The Coast Way

"Oh yes! Come this way, please!" Gellana accepts the payment, and then her light, quick footsteps echo softly through the temple as she leads them to the room where Keggruk's body rests. "I say, it certainly didn't take you long to raise the funds! Bentley mentioned you were making use of the notice board. Ah, here we are."

The gnomish priestess ushers them into Keggruk's room. "I have everything prepared this time. With such devoted friends and family, I'm sure this fellow will wish to return immediately. We need only this pretty little diamond... a fitting reagent for a spell granted by the Priceless Gem! One of Garl Glittergold's many names..."

She carefully retrieves a glittering diamond from her belt pouch, then takes a deep breath and begins the long spell.

Khalid clears his throat loudly and turns with a clink of armor to regard the nearest patrons, an effort to discourage anyone else from listening in on the conversation.

"Surely you have heard of the Iron Crisis plaguing the region. I assure you that it is a real threat to Baldur's Gate and all the surrounding towns. If things become bad enough, it could even affect cities as far north as Waterdeep and as far south as Calimshan."

Even with Khalid keeping an eye on things, Jaheira lowers her voice. "Relationships between Baldur's Gate and Amn have always been strained. A crisis such as this as the potential to ignite a war. Khalid and I have been sent to prevent that from happening, and that means learning as much as we can about the Iron Crisis and putting an end to it, if we can."

She pauses to take a breath and once more examine the members of the party. "We ask for you to travel to Nashkell. Though part of Amn, the town's mine there is the primary source of iron for Baldur's Gate. Your task would be to investigate the town and the mine, then inform us of anything strange that might be occurring there."

War. Aiwë looks around at her companions. Many of them are warriors, and all of them are capable in a fight, but none others are soldiers.

"Why the hush? Aiwë asks, equally softly. "Is the extent of the crisis unknown to most?"

Jaheira shrugs. "We'd rather not feed the rumors of an event we are trying to avert."

Stella had originally shrugged off the Iron Crisis. You didn't need iron for hardly anything, and copper and bronze made fine substitutes in many cases. Halla certainly never liked to use any of the metals. But if Jaheira—a druid as well—thought it could cause a war...well, that was a problem.

She opens her tome, but struggles to find an empty page, so she resorts to scratching notes in the margins.

"When you say it could effect Waterdeep and Calimshan," she asks, tilting her head, "are you just referring to trading and supply issues, or that the weakening effect on iron ore is spreading, like a disease?"

Jaheira shakes her head. "We just don't know what the effects could be. And so far we don't understand what is afflicting iron in the area. Its nature is a mystery. And if a war does break out... Violence and strife have a way of begetting violence and strife."

The warrior druid folds her arms once more. "Well? Will you go to Nashkell and investigate the iron there?"

Aiwë kneels beside the bed where Keggruk lies and clasps her hands tightly. Though Gallana chants a resurrection spell, Shelur finds that the song circling in her mind is a funeral wail.

Keggruk always tries his best to listen to and serve Alalla. Will he listen to the mixed feelings Alalla bears of her and her husband's resurrection, and the caution she preaches of unknown people and the sources of their power? Or will he think of his wife, child, nieces, and tribe, and the duty he bears to them?

You'll soon see, won't you?

Unable to stand being so close to the motionless Keggruk any longer, Aiwë rises quietly and takes Stella's hand to steady her, the mourning song still drifting through the back of her mind.

Shelur smiles wryly, then looks again at her companions. Stella wants to return to Candlekeep to stay. Some are from this area. They all have business here for the next while. She looks around the tavern. None of these people deserved to have to learn to be soldiers either. After a moment's silence, she speaks.

"If my uncle returns... then I will investigate in Nashkell."

Stella slips a sheet of waxed parchment into her book to prevent the charcoal from smudging, and closes it. She'd coat it with lacquer later. She'd also need to get a fresh volume, but they'd be short on funds again soon...maybe she could sell her potion?

When Aiwë declares her decision, Stella shakes herself out of her wandering thoughts and nods, taking a small step forward. "I will as well."

"So. How did the...track-covering go?" Stella asks Wirrow when the archer enters their inn room.

Blank-faced and bleary-eyed, Stella looks like she's trying to order pages scattered on the bed, though it looks more like shuffling. She moves them around, then puts them back the way they were before. Then scatters them again. The exhaustion of travel and lack of sleep was clearly catching up to her.

If Wirrow wanted to talk, she'd talk. If she didn't, that was just fine. She crumples a page slightly slightly, then stops and smooths it out before placing it in a seemingly random pile.

