We have retrieved the Eye of Varrien. A very good night’s work indeed. We’re now lying low in the river town of Port Lead trying to figure out what in the name of all the gods we should do with it.
Calwyn had always planned to give it to Glynd, the cleric of Elloran to whom I owe my life. But she has passed to the other side and the Eye is burning a hole in Calwyn’s backpack, magic or no. Others will kill for it, that is clear, and our aim must be to stop those who would try to open one or both of the Eyes. But how? We cannot do much if we are dead.
We have also sworn on Glynd’s last blessing to find the right Eye… and I somehow don’t think we want to bring the two together. Do we?
These are perhaps questions for others to answer, but I am committed doubly to the cause after my last two encounters with Glynd. A resurrection and a deathbed blessing will have that effect, I guess.
We have decided to seek guidance at the temple of Elloran, as we believe Glynd would have done. The god of knowledge is not my own, but I owe him something after his benevolence.
However, the problem with this course of action is that the nearest temple of Elloran is very far away. I can barely conceive how far. I am already further away from my birthplace than I’ve ever travelled before. The northern plains, windswept and free, are all I know.
The southern influence here in the north is daunting enough. I had never before seen the like of Hyden’s Ford or Port Lead until the last couple of weeks. What will we find if we journey all the way to the south?
25 days later…
Port Rabat must be the largest city in all the world. It has taken us almost a month to get here — first a journey east downriver by barge all the way to the sea and then a difficult voyage south. I thought SeaReach enormous when we arrived there to seek passage, but it was nothing — nothing — compared with the immensity of Port Rabat.
I should think all the plains folk in all the northern villages would fit inside this single city of stone and wood and mud and steel. It is crowded and cramped and smelly and dirty and downright rough. And expensive. In truth, we don’t have nearly enough coin to survive here.
To start with they charged us exorbitant fees to bring our weapons into the city. It cost us 11 silver pieces for my weapons alone! And now I must carry a token stamped with tiny images of my exact weapons. I pray to Emrys I do not lose it.
We are putting it about that Alix is a cleric of Shadrath (true) making a pilgrimage to her brethren here in the south. Ammonite and I are her protectors, Schill is her nephew and Calwyn her camp cook. They are a suspicious bunch down here, but the story seems to be holding.
I do not think we will stay here in Port Rabat long — which I for one am pleased about. Today, Ammonite, Schill and I visited a downtrodden pub, where it was rumoured swords for hire might find work. And so it proved. We have information about a job that should take about a week for payment in gold. Gold we sorely need. The job sounds dodgy and dangerous of course — dark times, place needing assistance, fell creatures… I guess we shall see.
While we were thus engaged at The Woe Betide, Alix and Calwyn visited the temple quarter of this city. We arrived back from our expedition to the far side of Port Rabat (we had to go all around the city, not being allowed beyond the outer ring) to find them closeted in our lodging with a priest of Elloran, and we have only just had the story from them.
It seems they were fobbed off earlier at the temple, but managed to leave a message with an acolyte whose knowledge specialty is — to my huge chagrin — bears. Calwyn, the little weasel, promised I would share my experiences with this Oomat over a drink this evening, which is what I have been doing for the last two hours. (How many bears have I seen? Touched? Skinned? How heavy are bear cubs? What does their fur feel like? What’s it like to have a bear rip half your face off?)
So, because of all this bear talk, I have only just heard details about the visit from the priest of Elloran who accompanied Oomat here and held mysterious counsel with Alix and Calwyn behind a locked and warded door. It appears he confirmed much of what we suspected — that Glynd was tasked with finding the left Eye of Varrien — and he offered gold for news of the left Eye (and, it seems, the right).
Since we have come all this way to relinquish that very left Eye into the care of the church of Elloran, I am admittedly perplexed as to why they didn’t hand it over then and there. But Calwyn’s instincts have proved very good during my short acquaintance with him, so I must suppose he had his reasons. Nonetheless, we have talked it over and I think we have no choice but to give it up. Surely one or all of us will end up dead if we do not?
Besides, if we are to seek the right Eye — which this priest says is somewhere near the lost city of Tel Marrenor here in the south — it would surely not be smart to be carrying the left.
Whatever we decide, I am looking forward to getting out of this cacophonous city. I cannot imagine why anyone would choose to live here. I’m finding it hard to breathe.
Our valiant party clearly has a big decision to make. The big question is whether the church of Elloran can be trusted? And then we have to try to survive the south, which seems quite scary and dangerous to poor Zillah, who’s already missing her wide open plains.
For the story so far, refer to D&D Chronicles.