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Alexander 2025-07-01 17:19:34 -04:00
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.vscode/settings.json vendored
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@ -6,8 +6,10 @@
"Chondalwood",
"Chondath",
"demi",
"Eldath",
"extraplanar",
"extraplanars",
"Faerûn",
"Feywild",
"Figrett",
"Figridge",
@ -15,19 +17,24 @@
"Grinbriar",
"guardly",
"harengon",
"Iggwilv",
"Karmel",
"Laerel",
"Laeral",
"Moradin",
"Mystra",
"nelist",
"planeswalker",
"pranking",
"Pteey",
"Rumbar",
"scrying",
"Silverhand",
"Toril",
"Venron",
"Waterdeep",
"Waterhavian",
"Waterhavians",
"Whitlock"
"Whitlock",
"Xanathar"
]
}

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acl.cool/site/draft/umbral1.dj
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# Umbral Gaze 1
Two years have passed since our intrepid adventurers fought and defeated a hydra near Venron in what has since become known in that area as "the hydra incident"--- or the "M. Pteey Lake thing" elsewhere in the Sword Coast.
Two years have passed since our intrepid adventurers fought and defeated a hydra near Venron in what villagers now call "the hydra incident". In other parts of Faerûn, those less in-the-know refer to the battle as "that thing at M. Pteey Lake".
Standing together now, summoned with urgency to a high-curtained forecourt under the mild Waterhavian sun, party members speculate about their situation and watch as shadows cast by serried wall-top grotesques march unremittingly across the flagstones. Jaggedly sculpted profiles grow long and pointed in the golden hour, a hundred umbral fingers that reach over our heroes to scrabble at the stonework and prank the quadrangle in narrow slats of shade. At one end, a pair of doors blocks the entrance of the mansion to which the courtyard belongs; at the other, iron gates fill an archway that leads to the road.
As they stand together now, summoned by supreme authority to a high-curtained forecourt under the mild Waterhavian sun, party members speculate about their situation and watch as shadows cast by serried wall-top grotesques slide unremittingly across the flagstones. Jaggedly sculpted profiles grow long and pointed in the golden hour, a hundred umbral fingers that stretch over our heroes to scrabble at the stonework and prank the quadrangle in narrow slats of shade. At one end, a pair of doors blocks the entrance of the mansion to which the courtyard belongs; at the other, iron gates fill an archway that leads to the road.
Despite a wealth of information between them, none of the adventurers can say what has ultimately brought about this happy reunion; they know only that they attend a summons from Laerel Silverhand, Open Lord of Waterdeep, whom it would be unwise to disappoint. Their conversation is still worthwhile--- all are glad to see one-another again and to share a few brief stories of where they've been and what they've been doing since that fated day two years ago.
In spite of the shared wealth of knowledge and experience between them, no adventurer can say what has ultimately brought about this happy reunion, only they attend a summons from Laeral Silverhand[^laeral], Open Lord of Waterdeep, whom it would be unwise to disappoint. Their conversation is still worthwhile--- all are glad to see one-another again and to share a few brief stories of where they've been and what they've been doing since that fated day two years ago.
Warren[^warren] looks much as his companions remember, as powerful and rotund as the day they parted. He opened a high-end cutlery business a while back and has taken up residence in a nearby mid-sized town, to which customers are drawn from all over Faerûn by the fine craftsmanship of his forks, knives, and spoons. For some reason, he carries several examples of that handiwork with him now. As he talks, he reveals a few interesting details of his past, chief among them that he was raised underground among dwarves!
Warren[^warren] looks much as his companions remember, powerful and rotund as the day they parted. He opened a business a while back, crafting and trading in high-end cutlery, and has taken up residence within a nearby mid-sized town, to which customers are drawn from all over Faerûn by the fine workmanship of his forks, knives, and spoons. He carries several examples of that handiwork with him now, secured by loops and pouches all about his person. As the harengon talks, he reveals a few interesting details of his past, including that he was raised underground among the dwarves!
