The Demise of Gascot

This is a thin notebook, possibly a journal. It apperas to be very old and much of the book has sustained water damage. Many of the pages are bound together.

—-

I have found a moldy notebook. Barely a single page is legible. It tells of a servant tossed into the dungeons for unjust reasons. His name was Gascot.

—-

I have witnessed the unjust punishment of the House of Everling. Lord Everling placed Gascot in the dungeon. He has been accused of stealing and hiding the master’s rare Dagger of the Spurned. This is an outrage! I am sure that Lord Everling’s Tei’Dal guests from the Ebon Mask are behind this… yet Gascot was taken away and tortured by the Thexian guards. I can do nothing.

Our Lady of Betrayal

Notes by Lord Rikantus Everling

Long have I traveled Norrath in search of wonders others would avoid.
Many years have I studied tomes of valor in search of deviant treasures that I could place within my cursed cache.
It was in my youth that my father began this quest and
it would be in my time as Lord of the House of Everling that the quest would terminate.
Through tales told from my father’s maw to stolen tomes from the vaults of truth and love.
I have discovered the Lady of Betrayal- Ullkorruuk.

The House of Everling made its fortune within the great trade city of Freeport,
a city always shielded from evil by the followers of Marr.
Living amidst the paragons of valor and passion
one could eventually see tears within the benevolent fabric of such benevolence.
My father stove to discover an artifact of such faults, a trinket that no doubt would be cursed.
Those things that are cursed are the fruit of my family.
My father would never find the artifact he longed for, but his words would lead me on my quest long after his death.

Knighthoods and priesthoods are bound to faith, given their strength by their willing belief in things that cannot be proven as just.
The blind faith of such religious societies will always have those few who falter.
A fall from such wisdom leads even the greatest legends of chivalry in a forsaken pit, never to be graced by his god again.
But hope persists.
Whisper abound of a place where the forsaken have made safe haven.
The hidden shrine is veiled within an island of vast thinkers.
In my father’s time, he would never know such a place, but his time is over.

Across the spine of Ro and through the great city, I found path across the sea.
Within the land touched by the hand of decay I found my clues.
Through dense jungle, across wounded lands and over frozen mountaintops – the land of eternal maelstrom exists.
Within the inhospitable desolate land exists the forsaken city.
Only in such natural hostility could such a place remain unseen.
Employing the powers of curses I crossed the sea of rage and entered the halls of the fallen.
Here slumbered the knowledge I sought, secrets hidden in the texts of valorous faiths.

The fallen were not pleased to meet me.
A detachment of knights rode me out to meet my approach,
riding atop armored beasts with lances that seemed to be forged of crude iron and were most likely heavier than beast and rider.
These cavalier spoke no words save one phrase, “Follow and you shall live.”
Such words, accompanied with imposing weapons, cannot be argued.
They led me beyond a massive marble gate that only the Krombral could have moved.
I soon learned that this small detachment was but a drop of the cavalry that rest within the entry hall of the subterranean city.

I could see gates leading deeper into this marble fortress.
One of the knights dismounted, I could tell from the cape and adornments upon his armor that he was the leader of this band of cavalry.
The knight ushered me forward through one of the gates and down a long descending stairwell.
As we walked I could see faint images of pantheons barely illuminated by ornate sconces perched along the walls.
At the end of the stairwell we met a towering, but thin, door.
The knight grabbed the heavy knocker and pounded upon the door.
It opened ever so slowly, light beaming forth blinding me from the majesty beyond.

My eyesight returned and my ears filled with layered chants.
I found myself in a grand circular hall whose ceiling stretched great heights.
The interior of the massive hall was adorned by statues and images of every deity known to Norrath, even a few from long dead civilizations.
Each of these statues or images created a shrine to the god and around each shrine were placed gifts relative to the forsaken that prayed around it.
My soul filled with joy as I came to realize that I had finally discovered the city of the forsaken, the secret city of the fallen, Zebuxor.

My elation was soon replaced with fear as all the chants ceased.
The throngs of worshippers bowed their heads.
In the distance I could see another towering door slowly swing wide.
Within this doorway a figure entered, but so great were the masses that all I could see was the high elaborate crown of this royal figure.
Amidst the sea of ragtag forsaken faithful, the grand figure cut a swathe towards me.
My fear rose as I could see the daunting crown that peeked above the faithful slowly approach.
Finally the figure was upon me as the final wall of people stepped back to allow my audience with the ruler of the forsaken city.

