Waterhavian -> Waterdhavian

acl.cool/site/writings/umbral1.dj

@@ -2,7 +2,7 @@
 
 Two years have passed since our intrepid adventurers fought and defeated a five-necked terror near Venron in what villagers now call "the hydra incident" and those less informed know as "that thing at M. Pteey Lake".
 
-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 slink 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.
+As they stand together now, summoned by supreme authority to a high-curtained forecourt under the mild Waterdhavian sun, party members speculate about their situation and watch as shadows cast by serried wall-top grotesques slink 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.
 
 The wealth of knowledge and experience between them does little to make clear what has ultimately brought about this happy reunion; the adventurers know only that they attend a summons from Laeral Silverhand[^laeral], Open Lord of Waterdeep, and 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.
 
@@ -12,7 +12,7 @@ Eyes turn to Clementine[^clementine], who is dressed in the crisp uniform of an
 
 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 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?
+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 Waterdhavian 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?
 
 {% "ambles" %}
 
@@ -22,7 +22,7 @@ As the party counts heads, they notice that one of their number is missing: the
 
 Before long, a guard emerges from from the house. It is clear from his uniform that he belongs to the service of Lord Silverhand. He swings the rightward door fully open, propping it against his heel, before conveying his message: the party's presence is requested inside. Taking up the rear, he sets a brisk pace down a long, arrow-straight hall hall, tailed closely by the echoes of a dozen boots against the slate-clad floor. On papered 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 they come to yet another set of doors, silver-inlaid slabs of oak reaching up to meet a joint in the vaulted ceiling above, a second guard, waiting in the corner, unstoppers the portal and ushers our heroes through.
 
-With trepidation, they glance around the war-chamber 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 room. 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 of the room, each behind their own small desk, and only as Lord Silverhand gestures to the new attendees do they stymie the frenzy of their conversations. Silverhand addresses the party, inviting them to approach her at the table. Doing so, they bow deeply, and she proceeds to explain the situation constituting the ultimate reason for their presence.
+With trepidation, they glance around the war-chamber before them. Gottlob and Clementine, Waterdhavians 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 room. 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 of the room, each behind their own small desk, and only as Lord Silverhand gestures to the new attendees do they stymie the frenzy of their conversations. Silverhand addresses the party, inviting them to approach her at the table. Doing so, they bow deeply, and she proceeds to explain the situation constituting 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. Less than a month ago, the region underwent 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 was not quick enough to contain all that wished to cross over. My intelligence has determined that _nine_ beholders slipped into our realm and scatted themselves to the far reaches of Toril, where each wreaks something between havoc and irritation even as we speak.