Clementine[^clementine] is dressed in the uniform of an officer of the city guard, albeit heavily altered to accommodate her unusual anatomy. Though her rank is clear, no insignia advertizes an allegiance to any particular party or house. The discharge of her guardly duties has helped her to gain considerable knowledge of Waterdeep's political and criminal institutions, but even such intimate familiarity isn't enough to give her a read on the situation at hand. Like Warren, the centaur's person is largely unchanged by the intervening years, save for a new and conspicuously superior longbow hanging at her back.
Eyes turn to Clementine[^clementine], who is dressed in the crisp uniform of an officer of the city guard--- one heavily altered to accommodate her equine anatomy. Clementine' rank is clear, but no insignia advertizes an allegiance to any house or party: a rare independence for a person of standing in Waterdeep. The discharge of her guardly duties has allowed the her to amass considerable knowledge of the city's criminal and/or political institutions, but even that intimate familiarity fails to yield clues about the situation. Like Warren, Clementine's person is largely unchanged by the intervening years, save for a new and conspicuously superior longbow at her back.
Almuth Cheerio[^almuth] sits pensively, forgoing his vestments today in favor of well-worn leather armor. The cleric is prepared for the possibility that their forthcoming task involves inescapable violence--- he has arrived with steel in his heart; whatever the matter, he will do the will of Eldath without hesitation. His gaze radiates self assurance and wisdom of a new profundity.
Constitutionally peaceful cleric Almuth Cheerio[^almuth] sits pensively, forgoing his vestments today in favor of well-worn leather armor. The servant of Eldath is prepared for the possibility that their forthcoming task involves inescapable violence--- he has arrived with steel in his heart; whatever the matter, he will do the will of his goddess without hesitation. His gaze radiates self assurance and wisdom of a new profundity.
Gottlob Graal[^gottlob] leans against a pillar, a cloak of pale twill hanging evenly on his broad shoulders. The richness of its fabric and precision of its stitch leaves little doubt that the satyr has found success since immigrating to Waterdeep twenty months earlier. Establishing himself in the city, he joined the Unblinking Patrol--- a tiny, quasi-religious order dedicated to protecting Faerûn from unnatural incursions--- where he learned their business and advanced rapidly as a paladin. Despite this achievement, the satyr feels conflicted: as he and the order grow in renown, how can he remain under the radar of his enemies?
Gottlob Graal[^gottlob] leans casually against the door, a cloak of pale twill hanging evenly on his broad shoulders. The richness of its fabric and precision of its stitch give some hint at the success the satyr has found since his immigration to Waterdeep twenty months earlier. As he found his place in the city, happenstance led Gottlob to join the Unblinking Patrol, a tiny, quasi-religious order dedicated to protecting this Waterhavian slice of Coast from unnatural incursion. There, he learned the real business of the Watchers and advanced his abilities with rapidity that startled even him. Though proud of his achievements, the satyr feels conflicted: as he and the order grow in renown, will his pursuers, too, take notice?
Carmal Rumbar[^carmal] exchanges idle words with his companions. Behind him hangs a bulging traveler's pack, stuffed to its limit with unseen pounds of equipment, a large, polished button securing a flap over its opening. He shares very little of his recent escapades, but like any such consummate actor, has only continued to amass a substantial base of popularity and support for his art.
{% "ambles" %}
As the party takes count, they notice that one of their number is missing: the llama-wizard Louisa Whitlock[^louisa]. Sensing that they will need to be at full strength for what lies ahead, the present members are hopeful that no ill-fortune has befallen her. Louisa will be around as soon as she can, no doubt; probably she was waylaid reassuring some hapless farmer that talking animals are _not_ on the rise and that he needn't worry about his pigs planning an uprising any time soon.
Carmal Rumbar[^carmal] exchanges idle words as he looks about the courtyard. Behind him hangs a bulging traveler's pack, stuffed to its limit with unseen pounds of equipment, a large, polished button securing a flap over its opening. The actor shares little of his recent escapades, preferring to listen to those of the others: the fundaments of stories yet unwritten.
