Songs of Nightstar

[jmecha]

*Entering the Hanged Man a Moon Elf dressed finely in deep blacks and noble violet hues walks up to the stage with a wry smile*

I am recently arrived to your City of Splendors, and while I have yet to take it all in, I would like to share with you a story I have learned along my way here. I passed through Cormyr and learned of their Goblin Wars. Now some of you may know of them, and some of you may not. Either way let me say the Gobin Wars of Cormyr were no small thing, and thousands of Cormyr Purple Dragons, the name of their soldiers, died fighting to defend their homes from the countless Goblin hordes of Grodd.

Now while the Goblins were led by a dragon of red, the Purple Dragon soldiers of Cormyr were lead by their King. King Azoun Obarskyr the IV, who was a man of sixty summers, known for his being bold, brave, and randy. The old cavalier king mounted his steed and led his men from the front, and fought the war till the bitter end...facing the red dragon in combat head on.

Now I am singing this song because any man willing to lead their army from the front and to lead them to victory deserves a song, but even more so when that man is a King of sixty summers and still willing to fight and die for those he was sworn to protect.

Last but not least I want to warn all of you of two of Corymr's finest here in your city of Splendors. Two men whose names you should know to call upon should you ever be in need of men of bravery and nobility, the sort of men this song was written about, the fighting men of Cormyr's Purple Dragons!

Sir Ambrose Illance of House Illance of Cormyr, a Knight in service to the Lady of Love and Fiery Hair, the Goddess Sune whose beauty is a blessing to us all.

Sir Gerard Francois of House Francois of Cormyr, a Knight in service to the Lord of Light, the Dawn Bringer Lathander, forever shall his rays of warmth bring salvation to our darkest hours.

*With a large grin he looks out over the crowd and begins knocking two sturdy empty wooden bowls together quickly with the rhythmic patterns of a galloping horse.*

Now....on to our song....



Dragons Purple and Red

She wielded the Goblins of grodd
He laid down his specter and rod
She spread fire and filth across the land
He rode to battle sword in hand

Dragons of Purple and Red
Full of fire and fight
Neither took flight
Till both lay dead

The goblins they feared her flaming fury
To their deaths they scrambled in a hurry
The men of Cormyr they did hear the call of their king
To battle they marched and their best they did bring

Dragons of Purple and Red
Full of fire and fight
Neither took flight
Till both lay dead

With weapons in hand to wield
Purple Dragons never yield
Even against the forever many
Cormry soldiers proved forever steady

Dragons of Purple and Red
Full of fire and fight
Neither took flight
Till both lay dead

[jmecha]

*After finishing a song the Elven Bard looks over the crowd and offers them a smile*

Friends, I have something I feel the need to share with you all. A story about a small bird that stood tall and brave in the face of overwhelming odds. Now do not take me wrong, I am not going to sing the praises of this Wilora, but this story is worth sharing.

For those of you that do not know, the Wilora is an insidious bird that preys upon the minds and lives of others. When given half a chance it will steal the memories of those it can, then through it's innate magical abilities assume their very form. Often this turns into a very violent conflict of interests as the Wilora and it's chosen prey fight to the death over ownship of who gets to live out their life.



Now I mention all of that because it will be relevant later....

You see I am some what of an Adventure, and by nature of such I am very much so often the fool, in company of fools doing foolish things....it is rather honestly our stock and trade as Adventures. Not to say it is all foolishness, but let's be honest with one another? A lot of it is foolishness.

*With a wide grin he looks over the crowd and continues. *

A band of us dared to delve into the depths of an old long abandoned school of wizardry hidden beneath one of this city's fine public parks. Now I do not want to name names or locations or the like, but if you heard news of Adventures combating hordes of Fire Beetles in Hero's Park in the City's North End....well that might be this.

We went in without much of a plan and ran out as fast as we could with even less of one. So it goes, such can often be the case.

Now what followed, was about a dozen fire Beetles, literally following us up and out of this abandoned place, hungry for our flesh and all click clacking mandibles and claws. The lot of us ran in circles, around trees, over short walls, around bushes and landscaping ponds. Everyone in a scramble to stay alive and some how also slay these beetles we allowed access to the city streets.

It was a disaster.

Now I do not want to name any names but amoungst the chaos one Paladin stood tall and brought order to the scene with sword swing after sword swing, falling fire beetle after fire beetle. The selfless service and valor on display turned the tide of battle and allowed us to go from being chased about, to swiftly and effectively exterminating every last one of those fiery beetles that dared to surface in pursuit of us.