"The, umm... the tracks should be fine now. We did actually do them. Well, Aiwe did. 'Cause she knows how to do that sort of thing." Wirrow closes the door very carefully behind her, making sure it's shut but obviously trying not to be loud about it. The room dims as light from the hallway is cut off.

"Are you...?" Wirrow half-gestures to the papers, but shakes her head to stop herself. She feels like she should be twitching with nerves, but something seems to be holding it back. The same thing has her looking barely tired to her fellow white-haired adventurer, a stark contrast to Stella's exhaustion.

If Stella wanted to talk about it, she'd talk about it; that's what she always did before.

deoelvenmage sent a note to Carcabob

Well, they were out here to do what they wanted, so she didn't have a problem with investigating a possible crisis-turning-to-war. Another adventure with her friends to prove she could be independent, and it sounded interesting enough that it could have been the plot of one of the many books she liked to read back home. It probably had the potential to turn bloody, like most everything they'd done so far on this trip.

From her spot against the wall, Wirrow shrugs at the idea, but in an affirmative manner. "Same for me, then," she says, low and quiet around people as usual; there's ever so slightly more self-assuredness present in her this time.

Jaheira nods and gives a rare smile. "For peace, then! I am sure all will be well with your uncle. Khalid and I have some business yet to conclude hereabouts, but we will most likely arrive in Nashkell in a tenday. Any information you can gather and report to us at that time will aid the cause.

May Silvanus' blessing be upon you all. Farewell!"

With that, Jaheira and Khalid make their way to the door.

An hour passes as Gellana's chants fill the small room. The priestess holds the diamond high and releases it. The gem floats suspended in the air, its facets catching and releasing a myriad of sparkles. All at once the gem flares brightly, then goes entirely dun and falls to the floor with a *clunk*.

Gellana sags with weariness after working such a long and powerful spell, but her face lights up with a beaming smile. "Garl Glitergold's blessing has been accepted."

She hands flask of water to Aiwe. "He will want this."

Keggruk's chest rises as the orog takes a deep breath. His eyes flicker open and he sees Aiwe near. "Sh... Shelur..."

Shelur surges forward. "Uncle! Here, drink this." She helps the large orog sit up and drink, and feels the nightmare end. And then suddenly become real. All at once, she falls to pieces.

"I got them out, just like you told me," Shelur sobs. "Wirrow and I went back for your body. I thought it was just your book I was bringing home, and your armour as a relic. Oh, what would I have told the tribe?" Her orcish words are barely intelligible through her heavy tears. "Khanna would have put your armour in the temple and pushed herself too hard every time she saw it until Ada made her stop. The paladins would have been shaken, and the tribe furious. And Auntie Meagan!" Aiwë cries into Keggruk's lap for some time before she calms enough to speak again.

"I dreamt every night of telling her she was alone again," she says quietly in Common. "Of Matty growing up scared and angry, with your book and your axe." She shudders with grief for her family and that dark future. She looks up at Keggruk. The wizened paladin's face is as familiar to her as music, but now it is shadowed in her mind's eye with the bloat of death. A lingering horror of what she experienced, and what was narrowly avoided.

"You have to go home."

Keggruk gladly accepts the drink, then manages to sit up enough to hold Shelur as she weeps, his oversized arms around her. "Peace, Shelur... You need not think on such distressing matters. Torm told me I would return to this life, but I didn't need his assurance. Not with you as my niece!" He gives a chuckle that seems to make his entire body resonate. "Knowing your parents..." When she mentions Maegan, Keggruk nods in commiseration. "She hardly needs a second... Well. Anyway."

The orog takes another drink and looks around the small room. "Stella. I am glad to see you safe as well. I-" He snaps his gaze back to Aiwe, then searches both women's expressions. "Where is Wirrow? Is she... alright?"

He doesn't seem to have acknowledged Aiwe's demand to return home.

Stella sighs with relief at seeing Keggruk and Aiwë reunite.

She looks around upon Keggruk's question. When had Wirrow slipped out?

"She's fine," she assures Keggruk with a weary smile. "A little exhausted for a while...but so are all of us really."

Aiwë grit her teeth at Wirrow's absence, but released them to echo Stella.

"Tired, but warm and dry and fed," Aiwë confirms for Keggruk, meeting his eyes, "like the rest of us." Then she frowns. "How much will it cost to pay a wizard to teleport you to the Dale? Will that awful pride-stuffed robe of an archmage do it?" She frowns deeper. "You need another rare book for entry." She brightens. "I'll write down a few ballads and war chants. More a book-let, but they don't have any orcish music in their collection! There's another job or two on the board we can do to get the fee for the spell." She hesitates, looking a Stella.

"Do you think I could make enough? Will you help with my spelling?" Stella was better with math and proper spelling.