Shadows with Silver Linings.

[GameMaster]

Trackless Sea, 5th Day of Mirtul, 1372.

The ship was called The Daggerwake, a lean, weathered brigantine with black sails and a prow carved into the likeness of a snarling sea serpent. Its captain, Daric Vane, was a man of Tethyrian descent, with a sunburned face, salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a leather cord, and a perpetual frown that deepened when discussing anything beyond the immediate concerns of the sea.

Lörennia had found him in the harbor of Nimbral, his ship taking on fresh supplies before heading east. He had been wary of her at first-- those who sought passage from Nimbral often carried more trouble than coin. But when she'd proven she could pay her way and offered to serve as an extra hand if needed, he had agreed.

The crew of The Daggerwake was a mixed lot, most of them rough but competent sailors. There was Berrik, the quartermaster, a thick-shouldered Luskar with a missing left ear and a talent for dice; Nasira, the ship's navigator, a former corsair from Calimshan with a sharp tongue and sharper knives; and young Callum, a wide-eyed deckhand who had likely never been farther than a day's sail from Tethyr before signing on.

"Won't be going to Lantan."

Lörennia had asked about passage to Lantan as they readied to depart, but Captain Vane had immediately shut down the idea.  She studied his face, noting the tension in his jaw.

He shook his head. "Not exactly. There's something wrong there. Ships can leave Lantan just fine, but no ships are arriving,doesn't make sense... Sailors I trust swear by it—captains that set sail for Lantan report calm seas, good winds... and then nothing. No ships ever reach the island, been that way for more than a tenday."

"Zazesspur, then," Lörennia replied, keeping the rest of her thoughts to herself.

Vane grunted, nodding. "A better choice."

The voyage was uneventful, save for a patch of harsh weather two days out. The ship rocked violently as winds howled through the rigging and rain slashed across the deck in stinging sheets. The crew weathered it without much trouble—Lörennia herself secured the mainsail when Callum nearly lost his footing on the rigging, earning her a few grudging nods of approval from the sailors.

But the most unsettling moment of the journey came on the fifth night.

It was Nasira who spotted it first, her sharp eyes catching movement in the dark sea.

"Ship off the port side," she called down from her place near the helm.

Lörennia, standing by the railing, turned her gaze toward the waves. It was barely visible against the night, a dark silhouette bobbing on the water. No lanterns burned. No signal was given. The ship looked intact, but there was no movement on the deck, no sign of a crew.

Vane frowned, pulling out a spyglass and peering through it. After a long moment, he lowered it, his expression grim.

"No sails. No sign of a crew." He turned to Nasira. "Keep us clear of it."

"No boarding?" Berrik asked, a hint of something like disappointment in his voice.

"No," Vane said, his voice firm. "If they needed help, they'd signal. If they're dead, they can stay dead. I'm not taking chances."

No one argued.

They veered away, keeping their distance, and soon the ghostly vessel faded into the dark sea behind them.

By morning, it was as if it had never been there.

[GameMaster]

Trackless Sea, 9th Day of Mirtul, 1372.

As Lörennia stepped off the gangplank of The Daggerwake onto the bustling docks of Zazesspur, the vibrant life of the Tethyrian port city enveloped her immediately. The docks were a flurry of activity, filled with merchants and sailors from across the Realms, each engaged in the loud, chaotic dance of commerce and seafaring life.

To her left, a group of dockworkers hoisted crates of exotic spices onto a heavy wagon, the rich scents of clove and cinnamon mingling with the salty sea air. The pungent aromas tickled her senses, a stark contrast to the crisp oceanic breezes she had grown accustomed to during her voyage. The workers shouted instructions to each other over the creak of ropes and the clatter of wooden planks, their voices rough and boisterous.

Directly ahead, the marketplace sprawled out like a living tapestry woven with vibrant colors. Stalls brimming with goods lined the way—silks and satins from Calimshan flowed from awnings, shimmering in the morning sun, while vendors hawked jewelry made of bright Lantanese glass and polished seashells from the Moonshae Isles. Fishmongers displayed their fresh catches, the silver scales of fish glinting like coins under the keen eyes of haggling housewives.

To her right, the dockside taverns and inns throbbed with the raucous laughter and music of early day revelers. Sea shanties spilled out from open windows, sung by voices made hoarse by wind and whiskey. The establishments, with names like The Salty Mast and Mermaid's Kiss, promised respite and entertainment for weary sailors looking to escape the confines of their ships.