“What power have your fallen from?” the ruler asked in a beautiful effeminate voice.
I could not see much of her face beneath the elaborate helm, if it was a female, but what I could see was as alluring as the voice.
I must answer her in truth, though a lie would seen more fitting.
It was as if she cast a spell over me.
“I am not forsaken. I seek knowledge of a dissident power.” I replied, sheepishly.
Slowly she replied in a foreboding demeanor, “You are forsaken now.”

“I sense the aura of your betrayal.” She said.
“Your past has forsaken you for such actions. It is that has led you to our temple city.”
I could do nothing in more but listen within her hypnotic presence.
“You quest for the unusual leads your house, but in your quest you should anchored your faith, unwittingly.”
She save a beguiling smirk and continued.
“Though you seek cursed treasures of unorthodox faith, you will instead find your faith here among the fallen.”
She pointed to a dark corner of the titanic hall.

The masses of fallen worshippers parted to create a twisting path towards the dark recesses of a peculiar little shrine.
Her voice commanded me,”Go!” I began my slow, almost penitent, march towards the shrine.
The walls of the fallen began to chant in whispers.
As I drew closer to the shrine I noticed it was precariously placed between two other shrines, although it seemed as though these shrines were not even adjacent to one another.
To one side of the meager shrine was the shrine of love and to the other side was the shrine of lover and to the other side a portion of the shrine of hate embraced it.
I continued my march.

As I entered the shadows of the little shrine I began to make out the visage of a statue.
The statue was that of a commanding, yet comforting female knight.
Donned in the finest armor this visage stood atop the back of a knight.
Protruding from knight’s back, a lance breached the armor of the dead.
My eyes slowly followed the length of the lance until it met the hands of the female knight.
I could sense a great betrayal as bound to this shrine.
What was this image I see before me and why do I feel as though I should pay homage here?

“You belong to her.” The ruler of Zebuxor was at my back.
I did not even notice her approach.
“She is the Lady of Betrayal. Like you, she sought the unknown.
Her desire of the unknown was so great that she betrayed the power that gave her light.”
“Who is my goddess?” I begged.
With another of her beguiling smirks, the ruler answered.
“She is Ullkorruuk. Her betrayal of love was so great that she was embraced by the powers of hate.Given new life among the stars, she now sits in the pantheon of hate, forever renamed and never to be graced by Marr again.”

I began to weep before the statue.
My tears streamed as I fell to my knees.
I crawled closer to the statue and reached out to it.
“Do not forsake me maiden of betrayal. End the madness of my house. Ease the curses that haunts us.”
Although my house has long been indifferent towards the faiths, almost agnostic some would clam, I found myself praising before the statue.

“What can I give you for my salvation, my lady?” I cried.

“Your offering begins.” said the ruler behind me.
My fingertips finally reached the feet of the statue-all went black!

The Idol of Mor’Tael

My great, great grandfather was a rich man, rich from the trade we deal in. Norrathians knew little of our market, but those who have the most to offer know the path to such markets. The great trade city knew us as dealers of delights. But behind the mask of toys, the House of Everling makes its true fortune. My great, great grandfather was the richest of all Everlings and his fortune fed us for generations. Unfortunately for us, his fortune was made from the cursed curios that we deal. Sometimes these trinkets do not wish to be sold. Sometimes these trinkets decide to purchase you.

My great, great grandfather was Vulrandis Everling, Merchant Lord of Freeport. He traveled far and wide to import the most wondrous toys for the wealthiest children and children at heart. He and his expedition team would often be gone for long spells of time. His dedication to the family business was unparalleled. During his time, many Everling manors rose. No Everling before him had ever done so much for the prosperity of the house. While in these far off realms he also acquired his true commodity, the cursed curios.

In the House of Everling, with great prosperity comes great risk. So the greater the wealth, the closer to misfortune you are. While amassing a vault of worldly trinkets there sometimes come a time when things that are not of this world creep before you. Sometime this is never known and the trinkets are passed on without a clue. Such an object is the Idol of Mor’Tael, but it did not choose to be haggled away like other trinkets. It waited long for Vulrandis to discover it in oblivion.

Everling expeditions are always dangerous and a few lives are often lost, or sacrificed. Such is the price to acquire such wondrous gifts. But never has there been a doomed expedition such as the one that sent us the Idol of Mor’Tael. It was ages ago, on a dark stormy day that Vulrandis kissed his wife and children goodbye for the last time. He and his team were setting sail for an isle in the south, an isle located in the Buried Sea. It was said that on this isle a phantom tower sometimes appears. Inside this phantom tower is rumored to be cursed treasures no one should seek, no one save an Everling.

