RAWR – Part 2

RAWR: Expedition to Chult

• RAWR – Part 1
• RAWR – Part 2
• RAWR – Part 3

The gnome’s footsteps echoed on the dry floor of the great library of Candlekeep as he walked by a handful of scribes, a large tome tucked under his arm. As he passed them, he studied them from the corner of his eye.  Some had their noses buried in books, others were dipping their quills in ink and scribbling on their papyrus papers.  The gnome quickly figured they were but the common scribes he saw here everyday, and didn’t pay much heed to them otherwise.

As the little humanoid walked down the hall, he came to a door.  He scratched his white beard, adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat, and finally turned the door’s knob, causing it to creek open. Behind the door was a small study, where a man sat at a desk. The desk was cluttered, covered in a great number of papers, some of which had obviously fallen to the floor a while back, but had yet to be picked up. On the corner of the desk was a candle in purple wax, which the gnome suspected was magic, as it never seemed to melt.

The man at the desk sported grey hair, a grey beard, and spectacles similar to the gnome’s own. He wore the types of clothes a school teacher or tutor would wear, not robes like most of the clerics of Oghma – the god of knowledge – wore within the walls of the great library. He was focused on the pages of a book, reading with much interest, all the while reaching towards a nearby silver platter and grabbing some cheese and crackers. As he munched on the tasty snack, a small mess of crumbs came falling towards the floor.

Looks like I have an extra mess to clean up tonight, the Gnome thought to himself, letting out an annoyed sigh.

The man finished his crackers and quickly took a sip out of a small cup of tea that sat on the desk. He swallowed a few gulps of the warm liquid, put the cup back on the desk, and spoke up.

“Kristof, my dear lad,” the man said without taking his eyes away from his book. “Can you tell me the translation for the phrase Umbago mowi! Mukta cho-cho?”

The gnome cleared his throat and pondered for a second.

“Yes sir, professor Edfilus. It’s an old Batiri goblin insult – almost goblinoid – but the Batiri tribe in Chult have different languages and pronunciations than their cousins around the Sword Coast. Much like how the ancient Mezzroans had their own dialect, despite the fact that the lot of them spoke common.”

“Yes, of course your are right, but I knew that part already you silly old coot,” Fernbud Edfilus replied annoyed. “What I’m asking, my dear gnomish friend, is what do the words themselves mean?”

“Well,” Kristof though aloud, “it might have something to do with the insult’s recipient’s mother and a herd of animals, though I’m not quite sure, as my Batiri is quite rustic I fear.”

“Bah!” the professor scoffed, “I suppose I’ll look it up later. This library should have a few books to help me with the correct translation. For now, however, I am reading this exciting part about goblin mating rituals and the similarities it shares with the Yuan-ti. Written by Volo himself no less!”

The professor’s enthusiasm with the subject matter made the gnome grin. As the professor’s assistant, his life revolved around helping the old man with his research, yet there were some parts of the job Kristof felt he just didn’t need to know, and the study of goblin mating rituals was just such a thing.

“Err..professor,” the gnome coughed loudly, hoping to change the subject, “I brought the book you requested.”

At the book’s mention, Professor Edfilus jumped to his feet, slamming his tome shut onto his desk.

“Well why didn’t you say so in the first place man! Bring it, Bring it! We can finally begin our expedition! Ha-hoo!”

Kristof brought the book to the professor, who snatched it from the gnome’s hands in one quick swoop. He opened the book, dust flying through the air, and excitedly flipped through it’s pages, reading through random sections. At each section, he let out an approving grunt, nodded his head, and quickly moved on. He did this several times, and finally stopped at one of the sections, his eyes open wide in surprise.

“By Oghma’s brain, Kristof! A page has been ripped from the book!”

Kristof looked up at the book, and saw what was without a doubt a missing page.

“Oh my,” the gnome said, “do you have any idea what was on this page?”

“Yes, this page contained a riddle that would’ve guided us to the prize we seek,” the professor answered, obviously annoyed.

He sent his assistant to fetch one of the library keepers. In a few minutes, Kristof was back in the office, a robed man standing at his side.  Professor Edfilus quickly showed the man the page.

“You see Orfunix, the page was ripped from the tome,” Edfilus said, distraught.

“Tis strange that a page would be missing from this tome,” the keeper replied, scratching his head in confusion.  “I remember the time this book came to our possession years ago and I’m quite certain that all of the pages were intact.  And I can assure you, professor, that you were the only one who requested to view this tome since it was brought to us.  No one else looked for this book…but…”

“But what, my good Orfunix?” asked professor Edfilus.

“Now that I think of it, I do remember seeing your apprentice looking our collection of Chult tomes today.  It was strange, I must admit, as I went to greet him and he brushed me off rather rudely.”

“My apprentice?!” The professor shouted, surprised.

“I’m sorry sir,” Kristof spoke up, confused, “but didn’t Zeraphin’s apprenticeship with you end recently?”

Both the gnome and the book keeper looked at the professor as he slowly laid back in his chair and nodded, rubbing his bearded chin in deep thought with a worried look on his face. Yes, the apprenticeship had ended, but the people at Candlekeep were not privy to the whole story.

The professor thought back to when Zeraphin had started his apprenticeship.  How he had high hopes for the young lad, who showed the makings of a great archaeologist and mage just like himself.  After some time, however, Zeraphin had started to become impatient and uncontrollable, stealing one of the professor’s artifacts from his home collection.  The item, a jeweled skull with dangerous necrotic powers, was never quite understood by the old man, nor was its power’s trusted.  Old Fernbud Edfilus knew one thing for certain though, and that was that he could not tolerate theft.

Things didn’t stop there, however, as the professor caught his apprentice practicing necromancy on a few occasions.  Edfilus had had his own experiences with the dark magic, and had vowed never to explore it or let anyone in his charge learn it.  And there had also been the odd prophets who had cornered the young boy in one of the library wings, accusing him of carrying a darkened heart.  Though he felt sorry for the boy, the professor felt there was something to the prophet’s accusations.

In the end, the professor had no choice but to expel Zeraphin from his apprenticeship, and now, sitting on his chair behind his desk, there was no doubt in his mind that the boy had overheard of his plans.  Whether the young lad was looking to sabotage them, or to go it alone, the professor didn’t know.

Without that page, the page that had been ripped from the tome Kristof had brought, the professor knew his expedition to Chult was doomed.