As Lörennia walked further, she noticed a cluster of sailors gathered around a crumpled notice pinned to a wooden post. The notice, flapping slightly in the morning breeze, seemed to be a call for crew for an upcoming voyage, a common sight on such docks, yet it drew an unusually solemn crowd, their faces etched with the seriousness of men who knew the dangers of the sea all too well.

The city's architecture told its own story, with buildings that bore the mark of Tethyr's rich history—stone structures with high, arched windows and tiled roofs that spoke of affluence built over centuries. Above it all, the flags of Zazesspur fluttered proudly, their bright colors a declaration of the city's pride and maritime heritage.

Taking it all in, Lörennia felt a mix of exhilaration and wariness. Zazesspur was a city of endless possibilities, a place where fortunes could be made and lost with the tide. As she made her way through the crowd, her senses alert to every sight and sound, she found herself relaxing just a little with the most important bit of information she knew about this place:

Slavery is illegal in Zazesspur.

[LorenniaNailo]

Of course, I remain on my guard; just because slavery is illegal doesn't mean it isn't still practiced among the nobility– or was at least; I hear that may have changed rather violently and permanently back in 1347. I have been as far north as Kirgrove (not that I'm entirely sure where that is) a few years before that, which (while not the worst) was a distinctly unpleasant experience, even for me.

I feel vaguely dwarf-like as the heavy stone structures everywhere spur my excitement; I had expected only a few stone structures which would have made my task easier, but with this many someone might have already done my task for me.  Somewhat surprisingly, there is no grand bridge across the Sulduskoon River (I had always kind of assumed there was) and no indication that there used to be one that subsequently fell into disrepair either.  That is unfortunate, as I was rather expecting there to be one and it would have been the obvious place to look.

Looking back south across the river at the Low City, it looks a bit more run-down (and of course is always closer to Calimport) so I'm rather glad we docked in the High City.  The marketplace helps immensely too of course; I instinctively shy away from any alleys but am more invested in searching out an antiques dealer*.  If for any reason something feels "off" to me, I pass them by immediately; there's bound to be at least a few dealers in a metropolis this size.  I'll keep their location in mind just in case I'm wrong, however.

* I picked antiques dealer because they're likely to (1) exist, (2) not be overly busy, and (3) actually know something about the questions below.  If I find some other business that fits those criteria I'm happy to try them as well.

Once I find a suitable antiques dealer, I greet them in flawless Chondathan (unless they're elves obviously) and (after suitably appreciating their taste in antiques) start asking if they know the location of (I run down the list in order from "most helpful" to "tenuously connected to something that may be helpful" and stop once I have an answer in the affirmative):
...the local historical society?
...a historical museum?
...any local historians?
...an archaeologist?
...an archivist?
...the city library?
(this is where things start getting a bit reach-y; any of these with links I need to lapse into Alzhedo or Elven to explain)
...a symbologist or semiotician?
...a knowledgeable antiques appraiser?
...historical (i.e. old battle) re-enactors?
...an artist who practices frottage?
...conspiracy theorists who think there's some kind of "secret society" in the city?

I'm looking for anyone who might have already found and catalogued marks in the stone foundations and walls all around the city, if that wasn't already obvious.

[GameMaster]

Zazesspur, Tethyr.  9th Day of Mirtul, 1372.

After passing those establishments of heavier goods that tended to be clsoe to the docks, the very first place you find yourself standing before is a quaint little shop, its window adorned with artifacts that whispered of many decades, or even centuries. The bell above the door jingles charmingly as you enter, the thick scent of old ink and paper enveloping you just before the softer aroma of what must be a thin wood polish.

The shopkeeper, an elderly man with rounded glass in front of both eyes and wire frames hooked over his ears and resting precariously at the end of his nose, greets you in Chondathan-- and observes with some interest your flawless Chondathan reply. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and pride as he watches you peruse his collection.

After a few moments of your appreciating the antiquities, he speaks up again.  Clearing his throad, "I I wonder if I might help you with something in particular?" he began, his tone measured and clear. "A spyglass perhaps, or a new compass?  Or a gift mayhaps, for some lucky sailor?" 

[LorenniaNailo]

"Rather the opposite, I'm afraid," I reply.  "I'm looking for some friends of mine.  They would have passed through the city about, oh...three hundred and fifty-three years ago."

