In Act IV, Interlude Part 1, the journey of Tharivol Galanodel from Pernryth to Katheer (while Bash, Dabwick, Grip, and Pandora slept) was revealed:
3 Abadius
On the 3rd of Abadius, three nights after the Night of the Pale, an Elf stood on the far eastern edge of the Verduran Forest.
He was fairly young for an Elf. Pale, almost gray skin, but seemingly lit from within by a faint purple radiance. Super intense eyes with overly large pupils and purple irises—again, almost faintly glowing. His hair was long, hanging halfway down his chest. It started brown at the roots, gradating into purple where it framed his face, then to red, then to orange, and finally to yellow at the ends. He was in form-fitting dark black leather and chain. He openly wore a holy symbol around his neck and had a starknife slung to his hip. One might think he was a priest of Desna, except that the symbol he wore was not a shining silver butterfly, but a dark black iron butterfly with an eight-pointed star precisely cut out of the center of it.
This man stared off to the northwest, out onto the Tandak Plains of northeastern Taldor, out into the vast open sky filled with stars. But also filled with the Void that separates the stars. The emptiness that Is Not Empty. That Holy space. In this space this man communed, in the silence between breaths, with the Silence Between Thoughts.
Tharivol Galanodel hadn’t expected to return to the village of Pernryth, his former home, so soon. But there had been a death, and Tharivol felt called to join his found family there for the Night of the Pale. To be present to share in their grief. And to be present just in case.
He had advanced rapidly the previous year, a year spent crowded within the unrelenting chaos of the City. He found his own Sacred Silence there, somehow, in that noisiest of places. And this young follower of Desna’s Shadow, the Black Butterfly, recognized that he was uniquely equipped to handle things should his former mentor Cardariel return on the night of the Vengeful Dead.
Fortunately, the Night of the Pale passed without incident. And now…
Now he had to return.
Or did he?
Even with his skill and speed, and his familiarity with the forest, it was still a nearly month-long trek back to Cassomir. But this time spent back home—and, yes, it turned out he did actually think of Pernryth as “home,” even though he had been born in Kyonin and currently lived in Cassomir—this time spent back “home” had Tharivol staring deep into the void, and the silence, for answers.
The Call had felt so CLEAR a year earlier. Delivered during a daydream, the message from The Silence Between had felt so URGENT:
There is a confluence happening in Cassomir.
The threads of the Dark Tapestry were unraveling. And they could only barely hold back the Outer Gods: Azathoth. Abhoth. Nhimbaloth. Yog-Sothoth. Shub-Niggurath. Nyarlathotep.
Ever since he’d found his calling, Tharivol had learned their names. And he’d learned—what little he could—of their ways. And their signs. And how to recognize their followers.
Azathoth. If the Blind Idiot God were coming, the fight was already lost. So best hope he wasn’t.
Abhoth. Nhimbaloth. If the Unclean One or the Empty Death were coming, the signs would already have shown.
Yog-Sothoth. If the Lurker at the Threshold were making a move, he would be moving in multiple timelines. And that was not a fight Tharivol would have any idea how to wage.
However:
Shub-Niggurath. If the Fecund Mother had released young in the area, they could be found. They could, conceivably, be killed.
Nyarlathotep. And if the Veiled Voice had schemes in motion, there would be cultists. Or…
Cultists could be found. And if The Book was resurfacing, evidence would be left in its wake.
So Tharivol had moved to Cassomir back in the early days of 4718. And he began to listen and watch: the Silence, and the Stillness. And he prayed for wisdom, for perception, for instinct. And when he heard whispers of the “Esoteric Knights of Evolvement,” he knew he’d found what he sought. Sure, they seemed on the surface like a bunch of brainiacs running a monthly science club, but isn’t that exactly how a cult of the Old Gods would disguise themselves, if they wanted to hide in plain sight?
So Tharivol had a “chance encounter” with the priestess Greshee Yesric. Which led to an introduction to Gaeleath Alaren. And he really hit it off with the Elven Wizard—it was so rare to meet another of his kind in this land so dominated by humans. And that led, eventually, to an introduction to the Knights.
And in Tharivol, in his guise as a Desnan mystic, the Esoteric Knights found a new member. He played the eager, if quiet, new acolyte. And he waited for the moment he knew would come: the Lifting of The Veil, the introduction to the Truth Behind The Façade. Except…
Except it never came.
Yes, they all dabbled in secrets. And, in some cases, powerful magic. And, in some cases, extremely dangerous alchemical experiments. And gossip. And rumors. And information.
But all of it actually seemed to be dedicated to the betterment of the city.
So what am I doing? Tharivol thought to himself. Have I completely wasted the past year? Did I misunderstand the Call? Must I really go back? To this club of socialites? To what end?
Tharivol stood on the edge of the forest, at the edge of the plains, and stared up into the spaces between the stars, and in the silence between breaths, he decided to leave it to fate and his Goddess.
The next meeting of the Knights is on the 27th. Twenty-four days. I’ll move as quickly as possible, and keep my eyes, ears, and heart open. If I make it on time, I’ll give Cassomir… more time.
But if I’m still out in the wilds when the 27th dawns, it’s time for a new direction, this New Year.
And so Tharivol set out.
19 Abadius
On the 19th of Abadius, Tharivol Galanodel reached Bafra’s Face.
Bafra’s Face was the name given to a colossal sculpture carved into a tall, stony hillside overlooking the beginning of the southern Tandak Plains and the end of the World’s Edge Mountains. It depicted the giant face of some long-forgotten Emperor of Taldor from some three thousand or more years earlier. No one knew how magnificent and imperious it looked back then, but now it was a haunting, hollowed-out, heavily eroded, creepy blemish. A vacant, dead-eyed, corpse face glowering out from on high, staring in mindless judgment upon the plains far below.