Now this is where the Wilora bird, I previous mentioned becomes relevant. You see, as the last beetle was slain by our Paladin savior, our actual Paladin companion return to the scene. You see....he had surfaced first, leading the tactical retreat with all the enthusiasm of a brave man leading a charge.

Upon his surfacing a Wilora pounced upon his mind and took his form....while he continued to lead the tactical withdrawl for another city block or more. Thankfully in his absence, the Wilora Paladin rose to the occasion and fought beside the rest of us to see our lives saved and the beetles silenced.

It was only as the last beetle was slain that our true companion return to see he had been replaced, and fought the vile imposter that improperly robbed him of the glory and honor of standing fast upon that day's field of prowess in the Garden Park of Heroes.

Now just between us.....I still do not know what to make of what exactly happened that day, what the moral of the story is, or the lesson learned....

*He grins wide.*

I just wanted to share.

[jmecha]

*With a solemn expression he looks over the gathered while strumming the strings of his lute with an unhurried hand and projecting chords of sorrow out to the ears of those who could hear. He speaks clearly and formally, with the tone of one respectfully providing a eulogy at a loved one's funeral.*

Now there is a song I would perform for you,
but first context before I do.....

Let me tell you a tale about the last Cornonal of Cormanthor of old,
the one for who's passing began the twilight of an empire where our story will unfold.....

Midsummer Day of Six Hundred and Sixty-one Dale Reckoning
Cormanthor lost it's sixth Corononal commander
Responsible for Myth Drannor's opening, he answered the beckoning
Corononal Eltagrim Irithyil left for Arvandor with a smile and laughter

In his wake his grand niece and heir did pronounce
She was heart broken at his passing
Five years of mourning before they would announce
The next Cornonal may their reign be long lasting

Heiress Arava Irithyl never lived to see the day
Violence befell her from assassins unknown
Cormanthor was left without any to lead the way
Empty was the elven empire's throne

One from each Noble House was sent to the ruler's tower
There the Ruler's Blade awaited aloft and ready
One from each Noble House reached for power
There the Ruler's Blade kept standards unwavering and steady

As was the ancient tradition
People gathered for the Claiming Ceremony
What followed was a contrition
Forty slain served as testimony

Unforgiving was the Blade-rite
Those found unworthy of proper measure
Bathed in arcane fire bright
They burned away at the Blade's displeasure

*With a quickening of his hand the chords of the lute strum louder and his voice begins to sing a sad dirge of those who were found wanting during the claiming ceremony so long ago.*



Forty Fallen Stars

Forty Stars have fallen of the sun and the moon
Forty Stars have fallen of the green and the wood
Forty Stars have fallen to the Ar'Cor'Kerym rune
Forty Stars have fallen where they stood

Forty fallen have answered the calling
Forty fallen have burnt away in culling
Forty fallen have faded from the night
Forty fallen have failed to claim the might

Forty Stars have fallen of the sun and the moon
Forty Stars have fallen of the green and the wood
Forty Stars have fallen to the Ar'Cor'Kerym rune
Forty Stars have fallen where they stood

Forty fallen were not ready
Forty fallen failed to prove steady
Forty fallen had made their choice
Forty fallen have lost their voice

Forty Stars have fallen of the sun and the moon
Forty Stars have fallen of the green and the wood
Forty Stars have fallen to the Ar'Cor'Kerym rune
Forty Stars have fallen where they stood

Forty fallen act as a herald's horning
Forty fallen provide us a warning
Forty fallen dead and done
Forty fallen asking for Forty-one

Forty Stars have fallen of the sun and the moon
Forty Stars have fallen of the green and the wood
Forty Stars have fallen to the Ar'Cor'Kerym rune
Forty Stars have fallen where they stood

[jmecha]

*Entering the Beer Golem a Moon Elf dressed finely in deep blacks and noble violet hues walks up to crowd with a wry smile while bearing in his left hand a sturdy shield and his right a war hammer.*

"Good evening one and all! I am Nuro Nightstar and tonight I offer on to you some mystery and history! For your beer drinking palate, I will be swinging this mallet!"

"Long ago and deep below a Dwarf who would be King found Mithral ore. Come one come all for a marching song about the dwarves of Clan Melairkyn and their ancient home of Melairbode!"

