Knights of Goldenhawk Tower
Tale of Five Heroes
A Tale of Five Heroes
After the banquet, Quill gathers everyone and asks all to join him at a nearby copse of trees. Quagmire starts a small fire, illuminating Quills face as he speaks. “Sit. Please. In a circle if you can.” Quill gathers his cloak against the chill and leans comfortably back against an old tree trunk. He reaches into his cloak, pulling a small simple flute from a hidden pouch and puts it to his lips. For those familiar with such, the tune echoes of elven melodies, but is quiet and eases everyone’s tension for a time. After a short tune, he pauses and returns his flute to his cloak. "So what gifts do each bring to this circle that we seem to have stumbled onto? Aside from the means of battle, where does each story, at this moment, take place here? The heat of battle and rescue do not allow for such talk, but I would know who my seeming comrades are. Here is a sliver of my tale. “I was raised in Aglarond by my father alone, and when he could not, by the elves of Yuirwood. My father taught me my battle craft and was ever my teacher of many things. Two years ago, the day after my sixteenth birthday, my father… was gone. I do not know whether he lives or what his purpose be if he does. Though I search for clues as may be, this time for me is about exploration. I feel a deep drive to see other… places. What of others?”
Quagmire takes a long drawn on his pipe and sends a perfect smoke ring into the fire. “Friend Quill, I too am out searching the land. Hoping to help those in need and learn the secrets of my craft as I explore the world. I am from the City of Crimmor and learned how to survive under the hard rule of the Cowled Wizards on the mean streets of that horrible place. I was saved from a life of servitude by a mysterious Wizard. He took me to live with him in the fair city of Esmeltaran and trained me in the arcane arts. After many years he took his leave and was kind enough to sign the deed over to me for a small Hobbit hole where we lived and trained. He was given the home by a kind old Hobbit that was in his debt, now it is all that I own besides what is on my back.” The wizard pauses and looks grim. “Due to the outlaw of magic in the Kingdom of Amn I have kept my craft a secret until I was far away from the land of my birth. But now I sit with you all, and we have a great opportunity to aid the people of Brindil and hopefully make this town safe for a period of time. What say the rest of you.”“My dear Quill, that was simply lovely! Your skill with that flute echoes of your skill with your blade. That melody was enchanting, I must write it down for future use.” Dorian open up his sack and takes out a wooden box. Inside he takes out parchment that has rows of lines already scribed upon it. Dorian shuffles through many pages of dotted and lined markings on those lines and descriptive titles adorn each page. He grins as he finds a blank page and takes a quill out of seemingly nowhere. He whistles the tune back perfectly back at Quill. “That is the melody, yes Quill? I don’t want to make a mistake.” Upon Quill’s nod Dorain scribes with beautiful flowing script “Elf melody from the Yuirwood played on flute by Quill, master of the art and blade.” He then notates the melody Quill played on his flute with dots, some filled in black, some circles left empty and vertical and horizontal lines. Once finished, he sits back, gently blows the ink dry and admires his dictation. “Quill, your time with the elves of Yuirwood impressed me and I would love to talk about your time there. Whether it be public, private or not at all is entirely your business. I am pleased you shared your musical art with us. I feel only obliged to continue this impromptu concert of origins.”
Dorian carefully places the parchment back in his music box and returns it to his pack. He then takes out the harp that was discovered in the Rivenroar ruins. He dusts it off and plays a few notes to get it in tune. “This elven harp is called a Fachlocan Bandore. Before the spell plague, elves were masters of the art and music. Most magical musical instruments of any sort of relevance were of great elven craft. As to where this lovely was created, I would love to find out and talk to the maker. Most excellent filligrees and the tonehis simply peaceful and pure.” Dorian starts strumming gently on the harp, on a melody that sounds similar to the one Quill just played but slightly altered. Then with the harp filling the background, Dorian begins his tale in song.
The tale of Dorian is one at its start,
For this cunning agent of music and art.
Son of an ancient elven hero is he,
Yet his mother could not tell which one it could be.
“For your own safety” his mother always said,
And carried his Father’s name onto her deathbed.
They met on the road, were adventurers of old,
Slew great evil together, or so he was told.
Long long ago, before the elves were split in two,
His father’s legend of bravery grew and grew.
Was he an ancient eladrin? Was he a wood elf?
Not even a mirror could give answers to himself.
Was he a knight? Was he a lord, a mage?
He will traverse Fearun to find him, he will ask every sage.
The Cormyr Emissary has now saddled forth,
To seek out the truth and find out his worth.
His travels take him far and wide,
With trusty harp and sword at his side.
The pains of Brindol became too dire,
So he stepped forth to quench their desire.
To vanquish the evil and bring forth good,
To fair sweet Brindol in yonder wood.
Dorian then strums a final cadence on the harp and sighs. “So that is how this tale begins. Forgive me, it is still a work in progress. I am a Cormyr Emissary sent to this region and am personally looking for any clues about my father. As you well know by now I am fascinated with elven music and craftsmanship. I hope to solve this great riddle as I carve out a legendary song like my father. I am glad it has begun with such blessed company.”
Quagmire exhales a huge cloud of smoke and says in elven before Quill can speak. “I guess I should have told my story in song.” “indeed, an excellent tune, friend bard. your quick words provide a tale that stirs my own history. you know little of your father, i the same of my mother. i am curious to see how our tales unfold.”
Gozu’s eyes narrow and shakes his head. “I come from a land of desolation and waste. The Plaguelands. I am and always have been an outcast. Like both of you,” Gozu gestures to Quill and Dorian, “elves offerred me guidance and friendship. I’d prefer not to speak further of the matter of who I am and where I came from.” Gozu stands, drops his arms to his side, mouthing in barely a whisper, “know this though—I bring the rage of the land’s sorrow to those who visit evil on the defenseless. I am proxy for the forests and its brethren who have been defiled by spellplague and I roam this land in search of only evil, visiting retribution on all of its forms.” Quill looks deeply into Gozu’s eyes. "So, friend, though this may be too pointed a question, do you yourself carry the spellplague? of the two others i have met with the… condition, one seemed to be wasting away from the inside while the other had mastered the plague and turned its energies to his will. Gozu answers in a low rough voice. “Yes, indeed, friend, it is in fact too pointed a question. As I said, I do not wish to speak further on the matter.” “at the very least, though, it is most interesting that all of us who have spoken so far, the elves seem to have played a vital role.” Retorted Quill. Q smiles. “No offence Dorian, but the Elves have been mucking about with things for a very long time. I agree with the strength of Gozu’s words. My goal is to punish those that use the arcane arts to spread fear and destruction. Together we might make a difference in this scarred land.”
Leaning against a tree sipping from a glass of red wine he had taken from the hall Shan Val speaks softly to the group, his eyes focused on something hidden deep in the darkened woods. “You are indeed exquisite musicians. I only wish I had a fraction of your talent in those fine arts. What I can share of my story is just this. I am a wanderer in search of anonymity. I hope to do some good during my travels. There is much for me to learn and much I do not understand and the only tutor that I can avail from at this juncture is experience. Perhaps if fates conspire we can wander together awhile for our mutual benefit and protection. Thus far it has seemed to be a beneficial association. I would propose that we toast our recent successes and future ventures if all feel inclined to continue.” Q raises his pipe to Shan Val’s glass and grins ear to ear. "A fine gathering of would-be heroes indeed, now let us get back to the celebration.”