The Noctuary [IC]

[chaincomplex]

The Noctuary

OOC Thread ▪ Tactical Maps

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There are several versions of the story as told by passing planeswalkers, usually given as third- or fifth-hand accounts, but what they have in common is thus. First, that floating somewhere in the Astral Sea is a demiplane, and on this demiplane is a cosmic observatory said to track all affairs planar. Second, that the observatory is maintained by powerful golems, created by a high magic of a kind unseen since the Art of Ancient Netheril, evidence of provenance mortal yet as close to divinity as the story of Karsus can caution. Third, that the intricacies of using the observatory is beyond the ken of even the wisest archmagi on most worlds, and the already very few who have managed more than the briefest of glimpses of its grand clockwork-arcane complications have retreated almost wholly in defeat. And fourth and finally, that a supposed legendary handful of heroes have managed to pierce the observatory's mysteries, and use its powers to ascend to a status akin to divinity, to reshape entire worlds and fulfill all dreams big and small.

So goes the story. It is told with more or less embellishment, but what features are consistent are told with such consistency that most of the wise agree that the observatory must exist, and that it must be the locus of great power. Less certain are they of the claims of divine or near-divine power, and frustratingly their attempts to locate or even name the observatory are met with dead ends so convincing that the vast majority give up.

Our protagonists do not count among this vast majority. While they have not ascertained the observatory's location by a long shot, they have discovered a somewhat obscure factoid in their arduous search, that is, the name of the observatory. It is called the Noctuary, a record of things that pass in the night. After cross-referencing the name across countless archives and libraries, and aggressively pruning topics unrelated to planar affairs or observatories, our protagonists discovered that a certain planeswalker has in his travels happened upon a planar orrery with golem guards, with unidentifiable clockwork-arcane machinery, that is named the Noctuary by its unknown creator. The planeswalker chronicled his findings in his journals, before traveling for worlds unknown and disappearing for good.

The planeswalker was called Aecillian, the Spear of the Stars. His journals, nearly three dozen volumes in all, have but one copy each, and all reside in the archives beneath Candlekeep, an old library-fortress in the Western Heartlands of a region known as the Sword Coast on the world of Toril.

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Entry into Candlekeep is very much an affair for most mortals, being required to donate a tome that does not yet have a copy within the library-fortress' collection, a stringent enough requirement to keep out all but the most devoted knowledge seekers. Our protagonists are, however, anything but mere mortals.

In this part, our protagonists will secure a means of entrance to Candlekeep, legitimate or illegitimate.

[chaincomplex]

Waterdeep: The Cynosure. (Noon, Highharvestide 1374 DR, Year of Lightning Storms. Ux Utanar and Syana.) There is a young but sprawling city by the coast, a mosaic of wood, stone, and plaster, of whites and reds and tans glittering under the beaming noon sun, large sails at port barely peeking out over the multistory buildings that line the wide and narrow streets both. It is a bustling city, but even amidst its heart, nestled between castles, towers, thoroughfares, and bazaars, there is an empty but grand hall that once was a temple.

This is the Cynosure. Within this hall there is a prevalent effect of impeded magic: it is a DC 20 + spell level Spellcraft check to cast any spell. Local wise men say Myrkul, Lord of Bones, died here, and so the veil to the Fugue Plane thinned, leaking its nature into the material world.

With the large entrance doors slightly ajar, light leaks into the Cynosure's dark main chamber. Here footsteps echo between the marbled stone floor and vaulted ceiling. Six imposing and gargantuan statues of the same cloaked, old, and bearded man gaze down upon trespassers. Over a dozen rows of elegant wooden benches are arrayed before a dais, upon which is what was once a stone altar, now carved for the purpose of being a cross of a lectern and a table.

The duo of Ux and Syana stand by the entrance, silhouetted against the light streaming in. The dragonborn received a vision in his dreams to come here, and so here he came. The Cynosure is almost empty save for one other, a cloaked humanoid figure standing at the foot of the dais, looking the other way. The figure's hooded head turns back slightly, acknowledging the Cynosure's newest visitors.

The muffled sounds and alluring aromas of the Highharvestide Fair filter in. The Fair is right outside, as a matter of fact, right along the Market's grounds. Nonetheless, the cheer and hope of Waterdeep's citizens do not penetrate the shadows of the hall.

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Beregost: Feldepost's Inn. (Lorwyn Suaril and Delja Utorak.) The main room of this inn is modest but comfortable and clean. At this time of day there are only four patrons. A kindly older human woman waits on them with a jug of sherry in one hand and a plate of generously portioned, steaming dumplings in the other. Pastoral embroideries decorate the wall, a reminder of the humble farming backgrounds of Beregost's generations past. Beregost is, of course, more than a village now, it is a fully fledged town, with walls, courts, townhouses, and its very own wizard and accompanying wizard's tower.