*Stomping his left boot on the floor in measured time with his war hammer upon the shield he carries, the rhythm is set before the rhymes. The sound of marching feet and the clang of battle set the pace before this elven performer begins to chant and sing*



Guardians of the Melairkyn Throne

Bones stronger then stone
Dwarven defenders fight hotter then coal
Moradin's steel burns bright in their soul
Guardians of the Melairkyn Throne

Deep beneath the mountain of Swords
Clan chiefs Kings of Melair were their Lords
Artisans and craftsman knowing the ancient lore
They delved the deepest and darkest for their ore

Bones stronger then stone
Dwarven defenders fight hotter then coal
Moradin's steel burns bright in their soul
Guardians of the Melairkyn Throne

King Melair first discovered mithral ore
1288 years before the Dale Reckoning
The Drow of the deep ever threatening
His sons defending four generations more

Bones stronger then stone
Dwarven defenders fight hotter then coal
Moradin's steel burns bright in their soul
Guardians of the Melairkyn Throne

In The Year of Purloined Power
Never did beards of Melairkyn cower
No matter the number of the Drow
Sons n Daughters of Melairbode kept their vow

Bones stronger then stone
Dwarven defenders fight hotter then coal
Moradin's steel burns bright in their soul
Guardians of the Melairkyn Throne

[jmecha]

Behind the scenes......



The bruised ribs made even breathing difficult, reaching for the bottle of almond brandy was an almost intolerable
experience, and Nuro Nightstar grimaced as he poured himself another cup. He was no stranger pain, but seated there alone with his thoughts, without a proper drink would have been worse then the bite in his ribs reaching for the bottle. The pain of his wounds and the residual excitement of the earlier fighting made him to restless for Reverie. The sweet burn of the almond brandy helped him relax enough to take stock of the matters at hand.

Despite having arrived with the man from Cormyr that he had known since he was a boy, he felt very alone. It was not that he was alone, not truly. It was more so that he was not a part of something larger then himself, not truly. He had made several acquaintances, a few friends, and even new trusted companions since he had arrived in Waterdeep, still though he could not help but feel alone and disconnected. Like an old injury warning of a coming storm, these were feeling he had come to know well since he had lost his commission with Evermeet's Aerial Navy.

He wanted to focus on the task given him, keep his back straight and soilder on proper like. No time for pain or wallowing in self pity when there was work to be done, but his orders were at best vague and the mission statement undefined. Questioning if clarity and comfort might be found in the sweet brown liquor waiting in his cup, Nuro Nightstar endured the pain flaring through his battered ribs as he raised his arm for another swallow.

Cousins Saelihn and Halaema really left him flapping by sending him here without any established network or assets to rely upon. It was all on him, and that left him wondering what the truth was.

Was there not a network in place?
Was there, but he was not to be trusted with it?

Regardless he had work to do, and he forced his injured body to raise his cup once more. Nuro's mind turned to some of the more interesting developments as he slowly and deliberately works his way through his cups.

There was the very unexpected appearance of a beholder kin in the Rat Hills.

There was what appeared to be a priest of Ilmater named Luther who was not only estranged from his local religious order, but working with a gnome and others to investigate Zartruss Hobgoblins with markings of Malar carved into their heads.

There were the Manthor of Renvanna beset on all sides by kobolds, phase spiders, and worse.

By the time he finished his last cup for the evening the fire in the Adventurer's Guild lobby had burned itself low. Nuro Nightstar did not know what yet to pursue here in the City of Splendors, but he was certain that which ever road he took it would not be a boring one, nor without further injury.

[jmecha]

Behind the scenes......

While awaiting her reply, Nuro Nightstar reflexively adjusted his bracers and then ran a hand down the front of his tunic to insure all was in it's proper place. These small grooming rituals had become a deeply ingrained habit as a child, for no reason other then it was easier to make an effort to maintain a proper appearance then endure a tongue lashing for looking a right mess and poorly representing the Family. To an outside observer it might appear these small rituals were perhaps small acts of vanity, while the truth was for Nuro Nightstar, they were a more practical matter. While making sure his left bracer was just so, he could not help but smile while thinking of the Tressym tattoo concealed beneath.

The Akh'Velar under his command all had more military experience then he had. They knew it, and he knew it. Each of them was a better archer, swordsman, athlete, scout, and tracker then he. Yet he was their Nikym, their Dagger, the commissioned officer responsible for leading this platoon of Aerial Navy Marines should the fleet of Ruathimaer Starwings ever be deployed into battle. It was here that Nuro Nightstar learned to not just use the grooming habits of his childhood to look the part of a leader, but to keep himself properly prepared. Everyone at the Aerial Naval Academy had heard the legends of the young officers who had embarrassed themselves and failed to be inspirational leaders to their troops by losing their spy glasses, or proving themselves incapable of properly reading a map, dropping more arrows then they could put to flight, and letting their swords rust tight inside their scabbards. Nuro Nightstar knew that while he may not be as capable as the Akh'Velar he lead, it was his responsibility to strive to be to them the best Nikym he could be.

