mans mouth twitch, and he relaxes. “The Morndinsamman know there is something going on, and they are curious to see why the Seldarine is allowing him so much leeway. Is there something going on, my lord?”
All mirth is now gone from his eyes, but his smile is still in place, the bald man replies softly, but firmly, “I don’t know exactly what he is up to, but I do know that it is not being allowed to happen. It is supposed to happen. Your father is welcome to send you on whatever missions for Knowledge he deems worthy of your time, but my instructions are clear.”
“And those are my lord?”
“Record everything that happens, and stay out of the way. Thank you for the tea, Dug. I must go now.” And with one, fluid motion, much faster than a big man should be able to move, the bald man rises, spins in place, and vanishes.
The old Dwarf sighs. The bald man didn’t even touch his tea. Maybe he sensed the potion in it… Oh well. Looks like Erevan is on his own this time. Maybe sitting this one out is the wisest course of action…

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The great halls that once were vibrant with life are quieter these days. The sounds of hammers striking rock, and the roaring sounds of the forge are gone, replaced by long, lonely winds blowing through near-empty chambers. The king has not been seen for quite some time – it is as if the death of the Samman took the heart of the Dwarves with him when he left.
The Mithril Princess arrived with no fanfare, and found Vox and Grimm who recognized her, and gave her lodgings within the Hall. Her father had “allowed” her to travel to the Coast, in search of some divine, or one pretending to be divine, who plans on causing some chaos. Her father loves law and order, and his willful youngest child was restless at home in Suzail so sending her to investigate seemed to be a perfect choice. Allie thought so too.
The meeting with the three came without notice, but was not unexpected. She had already spoken with the Knight, and her superiors obviously got a full report. They were skeptical as well, but knew that there was something going on. The dreams… the dreams they all were having seemed to share some common threads. Cryptic though. Thundering head aches afterwards. The Dance in the moonlight. The Keys. The Door. Unable to shake the feeling that SHE was the door, Allie told what she knew to the two Dwarves, two knights, and a scribe, no not a scribe, the Guide. Until whatever being shows its next move, they were stuck. Maybe it is time to take the Helmite’s advice and watch awhile…

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The tall moon elf stood behind a tree in the Cloakwood. Silent. Invisible. Under the light of the moon the abominations wandered, looking for blood. She had thought they were contained to the old human house, but it seems that they are wandering further afield to feed. Pulling her bow, she aims and fires six rapid shots, and the nearest one crumples to the ground. The bow only made the sound of leaves rustling in the trees, and no other would have even noticed the shafts sailing through the night air.
There was a tug at her consciousness. It was more common these days, and the ones calling her more insistent. She did not mind helping the Dark Dancer. She could relate to her more than any of the Dark Seldarine and certainly wanted to help, but as long as the irysill and the others continued to expand their cities and towns there would be no place for the people. Especially those from darkness.
The Dreams would not bring them though. It would not have the desired end, she feared. Knocking her bow she aims at another of the undead and continues to cleanse the forest. Let the rest of the Seldarine figure it out. She has work to do.

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“My Lord, I do not like being manipulated. Especially by this one.” Pause. Silence in the Vast. “My Lord, my Faithful are being sent into danger for no apparent reason, and manipulated for some warped purpose. I have had dealings with that one and the mischief he seeks to create could have broad implications. What would you have me do?” The Vast stretches out. Time is warped. Infinity approaches. He waits for an answer that he knows will not come, but he waits, and Watches, and stands firm in his faith, trusting the Overlord knows what he is doing…

[DM Arkanis]

Slowly coiling the flail took practice, but it was something that she always enjoyed. There was a certain finality that the work was done, and a certain satisfaction that the next time it was uncoiled and used there would be the same elation, reckless abandon, and blood-lust.

Casting her senses elsewhere, she could see that her pupil was doing well. Very well as a matter of fact. She was executing her mission perfectly, even though she doesn't know the full extent of it. Pain, and agony is all there is. Suffering makes you stronger. What her your protege was doing would transform her into a force, and instrument of that pain, and once the paladin falls, her journey will be complete, and her torment would endure, forever.