Family records show that Vulrandis and his team reached their destination. How this is known is by the odd strongbox that appeared before the toy shop one morning. It was long after his departure, 18 months as it is recorded. Before this, the house knew something was wrong. No expedition ever took so long, not even the dreaded Expedition to the Serpent’s Spine Peaks. Something terrible had definitely happened. But here before the toy shop on a cold Freeport dawn lay a final gift from Vulrandis, a final gift and a final word.

“Dear family, Do not seek me for I am in oblivion. We have found eternal torment in the Tower of Rot. I offer our lives in exchange for this gift to my house. The masters of the manor shall all own the Idol of Mor’Tael. The legion of the one merchant shall be chosen and eternal prosperity shall rule the House of Everling.”

My True Beloved

My one true beloved has long been gone, but I have loved no other like I loved Alana.
Though I have loved again, I can never forget.
Theeral knows of her, but endures my emotions.
She knows I have brought her wealth in coin and in offspring.
She offers me much as well.
This is why are one.
But even a great love cannot bury another great love.
I often pity myself for loving twice in a lifetime and
it is at these times that I find my soul in pain and
I must begin my march of solace to Alana’s chambers.

At first Theeral could not accept the extent of my love.
She learned this after one of my frequent bouts of extended melancholy.
The first time she discovered the destination of my midnight walks in Freeport, she was terrified.
As I walked the streets she and her servant Plimptos secretly followed me,darting and dashing in the shadows.
I never liked that servant child of hers.
There was something evil about him.
I would learn that at a later date and see that he was bestowed with one of my most cursed trinkets.

Along the streets and alley Theeral followed me to a simple graveyard that was soon to be removed by order of the current chief constable, a boisterous paladin that was beginning to stir up trouble in Freeport.
Within the humble graveyard I walked to my personal mausoleum.
It was like a grand palace at the center of a timber village.
I have ordered the construction of this tomb for my future family, but even though my present family was still alive and well, the mausoleum was not vacant.

Peering out from behind a twisted tree,
Theeral watched as I opened the tomb with a special key that I held around my neck at all times.
A torch was lit along the walls and I kneeled to weep in both sadness and joyous reflections.
Just then, Theeral entered.
She was in shock as she saw me weeping before three caskets.
Demanding to know whose caskets were placed within the personal resting place of the family of Lord Rikantus Everling, I told her.

In my youth, after I took the seat of master merchant for the House of Everling upon the disappearance of my father,
I met my first love on the road to a haggling festival in Rivervale.
She was standing beside the road, near her cart and tent. She was clearly a fortune teller of sorts.
I ordered my carriage to stop.
I dismounted and approached.
Her named was Alana and her beauty was matched by none.
I could do no more than to fall in love with her forever and after my long fortune was told, I did just that.

Along with Alana came her meager belongings, mostly tricks of her trade.
So to, came a personal servant sworn to serve her as a child.
The was the wretched Plimptos.
I was happy to not only curse the man, but strike his name from my castle.
The ancient word for whelp would do nicely, pelleas.
For all the chaos that servant caused this house, Theeral’s gifts to me made them all worth while.
From my true love came my first born, Maltus.
Soon after he, came Ollix.
The joy my family brought me veiled the curses of Everling, but unfortunately,
they would rear their head to make themselves known.

There came a time when a mysterious illness overtook my beloved family.
A fever overtook them and mad delusions soon followed.
Like madmen, my loved ones could be found wandering the streets screaming of invisible creatures all about, slowing torturing them.
Neither doctor nor mage of the great trade city could find a remedy for the odd illness.
Even journeying to the Temple of Life in Qeynos was futile.
The madness grew and I was forced to confine my loved one or
see them sentenced to the Freeport Asylum where they would never return from.

Confining my loved ones until I could free them from their insanity would not last.
There came a day when their prison chambers were unlocked.
Someone had unlocked the doors and untied their restraints whilst I was away on business.
Before I could return they had somehow flew into the sprawling maze of streets.
One by one their madness led them into horrific accident I refuse to recall.
My dreams of replacing a life of cursed curios with the joy of a family was tragically extinguished.

I could never prove it, but I felt the mischief of Plimptos.

The void created by the loss of my beloved family nearly sucked me into oblivion.
I found myself incapacitated by sadness for many year.
If not for the aid of a few friends within the Academy of Arcane Science,
I too would be as lost as my family.
When I was freed from my pit of despair I had the bodies of my family preserved and placed within my mausoleum.
After this I swore to myself I would escape the curses that followed the House of Everling.
Far from Freeport I would construct the most magnificent and impenetrable castle ever built.
Not even an ancient curse would breach my walls.

