|
Whiskers the Bard
Acolyte
1 Posts |
 Posted - 15 Nov 2025 : 19:23:13
|
Chapter 1: Inception
The Yawing Portal Inn
Waterdeep, City of Splendours
15 Mirtul 1372 DR, the year of Wild Magic
*At lands end, did Asgorath*
*A stately dragon tomb decree*
*Shore where old bays began,*
*In aeons measureless to man,*
*Vista of Forests Three*
Randalf Dion, warrior and former monk of Lathander, was not one for poetry. He considered the parchment document before him, and wondered if he had made a mistake by accepting this invitation. Interpreting poetry was not usually one of the tasks he was called upon to perform as an adventurer.
Around the table, facing Randalf, was a cast of characters that would be considered odd even for the Yawning Portal Inn, a place frequented by adventurers of all descriptions hailing from all over the sword coast.
Across from Randalf was a Tabaxi named Nero, an humanoid cat with pitch dark fur and gleaming yellow eyes. The Tabaxi were exotic beings who had been forcibly brought across the ocean by unscrupulous Amnian merchant companies from the new world of Maztica, with most being sold into slavery in Calimshan, where the shameful institution was still legal.
The Tabaxi fidgeted with its whiskers thoughtfully, and then purred in a sweet melodic voice
“Its a map reference, a location between three forests.”
A large Raven, hopping about on the table to Randalf’s left, looked quizzically at the cat person. “Waterdeep is between three forests!” it cried excitedly in a high pitched voice. “Ardeep forest, the High Forest, and Cryptgarden!” The Raven beamed proudly at the humanoids at the table with its shiny black eyes.
Sitting to Randalf’s right, Illion shook her head. Illion was a dark brooding woman. Her face was skillfully painted in sad clown makeup, disguising but not fully concealing her uncommon beauty. In her darkly alluring eyes there was a flicker of madness, but she spoke with a sophistication which hinted at great intelligence.
“The High Forest is over a hundred miles away.” Illion stated, “Waterdeep is no vista of three forests.” she paused. The words of the poem echoed in her thoughts.
*Shore where old bays began / in aeons measureless to man*
“We are looking for a peninsula.” Illion deduced. “With a bay on each side of the land. A place with an impossibly ancient dragon tomb.”
The group considered Illion’s words, then turned to regard the ornate hand drawn map of Faerun decorating the back wall of the inn’s private room.
Memories stirred in Randolfs mind. His schooling as a monk in the monastery of Lathander began to flash before his eyes. When the monastery took him in as a young boy, geography and history lessons had once been the bane of his existence. But years of discipline had given Randalf a clear, orderly mind which retained whatever information it was given.
“The Sea of Fallen Stars” Randolf began slowly, pausing to allow the information to assemble in his mind, “is said to have been formed in ancient aeons, when eggs of dragons rained down on Faerun.”
The Raven, whose name was Prometheus, examined the map with his keen eyes. “Cape Dragonfang, then! On the east coast of The Sea of Fallen Stars. That’s OBVIOUSLY it. Where else would you put a dragon tomb?”
Randalf regarded the talking bird. Such a creature was usually indicative of a shapeshifter, or of an unfortunate person affected by a wizards’ polymorph spell. In more provincial areas the appearance of a being like Prometheus would spark fear and be taken as an ill omen. But here in the city of splendours, where magic was commonplace, Prometheus was merely something of an oddity. Rumour had it that the talking raven was formed by some freak accident of a magical experiment by wizards at Blackstaff Tower not far from the inn. Prometheus had, by all accounts, once been an ordinary raven chick. Now he appeared to have human intelligence, if not a great deal of subtlety. But the side effects of magical experimentation were not limited to speech. Apprentice wizards from Blackstaff academy, over cups of spiced firewine, spoke in hushed tones of the highly unusual suite of magical abilities that Prometheus possessed.
Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun, the Archmage of Waterdeep, had been fascinated by the strange accident of wild magic that had formed Prometheus, and had considered adopting the bird as a familiar, only to tire of his incessant prattling and insatiable curiosity. Once archmage Khelben had determined there was seemingly nothing more to learn from studying the poor bird, Prometheus was now allowed to frequent The Yawning Portal where adventurers rested between sorties into the subterranean labyrinth of undermountain.
Randalf, Illion, Prometheus, and Nero had been called to meet in this private room on the top floor of the inn by special invitation. Across the room, carefully observing the invitees, was a cat. A large old gray tabby cat, who was, inexplicably, smoking a pipe. Assumed by the inn’s adventurer patrons to be an eccentric shapechanged sorcerer, the tabby cat went by the name of Whiskers, and remained secretive about its origins. The cat seemed to be pleased.
“You have passed my little test. The four of you seem to be capable of working together as a team, reasoning logically together. This bodes well.” The cat paused to regard the group approvingly, then continued.
“Indeed you are correct, the dragon tomb of Asgorath lies at the edge of Cape Dragonfang, overlooking the Sea of Fallen Stars.” Whiskers chewed on his pipe and took a little puff. “Allow me to read to you the final stanza of the poem.”
Whiskers cleared his throat. His voice was that of a distinguished human sage, full of gravitas, and sounding wholly unlike a cat. He began to recite the verse, his words resonating in the sumptuously appointed room.
*Dark Chest of Wonders there awaits*
*Heroes drawn by eldritch fates*
*Their wills tested by wardens fell*
*Primordial embers of gods to be*
Randalf felt a chill, a frisson of significance pass through his soul, stirring in his Ki, the spiritual energy he had honed as monk.