As his face falls, I add, "You see my problem," deliberately keeping it light.  "Fortunately, we did consider that it might be a while before I could follow them.  We developed a rune that doesn't appear in any language, and that should be on one of the many stone buildings you have in this city.  So, what I could really use is directions to...
...the local historical society?
...a historical museum?
...any local historians?
...an archaeologist?
...an archivist?
...the city library?
(this is where things start getting a bit reach-y; any of these with links I need to lapse into Alzhedo or Elven to explain)
...a symbologist or semiotician?
...a knowledgeable antiques appraiser?
...historical (i.e. old battle) re-enactors?
...an artist who practices frottage?
...conspiracy theorists who think there's some kind of "secret society" in the city?

Being an antiques shop, I assume I'm not keeping him from other customers at the moment, and am happy to wait if he needs to help a customer first.

[GameMaster]

Lorennia was fully prepared to steer the conversation in any direction, but didn't expect his enthusiasm as soon as she mentioned the event was 350 years ago...  He fingered his glasses back up his nose so that he could see clearly through the lenses, and the pitch of his voice raised-- just a little-- in obvious excitement.  "Elves? In the Year of the Wandering Wyvern?"

Something seems to occur to him when he mentions the year, and you notice his eyes narrow ever so slightly, and his hands freeze in place.  He watches you closely, more than a little afraid.

[LorenniaNailo]

Having no idea what he's afraid of [untrained 17 on a Knowledge (history) check notwithstanding], I shrug.  "Two elves, a dwarf, a halfling, a tiefling, and a trumpet archon whose powers had been sealed away.  So, probably not whomever you're thinking of, especially since they probably wouldn't have been very interested in staying."

Assuming that isn't enough to put him at ease, I sigh and look out one of his windows.  "There's really very little you could possibly tell me where I haven't already imagined worse.  It's been three and a half centuries, and I have a very active imagination."

[Note: Lörennia doesn't remember the roll of years well enough to correct him on the year; they probably would have passed through in 1019 DR, not 1022.  Although, it's by no means impossible that they somehow took three years to get here.]

[GameMaster]

He relaxes visibly.  "Ah... Forgive my initial reaction.  I'm quite taken with reading history, you see-- wizards like their spellbooks, ladies enjoy fairy tales, but for me the pages telling true stories of the past and bringing people alive really sets my imagination ablaze... Errm... And you see, 350 years ago the King of Tethyr, the many beloved Kortal passed fromt his world-- some accounts try to claim he was slain so that Hadraek the First could rise to power... And with war against Amn on the horizon and you being an obviously battle-hardened elf and prophecies being what they are, well... I'm an old man and my imagination is wild sometimes, forgive me I beg..."

After the briefest of pauses, he continues, "Elves, dwarves, halfling, tiefling, and archon?  Alas, no, I have not come across any reading of such a group, and certainly the tiefling and especially the archon would've drawn attention-- they ventured through Zazesspur, did they?"

[LorenniaNailo]

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"That was the plan," I confirm, "but for all I know they never made it this far, or went around the city.  Or they came through and managed not to attract attention, which I'm sure is what they would have preferred."

With five quick strokes, I sketch a quick seemingly-meaningless rune.  "By any chance, have you seen this anywhere?  They agreed to leave a copy in case I managed to follow them, in a suitably permanent place in case it took longer than any of us wanted.  It would probably have ended up carved into one of your stone walls or foundations."

[GameMaster]

"Nay, alas, nay... I've been but locked in here for ages with my books, for the most part.  But oh my, what an adventure it could be looking for such!  And some 350 years ago, you say...  There used to be a fine old dwarf serving as Reeve, he would've known no doubt, but sadly he was stricken with the Curse, and fell in a cabin outside of town.  Quentin Amordance runs city repairs now, and he's a levereting wandought if there ever was such..."  His thoughts trail off as he seems to consider the puzzle of how to find where the symbol might be.

"I have some records, of course, though mostly they were quotes and offers for enhancements that may or may not have happened.  You could join me, if you like, in reading through them?  If we can learn where the oldest pillars are that have not been touched, it might lead to the likliest place to look for your... your... what did you say this symbol's name is again?"

[LorenniaNailo]

I smile, only a little sadly.  "Last I heard, we hadn't named it.  Of course, there's been plenty of time for that to change!"  I chuckle, and in that moment make a snap decision to reverse what I was about to say.  "Let's see what we can find.  If we can cut the number of places back to a couple dozen, that's at least a number I could review in person."

[GameMaster]

He nods eagerly, turning toward a small, arched doorway partially obscured behind a towering shelf overflowing with fragile parchments and worn leather volumes. He reaches into a pocket sewn into the side of his robes and withdraws a slender silver key. With an easy twist, the lock clicks softly, and the wooden door swings open on silent hinges, revealing a modest but meticulously organized archive beyond.