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Waking suddenly, Lord Dhelt found himself in his own bed, drenched in sweat, and surrounded by concerned priests. "Welcome back, my Lord." The young priest's relief is visible, and genuine.
"Where have I been? What is going on?"
"We could not wake you, my Lord. You went in to a deep sleep, and did not come out for some days... We thought you would die."
"The Gate. Baldur's Gate, how long since I returned?" Several priests looked at each other - all seem hesitant to speak.
"Three days my Lord," the young hand-maid says, "You returned at night, we knew because your chamber door was closed and we saw you asleep in bed, although none saw you enter your chambers..." her voice trails off.
"Three days I have been abed?" His head pounded and his mind whirled... darkness, a vast void of emptiness, a shining holy sword, a servant of Helm beaten and flayed, with a look in his eyes of utter betrayal... Was that all a dream?
"I must send a missive. Call in a squire." His head pounds again, and suddenly he is overcome with exhaustion, and he lies back down, "Tomorrow" he manages to croak, "I shall send it tomorrow..."

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"Is it done?"
"Almost. Think I've managed to stop that one before he ruins everything."
"Not like you to get involved..."
"Not like me no NOT get involved."
"You know what I mean... send Dug."
"He's not talking to me. Seems to think I am up to something."
"You ARE up to something." She says it with a long purr and an impish grin, causing him to smile.
"Yeah, well I did promise you a dance."
"Has everyone been invited yet?"
"I have a few more... they are going to be a little tricky to convince though. Seems that I have an unearned reputation with their patron... she isn't taking my messages either."
Pouting, she rolls over so that her face is inches from his. "You know I hate her. She shouldn't be invited."
Petting her head, he cups her chin in his hand, "She isn't, her faithful will dance though..."
"Maybe you should talk to them directly then."
"I was thinking you would be more convincing, Aasti.."
"Oh my love, I can be very convincing when I want to be..."

[DM Arkanis]

Headaches always follow dreams. It is the way of things. There is no amount of preparation, or even after-care that will mitigate them. They always come.
She rubs her temples and closes her eyes and tries to blink away the pain. The dream was vivid this time. Irisyll... human... warrior. Proud. True though, and undoubtedly a Good Soul.
Why hue-mans... why no People? She mentally shrugs, not her place to doubt the Dream Giver, just react to the dream.
Underground, and yet above. The human flies a dragon and wields an overly large sword - too large, like it is out of proportion. He holds it above his head and stands on the dragon's back, and screams something... something she cannot hear. The dragon flies straight towards a large, constructed stone archway. There are no walls, just the arch, and as the dragon nears, the hue-man strikes at it's Cornerstone with his blade. There is a flash of pure white, blinding light, and everything is gone... the world is...? Destroyed?
She rubs here eyes again. She knows the hue-man... seen him on the roadway by the smelly hue-man resting place... When she spots him again, and she will, she will ask him why he was holding that sword, and riding a purple dragon...

[DM Arkanis]

After Christmas I'll PM the players in my event, and we'll do some solo time and schedule the wrap-up-big-event-OMG-we're-all-gonna-die thing for the New Year.

Ark

[DM Arkanis]

She awoke with her head splitting again. Another dream? The cool breeze that blew the leaves around her head, high up in the tall tree told her it was pre dawn, and her reverie led her to the Dreamweaver again.

A man riding a great dragon with a flaming sword... a great PURPLE dragon, strikes at the cornerstone of a large stone archway that is floating in the sky, and the world explodes...

Another man walks down a narrow alley way. He is a holy man, a respected man, in full regalia of armor. Approached by a beggar girl covered in scars, he stops and bends over, and loses his balance and falls over, and crawls out of the alley a leper in fifthly rags while the beggar girl cackles with laughter, a whip, NO a scourge in her small hands.

She is hiding behind a tree, in a grove of trees where there is a clearing, and in the moonlight she sees lithe, elven figures, taller than herself, dancing naked by the moonlight, nearly silent in their steps but jubilant in their voices... the moon light is very bright, and the elves' skin is very dark... she is frightened and intrigued at the same time...

Her head spins and she closes her eyes to regain some balance. What is the Daughter of the Night Skies trying to tell her? She has found the Home of the People, and had hoped there would be answers there, but as of yet, there are none...

Dropping nearly silently to the ground she feels the familiar weight of her bow on her back, and she seeks the place where she knows the dead walk. Perhaps in the Hunt she will find some solace...