It was during those earliest days as a freshly commissioned officer he learned to marry the grooming habits he had ingrained in him as a child, with the ever present demand that he be properly prepared to lead his marines. Every time he adjusted his cloak collar, was an opportunity to make sure his quiver was properly positioned. Looking down to adjust the alignment of his bracers on his wrists was an opportunity to look down at his boots to quickly visually inspect them. Running a hand across his tunic was an opportunity to not just make sure he was wrinkle free, but to brush his hand across the vials on his belt to take a quick inventory of what alchemical resources were at hand.

His Quiver at the proper angle to have arrows not only easily drawn, but to prevent them from spilling should he break into a sudden run.

His collection of emergency potions were all properly placed to be easily accessed.

His boots were not soiled and leaving a wake of easily found tracks in his wake.

The beautiful woman with a few missing fingers smiled playfully as she replied, to the question he had previously asked.

"No messages....not from Sir Illance....not from Guildmistress Bluefeather.....none from Eliminster or the Masked Lords either. Although if you are interested, I heard that Ruairidh O'Doerain will be performing at the Hanged Man."

"Thank you Miss Swift. If anyone asks, I will be taking in the show at the Hanged Man. Care to join me?

"No one is going to ask, and no."

With Vana Swift having gotten the last word, Nuro Nightstar offered her a graceful bow farewell and closed the front door to the Adventurer's Guild. Finding the night air brisk, he quickened his steps as the goose pimples of excitement rose on his skin. There was always a very real and palpable sense of danger to be felt when one walked to the Hanged Man at night, and this evening proved no different. No more then a dozen strides pass Bran's Potion Shoppe, the clang of steel on steel, the unmistakable sound of battle reached his elven ears. Somewhere to the west there was a battle being fought, and Nuro Nightstar lengthened his stride to a reckless run as he charged forward into the night.

Heart racing and steel drawn the running cadences he had not sang in nearly thirty years filled his thoughts.



"WE ARE THE FIGHTING TRESSYM!
STEEL DRAWN TO TRIM!

PAINT OUR FACES BLACK AND GREEN!
SO WE WON'T BE SEEN!

LAND, AIR AND SEA !
WE CATS ARE WILD AND FREE!

YOU CAN NOT RUN AND HIDE
FROM THE TRESSYM PRIDE!

WE FLY AND STALK THROUGH THE NIGHT!
EVER READY FOR THE FIGHT!

ARROW OR SABER WILL BE YOUR FATE
YOU WON'T KNOW WE'RE HERE TILL IT IS TO LATE!

CARRY MY ARROWS UPON MY BACK!
LOCKED AND NOCKED READY TO ATTACK!

STANDING TALL READY TO DO OUR THING
THE FIGHTING FLYING CATS OF THE STARWING!"

The Plague Rat had his back to him as if inviting the arrow heads to bury themselves into it's filthy flesh as it's tail waved side to side with the excitement of battle and blood it had tasted. The arrows released ended the whistling song of their flight with the wet sick suckling sound of finding flesh. Unfortunately neither arrow in it's flank was enough to put the rabid rat down.

With Hikari Saito sprawled lifeless across the cobblestones, and Rori bleeding profusely there was no time for caution.

Drawing steel Nuro Nightstar charged forward to join Ruairidh O'Doerain of the Moonshaes in proper combat against this rat fanged murderous menace. The reckless offense was enough to draw the rat's ire from Rori, but not nearly enough to stop the fiend from finishing the curative it reached for in response to elven arrow bites. As the Moonshae Skald invoked a battle chant, Nuro Nightstar and the Plague Rat exchanged a series of testing blows, which left the elf wounded and wary.

He had the Rat's full attention though and that is what he wanted.

Focus on the cheese, never mind the trap.

With his left foot sliding back across the blood slick cobblestones, Nuro Nightstar begin to swiftly parry the rat's advances. The Plague Rat's blade managed to cut clean across his elven ribs, but for his efforts the rat was left woefully off balance, and Rori was provided the opportunity to finish his battle chanting.

Using his legs to propel himself forward in a proper lunge with his rapier point leading the way, Nuro's sword shattered what remained of the Plague Rat's defenses and his elven dagger found it's way to it's diseases ridden rodent sized heart.