The chamber is cozy, illuminated by gentle shafts of sunlight filtering through high, narrow windows framed in thick glass panes etched faintly with ivy motifs. Heavy oak shelves line every wall, stacked high with tomes and ledgers bound in aged leather, their faded titles embossed in peeling gold leaf or delicate silver filigree. Some volumes appear untouched for decades, layers of dust settled gently atop their covers, while others bear the marks of frequent handling, their spines cracked and pages dog-eared by generations of readers.

With a friendly flourish, the antiques dealer gestures for Lorennia to enter first. As he follows behind, he pauses to wave his hand gently toward a small brass kettle resting atop a nearby side table. With a whispered Chondathan word, a delicate spark of amber-colored magic shimmers through the air. In moments, steam begins to rise softly from the kettle's slender spout, and an inviting fragrance of richly spiced tea fills the room, blending pleasantly with the scent of old paper and polished wood.

He crosses to a sturdy oak table at the room's center, scattered neatly with blank scrolls, fine quills, inkpots, and a polished bronze reading lamp etched with softly glowing runes of illumination. From a high shelf, he carefully selects several large volumes, each seemingly heavier and more ancient than the last. He handles each as though it were a treasured artifact, murmuring their titles aloud as he retrieves them:

"Chronicles of Stone and Steel, by Master Historian Alarik Dorn."
"Treatise on the Architecture of Zazesspur, penned by Callina Silverlight."
"Records of Masonry and Structural Enhancements, 1100-1340 DR."
"The Reeve's Codex, Being the Observations and Notes of Thardin Ironfist."

He lays them reverently upon the table, arranging them carefully and adjusting his glasses as they slide toward the tip of his nose.

"Ah, here we are," he murmurs warmly, opening one particularly immense ledger bound in faded green leather. "City works and repairs, detailed notes on stonecraft commissioned throughout the centuries. If someone carved your mysterious rune, perhaps we can find mention of it, or at least the oldest untouched foundations within these pages."

He settles himself comfortably into a high-backed chair cushioned in faded blue velvet, carefully turning pages with practiced hands accustomed to delicate texts. Glancing toward another chair across the table, he smiles invitingly.

"The tea is ready," he says gently, nodding toward the kettle, now softly humming. "A recipe from a friend in Calimport, though I confess I add more cardamom than she ever did." He chuckles softly, eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. "Now then, let's see what secrets history feels inclined to share with us today."

Leaning forward eagerly, he begins sifting carefully through the ancient pages, occasionally pausing to read aloud notable passages in his soft, scholarly voice.

"'And thus it was observed that upon laying the cornerstone beneath the southeastern watchtower, the masons uncovered older, unknown carvings whose significance remains presently obscure.'"

He pauses, glancing up with thoughtful curiosity, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

With a quiet hum of satisfaction, the antiques dealer reaches toward one of the fresh parchment sheets scattered on the table, smoothing it gently with his palm. He selects a fine, dark-feathered quill from a nearby inkpot, its tip glistening sharply in the lamplight.

Carefully dipping the quill into the ink, he meticulously copies the words in flowing script, murmuring softly to himself as he writes:

"And thus it was observed that upon laying the cornerstone beneath the southeastern watchtower, the masons uncovered older, unknown carvings whose significance remains presently obscure."

Finishing with a small flourish, he places the quill carefully back in its stand and gently blows across the parchment to dry the ink, nodding in quiet approval as he surveys his work.

"Could be something..." he offers before egaerly going back to his systematic reading.

[LorenniaNailo]

I will pour two cups of tea (one for him and one for me obviously), setting them down well away from the books - because all of us can make mistakes.  Assuming he lets me, I will take one of the other books (preferably Callina Silverlight's) and read the first few pages to get a feel for the writing style, then (if possible, because it's not always possible) skimming the rest, looking for keywords and descriptions.

At one point, I inhale in surprise, then sigh.  "Well, on the bright side, that bronze plate probably wasn't it, but it's still a shame someone melted it down before it could be recorded."

[GameMaster]

"Ah, a bronze plate, melted down, you say? Such a shame indeed," he says, his voice gentle but tinged with regret. "Many artifacts from earlier eras met similarly unfortunate fates—often in times of war or hardship. Bronze, silver, gold... history has frequently been sacrificed for more immediate concerns, I'm afraid."

He carefully turns another brittle page, pausing to let his gaze roam slowly across the faded text. Around them, sunlight shifts gradually, catching motes of dust suspended in the air and setting them aglow, a gentle dance of shimmering particles drifting lazily among the ancient shelves.