Feldepost's Inn would have been quite a large building by village standards, but it is merely an unassuming place among the town's many newer properties. Anyone who walks in, local or outsider, can immediately feel that it is in many ways a love letter to a prior time, and its owners and staff old enough to at least remember the stories told by their grandparents.

With the beaming noon sun outside, it is relatively dark in Feldepost's Inn. Candles only play a part in lighting the place. Half-open shutters let just enough light in to prevent trips and falls. Sounds of passing wagons drift in, alongside the occasional autumn breeze.

Lorwyn and Delja sit at the counter. The waiting woman leisurely paths her way back to the counter and greets them. "Travelers, dears?" The duo are, of course, disguised. "Staying the evening? Here for a quick bite? Maybe you're here to gossip? Most of us are celebrating Highharvestide at the Burning Wizard, if you young ones are looking for a bit more people of your age and that youthful flair." She chuckles. "The Morninglord's clerics will also hold service later today, giving thanks for all the small blessings we receive in life. When I was but a girl I always loved hearing them tell stories of selfless charity. Then after the sermons, of course, I would stuff myself full with partridge dumplings." She sighs wistfully. "Can hardly say, 'The good ol' days,' because I also remember the mothers sobbing over their children dying from some fever a cleric can fix like that." She snaps her fingers. "But things used to be so much simpler... probably 'cause I was a dumb girl with nary a thought but food in my head. Ha!"

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Athkatla: Moonhall. (Varis and Aeric Hartford.) The colossal, angled walls of Moonhall Temple carry motifs of a starry night sky into the ceiling several stories high. It is supposedly a precise depiction of the night sky at a certain momentous date and time eons ago, and its artistic realism is unmatched. Subtle magic illusions make some stars twinkle, while less-subtle ones draw lines of shooting stars that appear and vanish from one heartbeat to the next. For some, walking into Moonhall can cause vertigo.

Missing from this enchanted artwork is Selûne herself, who would ordinarily be front and center, but as Highharvestide lands on the new moon this year, she remains hidden in the black veil between the stars. The same, of course, applies to the Tears of Selûne.

Varis and Aeric walk down the main path of smooth black granite, flanked by gentle artificial streams sourced from unseen fountains, upon their surface reflected the twinkling stars above. Behind them the large entrance doors slowly shut on their own, taking with them the midday sunlight and plunging the duo into starlit shadow. They are now wholly within the Moonmaiden's domain. Isera is, of course, nowhere nearby—it is generally regarded as a poor life decision for a fiend to walk into a place such as this.

The path does diverge to several alcove-type substructures in this great hall, but they are all empty. Only the primary path, which goes up some stairs to an elevated balcony, leads to another living being. This is Aryn Gallowglass, an older human woman, the High Priestess of Selûne here in Athkatla (and really all of Amn). She is one of the best-connected figures in and around the Sword Coast who is also regarded as being unambiguously good, a rather difficult combination of reputations to maintain in these lands of intrigue.

At present she is lounging in flowing white robes on a pile of cushions by a low, round table, reading a light book. Behind her are four large, well-organized bookshelves, not only holding dozens and dozens of books on a variety of topics, but also pricey-looking trinkets such as statuettes, feather tokens, spyglasses, and so on. She does not fail to notice Varis and Aeric. Her expression mostly shows surprise. "I suppose we are open to visitors, though I've sent home almost everyone to be with their families. The Moonmaiden does not celebrate Highharvestide, so few seek her blessings today. I have to ask, why are you here?"

[Metastachydium]

No drinking. No drinking. No drinking. No… Things getting bigger all the time… Delja, as of now, the single most plain Lightfoot Halfling to grace the Coast, with loose, walnut brown traveller's clothes, all simple linen and wool pulled close around her even as she leans againt the counter, a small left hand hanging to the edge of it, the right out of view, clutching a straight stick, barely a walking stuff, resting on her knees, nods to the woman against the backdrop of her own internal mantra. Pity I couldn't see it small. Nor will get to see much of it as is. she adds, her face twitching in an outward display of apology. We're just drifting through, from the east, left Nashkel the other day. she explains. I hope the Gate and Amn are good with each other, speaking of. Road was less busy than I expected. Do you get much traffic going north? Might strike back south, otherwise.

Spoiler: OOC

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Bluff, to pretend all interest is casual: (1d20+21)[28]

[remetagross]

Ux Utanar progresses slowly, holding his staff aloft so that its rattling against the floor does not mar the welcome silence. He whispers to Syana.

"Good thing my dream sent me looking for someone in a place where there's only one person around."

He closes his eyes briefly to better recall the vision the Lord of the North Wind had sent to him. That throws him back to the paradise of Celestia, and his memories of rejoining with dead but blissful Ereshki. He gets a little sidetracked here and keeps his eyes closed for a dozen seconds, looking either meditative or stupid.

But after that, he resumes walking towards the hooded figure, enjoying the cool feeling of the tiles beneath his naked feet.