As the party counts heads, they notice that one of their number is missing: the wizard, Louisa Whitlock[^louisa]. Sensing an immense challenge ahead of them, the present members are hopeful that no ill-fortune has befallen her. Louisa will be around as soon as she can, no doubt; probably she was waylaid reassuring some hapless farmer that talking animals are _not_ on the rise and that he needn't worry about his pigs planning a revolt any time soon.
Before long, a guard emerges from the heavy double doors, holding one open with his gauntleted hand and stating politely that their presence is requested inside. Taking up the rear, he sets a brisk pace down a long and richly decorated hallway. On the walls hang paintings of otherworldly scenes--- some of which Gottlob recognizes as belonging to other planes--- and scores of magical artifacts beyond a mean treasure hunter's wildest dreams. As the party comes to yet another set of doors, silver-inlaid slabs of oak that reach up to the ceiling, a second guard swings them open and ushers our heroes through.
With trepidation, they glance around the war-room before them. Gottlob and Clementine, Waterhavians of the group, recognize Laeral Silverhand, child of Mystra and Lord of Waterdeep, as she reposes on a shallow dais at the end of a long, low table in the center of the chamber. Her white robes and silver hair conspire in a stately cascade to convey the momentary impression of a calcite-hewn portrait gilded with a thousand-thousand pearls. Dozens of officials and functionaries fill rows of seats toward the periphery or the room, each behind their own small desk, and only as Lord Silverhand gestures to the newly-arrived party do they stymie the frenzy of their conversations. Silverhand addresses its members, inviting them to approach her grand table. They bow deeply, and she proceeds to explain the situation that constitutes the ultimate reason for their presence.
{% This supposedly happened "within the last month". %}
> I have received troubling reports of an otherworldly incursion in the Sword Coast's northern peak--- eyewitnesses verify what I am about to tell you. The region has undergone a planar fissure, a tear in the fabric that separates one aspect of reality from the next. By great fortune, a powerful wizard was able to patch the hole, but not quickly enough to contain everything. My intelligence has determined that _nine_ beholders slipped into our realm before the fissure was closed and have since scatted themselves to the far reaches of Toril. Each is wreaking something between havoc and irritation as we speak.
The Open Lord goes on to divulge details of the incursion, prompting Almuth--- who was summoned for his expertise on beholders--- to elucidate the species for his companions. He describes beholders' conventional behaviors and motivations, explaining their cunning paranoia, supreme arrogance, and their origin in the Far Realms, being descended from a deity that beholder-kind calls the "Great Mother". Producing an image, he goes on to detail the monsters' abilities: they project a cone a magic suppression from a single central eye and rays of devastating magical power from the eye stalks that surround it. Though capable melee fighters, beholders usually prefer to float just beyond the range of attackers' primitive physical weapons, raining curses and death on their playthings from above.
As Almuth concludes his lesson and his answers to succeeding questions, Lord Silverhand makes the adventurers' task clear: they will vanquish the invaders, or they will die in their attempt. As skepticism permeates the group, Laeral reveals the attendance of two consultants, each of whom has agreed to provide whatever assistance they can. As if on queue, a lurid vortex fills the space beside her and a raven-haired woman[^tasha], dressed to match, materializes in a rush of air with a crack like a gods's tankard, fumbled from the table of heaven, striking earth a mile off.
She is introduced as "Tasha", but needs no introduction. It was she who sealed the planar fissure and tracked several of the nine beholders to their current locations. The demonologist and renowned planeswalker volunteers to serve as transportation for the party, shuttling them through dimensions to far flung corners of Toril unreachable by non-magical means. Unfortunately, this will the the extent of her help, as other, more pressing issues demand the bulk of her attention elsewhere.