I was a fool for thinking such things.
No curse can be outrun or shielded, but perhaps it could be contained as the cursed curios had taught us over the ages.
If a curse did follow me then it will stay with me and no more would I peddle such tragedy upon the world..
once I was finished financing my hidden fortress.
Far from the great empires in the dense dark forestlands I will hide.
Along with me shall come the evil trinkets, my servants and my beloved family.

When my refuge was complete, I placed my family within grand tombs inside the catacombs of my new manor.
But, this was not enough.
My house was theirs even after death, but if that were to be true they must have chambers just as I.
I furnished three rooms, one for Marcus, one for Ollix and one for my Alana.
When I wished to speak to them I would not face the sarcophagi in the cold depths of Nektropos Castle, NO!
When I wish to console with my loved ones I would spend time within the chambers where their spirits played.

Here in Nektropos Castle I live with two loves, a family gone and family new.
Theeral and my precious daughters accept my madness.
Though they rarely visit the chambers of my past the know never to disturb them.
My servants are told to tend to these chambers as they would any other.
Even bowls and goblets are taken to these rooms and removed when mysterious emptied.
They are here, I can feel them.
These are the places where a cursed man goes to escape the prison he build for himself.

The Book of Sunder by Vhalen-Dev

You say, “Hail, The Book of Sunder”

The Book of Sunder says to you, “As has been stated, the magical manuscript security protocol requires that all information is withheld until the proper password is given.”

You say to the Book of Sunder, “Till Yonder”

The Book of Sunder says to you, “Oh boy! You’re a smart one, aren’t you? Looks can be deceiving, eh? Now, I suppose you wish to hear about the Rune of Sunder. It’s my specialty, you know? What do you wish of me?

You say to the Book of Sunder, “Please tell me about the Rune of Sunder.”

The Book of Sunder says, “The Rune of Sunder is a representation of an event that is to take place in the Norrathian year of 5595 B.T. The event will see the destruction of the moon called Luclin that orbits the planet Norrath. This is a unique event foretold in the doomsday calender of the ancient race known as the shissar.

In the Norrathian year, 3000 B.T., the shissar completed a calender comprised of runes and symbols extracted from the planar realms. These runes took order upon a massive stone calender that was carved into the shissar city of Chelsith.

The shissar referred to the calender as a doomsday calender since it held the date of the death of the shissar race and destruction of Norrath. Among the many runes of this calendar was the rune of Sunder, the foreteller of the death of the moon.

A great arcane plague extinguished the shissar race, as foretold. In the wake of this genocide the iksar rose in their place, destroying much of the records that told of the doomsday calender and the location of Chelsith.

The Rune of Sunder would not be encountered by the Norrathians until the arrival of the prophetic elf ruler, Queen Elizerain in the Age of Blood. She dreamed of the great spiral and kept its secret hidden from all but those that shared her dreams. Everling research has uncovered a dragon to be one of these trusted Norrathians.

In the Norrathian year of 5102 B.T., Queen Elizerain crosses the Gray Wastes into the afterlife. Her many prophecies are kept safe in hidden and unorthodox vaults. Among these was the prophecy of Luclin’s destruction and the Rune of Sunder. it is believed her secrets are still kept close to the throne of the Koada’Dal.

In the Norrathian year 5190 B.T., the House of Everling purchases an idol from Valdoartus Varsoon. This trinket proves to be cursed, but contains another rune upon it that is linked with the Rune of Sunder. The rune is designated the Rune of Ethernere. The idol is designated the Idol of Mor’Tael.

In the Norrathian year, 5330 B.T., Lord Rikantus Everling is cursed by the idol of Mor’Tael. He is slowly divided and with each facet of himself, a bit more freedom is lost. He intensifies his studies of the Rune of Ethernere, believing it will show him a way to the Gray Wastes of Ethernere where he might rescue the souls of his departed daughters.

Lord Rikantus Everling discovers that the Rune of Ethernere is not the passage to the Gray Wastes, but rather, a prophecy of another unique event of the shissar doomsday calender. Before he can complete his validation of this theory, he is consumed by the curse of the Idol of Mor’Tael. Before this is complete, he renamed the Rune of Ethernere to Rune of Oblivion.

Research of the Rune of Sunder and the Rune of Oblivion lead towards the research of the doomsday calendar. With all Everlings subjugated, all studies have been postponed.

There you are now! That is more than any academy big wig or ancient lich can tell you. Consider yourself informed… and being informed is half the battle!