Jump 193: Neverwinter Nights

Jump 193: Neverwinter Nights

Location: Neverwinter, 1372 DR
Age: 24
Identity: Drop-In, Human
Drawbacks: [+700] A Dreadful Case Of Protaganism, Double Down, Choo Choo Motherfucker, Damned Thieving Drow, Spirit Eater

[Free]      Skilled Individual: Bluff, Diplomacy, Intimidate
[100/1700]  Charismatic
[400/1700]  Montage
[500/1700]  Fighter
[700/1700]  Physical Training
[1300/1700] Guts
[1500/1700] Wisdom
[1700/1700] Intelligence

The Wailing Death ran rampant through the city of Neverwinter. Its people were desperate for a cure for the plague. Desperate enough to recruit any number of amateur adventurers, hoping to train them to help in any way possible while they tried to make such a cure happen.

A surprise attack on the academy in which they were trained saw most of them slaughtered, with only a single one meeting the challenge, perhaps because of his existing past experience. But not only meeting it - rising at an astronomical pace. The components to cure the plague were rapidly collected from the Waterdhavian creatures, impressing Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande, the paladin in charge of it. Other and lesser 'quests' were also handled in so doing, likewise impressing her beau Fenthick, a cleric, and their associate Desther, a priest of Helm.

Of course, once the components were collected, the priests of Helm were exposed as frauds and cultists whose 'blessings' had themselves been the root cause of the Wailing Death. They took the cure and fled to their tower for a last stand, which was far more futile than anyone could have suspected. A few were collected in chains - those who had not been slain - and Desther the false Helmite himself was bound and dragged to face justice.

The cultists, as well as their leader, were burned at the stake. But the people bayed for blood, and so the lord of the city looked further afield for anyone who might be to blame. And so his eyes fell upon Fenthick, who had been fooled by Desther's deception and taken him in as a friend.

Lord Nasher sentenced him to hang, and would not hear any words against it. Instead, he commanded the adventurer who pled for his clemency to silence, stating that all had to stand together else the mob might fall upon them too. Attempting to talk to the mob was equally futile, as bloodthirsty as they were. Fenthick was led out in chains, silent, a willing sacrifice for peace's sake. And so, he turned to the Lady Aribeth.

"Pray," he asked her. "Pray to your god, Tyr, for true justice instead of this atrocity. Pray as never before, for if Fenthick hangs then the city is damned."

And she did, and was met with silence. She felt her hope die.

As Fenthick was led to the gallows, he again beseeched her. "Pray," he told her. "Pray to the blind god, Tyr, to stop this injustice before it goes any further. He is not the only god, but his is the burden of halting this miscarriage of justice."

And she did, and was met with silence. She felt her heart harden.

As the headsman put the rope around Fenthick's neck, a third time he addressed her. "Pray," he ordered her. "Pray to your god, Tyr, and tell him that if he will not intervene to see justice done, the moment that the cleric swings from the rope, he and all other gods of this world will be given equal injustice."

And she did, and was met with silence. She felt herself consumed by rage.

With a twang, the rope grew taut, a sickening snap echoing across the plaza.

A final time, the adventurer turned to her, speaking rapidly as the moment stretched. "I offer you a contract to save his life. Be my paladin, be elevated above all others of this realm, and see true justice served."

Perhaps, had she not been praying to a god that granted her otherworldly powers, one that she was recognized as one of the highest ranking paladins of, she might have declined. Perhaps, were there anything but silence or the slightest sign that she had been heard, the paladin would have taken weeks or even months for her vows to Tyr to begin to feel strain.

Instead, her tears flowing as she watched her love rush to death, very much aware of all of these things and facing a point honed to strike at her weakness, she nodded her assent. "I will."

In that moment, the rope snapped.

In that moment, Fenthick picked himself up from below the gallows, the noose hanging loosely around his neck, feeling wildly as he found his snapped spine healed in a heartbeat without knowing how. The headsman looked around, astonished.

In that moment, the adventurer disappeared from the plaza.

In that moment, something appeared in the skies above Faerun. Something horrible. Something impossibly sized, a mind-breakingly massive dragon that filled the skies to the horizon, its gargantuan scales glowing, outlined by an otherworldly hellish green glow.

In that moment, the Wailing Death seemed so very trivial, for the people knew fear, and despite their attempts to cry out, only silence permeated the plaza.

Lady Aribeth, formerly paladin of Tyr and now glowing the same hellish sapphire hue as the dragon, strode to the gallows as the words came to her unbidden. But she first gave the headsman a look of such wrath that he fled before her. Lord Nasher stood, but no matter how his mouth moved, nothing could be heard. The only sound were the words from Aribeth's lips, clear to everyone in the plaza itself.

"People of Neverwinter, you have been judged. You have been through a terrible thing, but such excesses are beyond excuse. Those meant to guide and protect you gave in to weakness, and so they too have been judged. Neverwinter is meant to be an example to the world of how civilization should be, and by hanging this innocent man despite all knowledge to the contrary, this city has damned itself."

She motioned upward. "Your gods have been judged. The Wailing Death was spread by false priests, and the gods sent none to gainsay them, none to tell anyone who they truly were, and none to save your lives. When those who were key in ending the plague were beset by injustice, those same gods would not lift a hand to stay your own. Just as Neverwinter has been judged and found wanting, so too have your gods."

Fenthick seemed to be trying to plead with her, even as silent as he was, but at that moment she only had eyes for Lord Nasher. "The being who has judged them was here to help in this crisis, as a mortal, trusting in the gods to do their part. He hoped to help make this world a better place. Instead that trust was betrayed. The gods' betrayal will be paid in their blood, for he is as far above them as they are above the lowliest blade of grass."

Aribeth's gaze swept over the crowd as she pronounced, "These are the words of the High Stellarch, Dei Draco, God-President, Once and Future Primarch, the eater of dreams, traveler of planes, master of magic, man of the gun, he of a million faces and a billion worlds. Flee this city before it is smited. Flee, and tell all and sundry of your crimes. Tell all that there shall no longer be any magic in this world but his by right and conquest." The hellish glow around her person faded, as did the muffling of the crowd's cries of rage and despair, but somehow her final words were heard above all others. "Be judged as you judged others, and suffer the injustices you would have given."

A rasping sound could be heard from the sky. Laughter, alongside otherworldly screaming. Somehow, the people realized as they fled the city that it was their gods, their judgment upon them in the form of a dragon beyond even Tiamat.

A cult hoping to bring back a lost civilization and resurrect their dead god proved quite insignificant in the face of the Götterdämmerung and the upheaval that followed.