Concurrently, Laeral's hands intricately over the table, tracing an inscrutable pattern across its top. A ten-pound sphere of hazy crystal deploys from the great slab's center and comes to rest on a dark, squat, satin-lined plinth. As Tasha finishes speaking, Laeral continues her spell, and smaller spheres, set into the walls of the room, float upward, issuing a limpid glow in solidarity with the overextended lamplight of the chamber's recesses. A voice like sand and broken glass emanates from the central ball as it too glows and the second consultant makes himself heard.
> Oh, Great Xanathar! Have my children!
Almuth's gasping pleas can be heard.
{.thematic}
***
Before long, a guard emerges from the heavy double doors and holds one of them open, prompting the party to follow him inside. Taking up the rear, he escorts them down a long and richly decorated hallway. On the walls hang paintings of otherworldly scenes--- some of which Gottlob recognizes as belonging to other planes--- alongside scores of magical artifacts. As the party comes to yet another set of doors, silver-inlaid slabs of oak that reach up to the ceiling, another guard swings them open, ushering our heroes inside.
Under the light of the scimitar moon that slips coolly through blinds and around shutters drawn only half-shut, our heroes slumber in rented beds, paid for with municipal coin. While some toss in excitement, thrilled by dreams of the dawn's adventures, others are serene in their anticipation. Amidst the clamor of clocks across Waterdeep that chime the midnight hour, the party is whisked by unanswerable magics through a chasm of scintillating vapors and deposited, standing under their own powers, upon a roundel of charoite in a muddle of lilac effervescence. Each is unsettled to see the others in their dreams so suddenly and in so strange a setting, but before any can ask the question on their lips, Tasha reappears in a heady turbulence of bubbles, preempting them all.
With trepidation, they glance around the war-room before them. Gottlob and Clementine, Waterhavians of the group, recognize Laerel Silverhand[^laerel], child of Mystra and Lord of Waterdeep, as she reposes on a shallow dais at the end of a long, low table in the center of the chamber. Her white robes and silver hair conspire in a stately cascade to convey the momentary impression of a calcite-hewn portrait gilded with a thousand-thousand pearls. Dozens of officials and functionaries fill rows of seats toward the periphery or the room, each behind their own small desk, and only as Lord Silverhand gestures to the newly-arrived party members do they stymie the frenzy of their conversations.
Silverhand addresses the party, inviting them to approach the grand table. She explains the situation and the reason for their presence.
She explains her reasons; the renowned planes-traveler provides an alternative to the Open Lord's path of violence. If the party is willing to attempt to reason with the beholders they encounter on their quest, learning their motives, relating to them, and guiding them away from evil, she is willing in turn to compensate them most handsomely for their efforts. The irregular behaviors of the beholders loosed into the realms hint at irregular temperaments, and if there is a chance to align new such powerful creatures with the light, it must be seized with all tenacity and ardor.
> We have received troubling reports of an otherworldly incursion. Eyewitness accounts have verified what I am about to tell you. Within the last month, the northern peak the Sword Coast underwent a planar fissure, a tear in the fabric a reality. It was able to be closed, but not before something broke through and escaped into the material plane. It seems to have been followed by eight more of its kind: beholders.
The Open Lord goes on to divulge the details of the incursion and prompts Almuth--- the party's beholder expert--- to share what he knows of the species. He summarizes, explaining that
[^laerel]: An immortal (though not, probably, invulnerable) child of the goddess Mystra, Goddess of magic and embodiment of the Weave itself, Laerel Silverhand is a wizard of untold beauty and power who has lead Waterdeep publicly for decades and will no doubt continue to do so for centuries more. The ethics of this arrangement are debatable.
[^warren]: Harengon Forge Cleric (10) of Moradin
@ -40,6 +55,10 @@ The Open Lord goes on to divulge the details of the incursion and prompts Almuth
[^gottlob]: Satyr Paladin (10) of the Watchers
[^carmal]: Human Bard (10) of the [College of Masks](https://www.dandwiki.com/wiki/College_of_Masks_\(5e_Subclass\))
[^carmal]: Human Bard (10) of the [College of Masks](https://www.dandwiki.com/wiki/College_of_Masks_%285e_Subclass%29)
[^louisa]: Human (llama) Wizard (10) of the Scribes' Order
[^laeral]: Immortal Chosen of the goddess Mystra, Laeral Silverhand is a wizard of untold beauty and power who has been the public face of Waterdeep's elites for decades; she will no doubt continue to rule for centuries more.
