Emergence Game Thread

Taken a bit aback by the suddenness of my temporal displacement, I try to calm myself and four figures by responding to his first two questions directly; describing who I am while trying to ascertain a little bit more about them and their capabilities.

"I come as a friend, not an enemy. I am the son of Arjhan and Kava, dragonborn of the Daardendrian clan, Paladin of the Order of Adonai. I am on my way to Redwall to visit the head of my order and I always desire to camp near others while in such remote areas in order to ensure combined arms against bandits and worse. I intended not to sneak up on your camp, but instead called out a greeting to provide warning once I determined that you were not goblins or their ilk."

And with my most convincing and polite voice I can muster, "Please lower me down as I am already getting a bit queezy up here! Your magic is quite effective at reminding me of my unpleasant time as a mariner!"

Elereth moves to the pile of goods and pulls out a small pack and a wineskin, and comes back to the fire.

"I'll tell you our tale, but before I do, I'd love for you to share a story from the Daardendrian clan's history. Miriel here loves old stories of dragons. Onta willing, I'm convinced she'll be a bard one day." Elereth smiles lovingly at her. She's sitting between Garion's legs now, while her sister continues sleeping. "And, uh, your friend," turning to Harper, "if you have any stories, please feel free to share."

He assumes that since neither of you shared your first names, you don't want to be called by them.

He pulls four small wooden cups from the pack. "Have you ever had elven wine from a kwayuln before?" he asks as he fills the cups.

"And I am Rhiv. I've never had the pleasure of a kwayuln but I'm excited to partake!" I take the proffered cup and waft the wine deeply, and try to identify it's essence before drinking.

"In the ancient Dragonborn Kingdom of Arkhosia, formed soon after the Emergence, strong clans arose and formed ties that yet endure among dragonborn bloodlines. Within that Kingdom, the Daardendrians knew our greatest glory and became instilled with an everlasting sense of possibility despite our now lessened and--in my place slightly rootless--current existence. The Daardenrians originated from Daarden Who-Would-Be-Shestandeliath, Vanquisher of Djerad Thymar. His grandson, Thuchir Daardendrian, in 253, assisted the mighty Warbringer Clan and their famous chief Odeyar in the Battle of the Crippled Mountain. His heroic defense of Odeyar, at the cost of his own life, earned for the clan a powerful artifact, originally stolen from the grave of a titan, called the Breath of Petron which allowed an almost godlike ability to mold and master metal. This famous gift allowed Thuchir's first daughter Zaveri to build Djerad Thymar into a renowed citadel and a center of trade and commerce. To this day most Dragonborn smiths send up a yearly incense offering to her memory as the first of our Smiths. Unfortunately, wealth attracted many of the dragons and fiends that remained following the emergence. Most of her work and the city she built--weakened by a massive earthquake that struck in 372--collapsed into ruin and desolation following the loss of the Breath of Petron, and most of its creations, in an attack by the mighty dragon Bloodbane in 375. The last 600 years have seen many ups and downs in a never ending attempt to regain some of the glories of those early days but--like all clans and races--our idolatry, pride, and greed have usually been our downfall. As Dragonborn, our weak gods abandoned us or merely exacerbated our own weaknesses and let evil grow in this land. We have been spread before the sun and the moon and all the host of heaven which we have loved and served in vain....." I slowly fade and my speech falters as the sadness of my bloodline settles on my soul.... Oh Adonai why have you let the world and my kin, your creation, fall so far astray!?

"I'm sorry for not choosing a more light-hearted tale on such a dark night.... the world needs more light to talk about...."

Elereth watches Rhiv's face as he tells his tale. As Rhiv finishes, Elereth's brow furrows and he bites the inside of his lip. "But... and forgive me if this sounds insensitive, I assure you I don't intend to offend... did anyone ever try to retrieve the Breath of Petron, or exact vengeance on Bloodbane?"

Of course many expeditions and quests were made in those early centuries after the fall of Djerad Thymar to recover the artifact rather than to avenge our loss... Dragonborn are usually more pragmatic than vengeful, but our memories are long. Unfortunately none, or at least none that I know of, were successful. Bloodbane himself has not been heard of in hundreds of years and the ruins of the city are supposedly still empty... though neither I nor any of my kin have ever been. With your ancient lineage, do you have knowledge of either the artifact or the story of which I recount? I have reason to doubt the truth of many things that were handed down as sacred fact to my forefathers....

"I am still approaching the apex of my life-journey; compared to even my own brothers and sisters I am young. I do have some knowledge of elven dragon lore, though as you mentioned, there are many conflicting reports, even of the same incidents." Turning to Miriel, who is wide awake at this point, he smiles and says "Nectar, would you get papa's book, please?"

She runs to the pile of goods and starts digging for a satchel. She locates the handle and pulls, and three or four things tumble off the top of the pile. She smiles sheepishly as she starts to drag the bag. "Miriel?" Garion intones. "How do we treat our books?" Clearly embarrassed to have been corrected in front of strangers, she hefts the bag over her shoulder and carries it to Elereth. Elereth smiles forgivingly at her; he truly seems not to mind.

He opens the flap of the satchel revealing half a dozen tomes of various sizes. He pulls the smallest one and gently traces his finger down the spine. Holding the book up to his lips, he closes his eyes for a few small seconds and whispers something unintelligible. When he opens the small leatherbound book, there is a significant amount of text and drawings. He flips through a few pages, before settling on something. "Ah, here. I'm not sure if this is the same dragon OR the same artifact. In all likelihood, this could send you further away from any answers, but it is my best guess."

He hands you the open book, and as he does, the text seems to turn to liquid. The lines merge together, only to reform seconds later, but now in the language of the Dragonborn.

The tome tells of a dragon named Dinja Razarac, who, over half an age ago went on a rampage, annihilating anything he came across. As you keep reading, there's a small note about several artifacts tied to Dinja Razarac, one of which originally belonged to the dwarven god of smithing, and another that was created in a rare act of cooperation between Bahamut and Tiamat. There are a few details. The entry concludes by saying that Dinja Razarac eventually headed to the Drakonis Severin in the western mountains and has not been seen since. There are no dates.

While Rhiv is reading, Elereth asks Harp, "and you, quiet one? Any tales of dragons in your family's story? The minds of the very youngest of elves are drawn to fantastic legends. They have the greatest imaginations."

OOC: do I see it?

perception!