After a moment, he continues softly, almost absently, "Still, perhaps other references remain. Callina Silverlight was meticulous—if such a bronze plate held significance, I suspect she would have documented its existence carefully, melted or not."

With a quiet determination, he resumes his reading, one hand gently cradling the porcelain teacup, fingers tapping lightly against its side in rhythmic contemplation. The quiet rustle of pages, mingling with the scent of cardamom-spiced tea, fills the cozy archive, turning it into a sanctuary where secrets of history whisper softly from every shelf.


Treatise on the Architecture of Zazesspur
Penned by Callina Silverlight, 1297 DR.

In contemplating the great city of Zazesspur, one must first reckon with stone—stone raised not merely as shelter or fortification, but as a testament to permanence, resilience, and ambition. The architecture of our fair city reflects not only the craftsmanship of masons but the intricate weaving of culture and purpose, war and peace, through the centuries of its existence.

From the earliest simple dwellings clustered along the banks of the Sulduskoon, to the towering bastions and richly ornamented facades that now line the streets of the High City, every structure whispers a story to those who know how to listen. It is my humble aspiration within these pages to preserve those whispers, to record in ink and parchment that which was first inscribed in stone and mortar.

For as the stones endure, so too must our remembrance of the hands that placed them.


As Lorennia continues to skim, certain passages and sentences seem to stand out from the intricate descriptions of archways, bridges, and towers:


"It is curious to note that the foundation stones of the older towers along the eastern riverbank bear distinct markings of unknown significance. Local masons, queried by this scholar, attributed them simply to decorative tradition, though none could provide examples from other cities."

"In the year 1231 DR, a bronze dedication plate was affixed to the northern gatehouse commemorating victory over southern raiders. Its placement upon an already ancient and revered stone surface suggests a deeper symbolic intention, now sadly lost to the ages."

"Below the city streets, the remains of older roads and walls continue to persist, occasionally coming to light during the construction of new buildings or excavations for cellars. Notably, workers in 1278 DR uncovered several carved slabs beneath what is now the bustling market square; these were carefully documented by Master Stonemason Brevik before being covered once more."

"Architecturally, the low bridge often assumed to cross the Sulduskoon at its narrowest point was proposed on several occasions, yet repeatedly denied due to inexplicable resistance from both civic and temple authorities. Documents detailing these proposals were curiously lost during the brief unrest of 1259 DR."

"One must take particular notice of the older stonework supporting the southeastern watchtower, as its original cornerstone appears to be older than the city records themselves, hinting at an earlier settlement or ceremonial site, the details of which remain elusive."

[LorenniaNailo]

It is curious to note that the foundation stones of the older towers along the eastern riverbank bear distinct markings of unknown significance. Local masons, queried by this scholar, attributed them simply to decorative tradition, though none could provide examples from other cities.

I write this one down.  "Which one counts as the eastern riverbank, I wonder, when the river flows west?"

In the year 1231 DR, a bronze dedication plate was affixed to the northern gatehouse commemorating victory over southern raiders. Its placement upon an already ancient and revered stone surface suggests a deeper symbolic intention, now sadly lost to the ages.

I write this one down as well, although I doubt it has anything to do with me this time.

Below the city streets, the remains of older roads and walls continue to persist, occasionally coming to light during the construction of new buildings or excavations for cellars. Notably, workers in 1278 DR uncovered several carved slabs beneath what is now the bustling market square; these were carefully documented by Master Stonemason Brevik before being covered once more.

"Do you have anything written by a Master Stonemason Brevik?  It seems he was in the habit of documenting carved stone."

Architecturally, the low bridge often assumed to cross the Sulduskoon at its narrowest point was proposed on several occasions, yet repeatedly denied due to inexplicable resistance from both civic and temple authorities. Documents detailing these proposals were curiously lost during the brief unrest of 1259 DR.

At this point I take a short break from reading to sip my tea, reflecting on how the world sometimes just wants to mock me. 

One must take particular notice of the older stonework supporting the southeastern watchtower, as its original cornerstone appears to be older than the city records themselves, hinting at an earlier settlement or ceremonial site, the details of which remain elusive.

"Southeastern watchtower again."  I write it down, just in case.

Assuming I've finished with that one, I'll take a look at the Reeve's Codex next (same procedure).

So far, the list of areas to check is as follows:
* southeastern watchtower
* older towers along the "eastern riverbank"
* northern gatehouse, especially around this bronze dedication plate
So far the list isn't too outrageously long.

Side note - Lörennia was originally going to wait for him to drink first out of paranoia, but - well, then she forgot.