[^tasha]: You already know who [Iggwilv](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Iggwilv) is.

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@ -30,7 +30,7 @@ As they near the lake, a swarm of birds can be heard above; Clementine uses magi
As the lake comes into view, terrain grows low and a thick miasma fills the party's sinuses. They abandon their charges for the moment, at a safe distance from whatever produced the matted skein of carrion they see slicked over the water before them and from which, no-doubt, emanates this odor clogs their every orifice. As they disembark, Clementine asks the frog to describe what drove it from its home. "Big thing, many heads!", it answers. Forging onward toward the shore, the party spots what appear to be five crocodiles, just their eyes and nostrils breaching the surface. Clementine queries them--- do they know what's going on here? Why do they seem so unbothered? They divulge no helpful information, but the centaur gets her answer as the five heads are jerked out of the water on five reptilian necks, joined at a single base. A hydra! No wonder the place reeks...
As the party is thrown into combat, Gottlob takes the first action, guiding his steed sideways as he casts "moonbeam" on the monster's position. In the heat of melee, Warren does substantial damage with "guiding bolt", and the other party members make good use of the advantage it grants them. Karmel wraps the hydra's many teeth in sheathes of water that dull its bite, reducing the danger to his companions. Louisa casts "fireball", a foresighted choice against their many-headed foe, but the hydra attacks Warren viciously in response, nearly downing him. He fights on bravely, and the party manages to avoid most damage, striking reliably at their enemy's vitality, until Clementine is similarly attacked after rushing in close to strike. As the Hydra bites her, Louisa seen an opening. She reaches out to the weave and summons a trio of magic missiles. Sure that they will find their targets, she sends them hurtling upward, piercing through the hydra's multitude of necks in a triple sextuple collateral. The monster jerks wildly, then crumples, half floating on the lake, half lying on the shore.
As the party is thrown into combat, Gottlob takes the first action, guiding his steed sideways as he casts "moonbeam" on the monster's position. In the heat of melee, Warren does substantial damage with "guiding bolt", and the other party members make good use of the advantage it grants them. Karmel wraps the hydra's many teeth in [sheathes of water](https://www.worldanvil.com/block/1548815) that dull its bite, reducing the danger to his companions. Louisa casts "fireball", a foresighted choice against their many-headed foe, but the hydra attacks Warren viciously in response, nearly downing him. He fights on bravely, and the party manages to avoid most damage, striking reliably at their enemy's vitality, until Clementine is similarly attacked after rushing in close to strike. As the Hydra bites her, Louisa seen an opening. She reaches out to the weave and summons a trio of magic missiles. Sure that they will find their targets, she sends them hurtling upward, piercing through the hydra's multitude of necks in a triple sextuple collateral. The monster jerks wildly, then crumples, half floating on the lake, half lying on the shore.
{.thematic}
***
@ -40,6 +40,6 @@ Our heroic band of adventurers has slain a terror and lived to enjoy the rewards
[^clementine]: A Centaur "fey wanderer" ranger (5)
[^warren]: A Harengon forge cleric (5)
[^louisa]: A Human (llama) wizard (5) of the scribes' order
[^karmel]: A Human bard (5)
[^karmel]: A Human bard (5) from the College of Masks
[^almuth]: A Human peace cleric (5) of Eldath
[^gottlob]: A Satyr paladin (5) of the Watchers

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}
.font-hidpi body {
font-family: "BodySerif", sans-serif;
font-family: "BodySerif", serif;
}
.font-lodpi body {
font-family: "BodySans", serif;
font-family: "BodySans", sans-serif;
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h1 {