Nero felt a sensation of Deja Vu, the faint pull of a long forgotten memory.
Illion was intrigued, but unconvinced. A legendary dark chest hidden for aeons? This had to be some kind of hoax.
Prometheus was practically boiling over with enthusiasm. A quest! He had never been on a quest. Perhaps he would return to Waterdeep as a great hero, renowned to all the folk of the city. He imagined throngs of admirers fawning over him as he paraded down the boulevard, perched atop a great black treasure chest. And then Archmage Khelben would present him with a grand Diploma of Merit. But then a new urgent thought occurred to Prometheus, and he excitedly squealed “What’s in the chest!? A chest of wonders? What’s in it!?”
Whiskers purred. “What exactly the chest contains is not known to me, nor is it known to any of my peers. Knowledge of the chest’s existence has been a closely guarded secret passed down in my bardic order for generations.”
Illion chortled suddenly “So you keep secret the hidden location of a legendary magic chest…and you don’t even know what’s inside it. That’s hilarious.”
Randalf exchanged glances with Nero. Randalf didn’t know why, but he felt like the words of the strange tabbycat bard had rung true.
“I felt something” said Nero. “Like a memory, a remnant of something long forgotten in my mind, like telltale traces of chalk on a slate incompletely erased”
Whiskers gave Nero a thoughtful look and then continued his tale. “My order knows only that the Dark Chest of Wonders contains the prize which Asgorath has selected to bequeath to his chosen champions. My order has long watched and waited, seeking a group of candidates for this distinction. The four of you have been selected, and you have passed my preliminary tests. You may embark upon this quest for the Dark Chest of Wonders, or you may refuse the call.”
Nero spoke suddenly, their voice tinged by apprehension. “Who is this Asgorath fellow? And why is it the Dark chest of wonders? Does it contain some form of dark nefarious sorcery?”
Whiskers adjusted his pipe to the corner of his little mouth. “Asgorath is one of the primordial deities of Abeir-Toril. Asgorath is the progenitor of the draconic pantheon, father of Bahamut and Tiamat. Scarcely known to mortals, Asgorath now inhabits the land of Abeir, which was sundered from Toril long ago.”
Whiskers continued, his eyes wandering to the dying light of the evening sky seen through the room’s window, while his tail waved behind him like a pendulum. “As for why the chest is called dark, we believe it is so called because it is obscure. Asgorath sought to obscure the fate of the chest from gods and prophets, placing it beyond all manner of scrying. We believe its existence is hidden even from modern deities of Faerun. Its existence is known only to my order, the secret handed down to us by Asgorath himself, before the sundering. Its obscurity is entrenched with powerful primordial magic.”
Whiskers then straightened up his body, and set the group with a very serious stare. “What say you then, will you undertake this Quest for the Dark Chest of Wonders?”
Illion sighed dismissively “You lot aren’t actually seriously considering this are you? This has to be some kind of prank”
Prometheus stared at Illion. “I don’t know what “prank” means but this nice tabbycat already told us this is a Quest not a “prank”. I have never been on a quest before, but I intend to find this Chest, bring it back to Waterdeep, and become the greatest hero Waterdeep has ever known! You can come with me or not. I could start flying there myself right now, but I might need some assistance or support staff, as I’m not sure I’ll be able to carry the chest back in my talons.” Prometheus looked hopefully at Randalf and Nero.
Randalf scratched his chin and looked at Illion, then at Nero, then finally at Prometheus. “This story sounds far too unbelievable to be true. Even here in the city of splendours, where I’m talking to a mutant wild magic Raven, it seems far fetched. But I felt something in the words of that poem.”
Randalf thought suddenly of his training in the monastery, where he had dreamed of enlightenment, self-perfection, and transcendence. And then of the last few years of drudgery, where he had been forced to work as a mercenary, serving as hired muscle in order to earn income to support his wife and children. This quest was the opportunity he needed.
“I will accept the quest” said Randalf “on one condition. You must ensure that my wife and children are taken care of while I am away.”
Whiskers approximated a smile with his feline mouth. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.” he said.
“How are we supposed to get to Cape Dragonfang?” Nero asked, hesitantly. Something burned inside of their brain, a memory itching to be retrieved but just out of reach. They were desperate to find this chest, to uncover the source of the memory. But practical concerns took precedence.
“I have arranged passage for the four of you on a ship sailing down the sword coast to Baldur’s Gate. Once in Baldur’s Gate you will accompany a merchant caravan overland to Westgate, on the western coast of the sea of fallen stars. You will be serving as security detail for the merchant caravan. Once you reach Westgate, you will board a ship crossing the Sea of Fallen Stars bound for Aglarond. You will be crossing the Pirate Isles at the centre of the sea so again you will be serving as hired security. Once you reach Aglarond you will need to travel to cape dragonfang on your own. It is a remote and isolated rocky peninsula with no permanent habitation.”
“Or, if you have the means, you can hire a wizard to teleport you to Aglarond.”
“Or fly!” said Prometheus, “I’m a bird. Birds can migrate long distances. I can fly right there; I mean, I’ve never actually flown more than a mile or two but other birds do it so it can’t be that hard!”
Illion considered the situation. If there was any possibility this legend was true, it would certainly be worthwhile to acquire an ancient primordial chest of wonders. “I’ll come along, if only to find out the truth behind this legend. The three of you…will require my adult supervision.”
|
|
The Quest for the Dark Chest of Wonders