Tharivol had never seen it before, and it kind of… spoke to him. The darkness and emptiness inside those hollow eye sockets called to him. If ever there were Negative Space in which to stare in contemplation, it was those eyes.
And so he did stare, for most of the day.
Silence Between, he prayed, show me my heart. Show me my path. I peer into the Void and see only the blackness every untrained eye sees. I hesitate, and I don’t know why. Why do I shrink from your Calling? Why does the Space Between the Stars give me no comfort, no answer? To spend a year and accomplish nothing of note in Cassomir, to find nothing that matched the immediacy of your Call, nothing but dilettantes and dreamers…
Why put this Calling on me, yet show me nothing?
And as night fell, after he prepared his spells as a freshly 9th-level Cleric, he burnt the last of his incense and stared up at Bafra’s face. Clouds were passing in front of the moon and in their erratic movements, the light of Somal sometimes faintly illuminated the hollow sockets of Bafra’s eyes… and sometimes left them blanketed in the deepest darkness. A darkness that—almost—seemed alive.
He prayed for ten minutes and cast a certain spell for the very first time. And then he spoke:
“Has my time in Cassomir been wasted?”
The clouds shifted, the moon was revealed, and its light illuminated the eye sockets.
NO.
“Must I return with all haste?”
The clouds shifted again. The moon was hidden for a moment, and there remained nothing but darkness below the brow.
YES.
“It is one of the Knights?”
YES.
He started with the first three that came to mind. The one he knew the least:
“Is it Archi?”
NO.
The one who would undoubtedly be the most dangerous were he an agent of the Tapestry:
“Is it Gaeleath?”
NO.
And the one who he couldn’t quite learn to trust:
“Is it Mun?”
YES.
So, the “Great Philanthropist” had been hiding a secret. This was bad.
“He lives out in the swamps… I wonder… Does he treat with the Black Goat?”
One eye in darkness, one eye in light.
YES. BUT…
“Oh no… AND the Crawling Chaos?”
YES.
Only one question left.
“I’ve been looking for Signs for so long. And I have apparently missed so much. Tell me… this time… THIS time… will I know my moment when it comes?”
YES.
And Tharivol was on the move again.
29 Abadius
On the Day of the Storm, the 29th of Abadius, Tharivol finally reached Cassomir.
He arrived while the storm was still raging, one day late for the fateful meeting of the Esoteric Knights. He’d made his way through the most abandoned Threegates he’d ever seen. Up into the Old Town, with water running in streams over his boots as he waded uphill. Past the Admiralty Citadel and right onto Fortune Row. And on the way to his (now) dear friend Gaeleath’s house, he passed through the beautiful public square designed by architects from the Ismacco family, the square containing Pharasma’s Pulpit—the local nickname for the tall, imposing platform where public executions were held—and there, as rain poured down his face and lightning tore open the skies above him, Tharivol was the first to find Demrium Redbasher’s corpse.
Demrium: the beloved civil engineer, one of the few dwarves in public office in Cassomir, and the only dwarf amongst the Esoteric Knights of Evolvement.
A friend.
Tharivol didn’t make it to Gaeleath’s that night because, alone, he cut down his friend and prays over his body in the dying hours of the storm. The rain made everything harder. Heavier. Demrium was not tall, but he had been—still was—dense. Compact.
Tharivol first saw evidence of that the night Demrium had dared the rest of the Knights to move him, to make him budge. “You can’t build sturdy if you don’t understand sturdy!” he’d cried. And sure enough, everyone tried, but he could not be made to move an inch.
It was Tharivol’s maybe second or third meeting, he was still a bit shy, and he did not participate.
“You there! New guy!” Demrium bellowed. “Don’t you want to give it a shot, lad?”
“No, I think not,” Tharivol replied. “Even the very sturdy erodes over time. I’ll come back in eight hundred years, and see if you’ve moved.”
And they’d been fast friends since that night.
Now Tharivol had the body in his arms, supporting it as best he could, the rain running down his face. He reached up with his starknife in one hand and cut the rope. He was not prepared for the weight, and down they both crashed to the wooden planks.
Lying there, catching his breath, Tharivol reflected on the pure randomness of his discovering Demrium. He could have walked any path, there were countless ways to get anywhere in Cassomir. It didn’t feel like the body had been dead long. Hours, maybe? What had Tharivol missed, being a day later than intended?
Then he heard Cardariel’s voice in his head:
“Who’s going to say the words, boy?”
He had been taught by his old tutor that there were always Words to be said. All the gods had them. Some of them sounded different, foreign—inappropriate even.
“That is not for you or I to decide.”
But it was important that words were said on the day of the passing. Otherwise, the soul wouldn’t know it was time to leave. And no good could come from that.
“These words are Hers…”
Tharivol had never said HER words for anyone. He hadn’t found a community of like-minded worshipers in Cassomir, so his devotions had always been private. For him. Like his random Acts. Not for others to know. Silent, like his goddess.
But there comes a time when Silence must give way to Truth. So Tharivol said Her words:
“Silence Between. See this soul. Demrium, you are released to the Void, the Void is released to You. Be it by Fire or Time, this vessel will return to its core elements, and the Space Between will fill them once again, and they will fill the Space Between, until such time as the Wings of the Butterfly propel them to new birth.”
As Tharivol finished the words, he had a tickle in his mind. Is this why I’m here? He looked down at the body of his friend, rain soaking them both. Why? Why would this life-loving, public-serving, friend to all take his life?
A new thought: Despair and the Dark Tapestry go hand in hand.
What were these brilliant idiot do-gooders getting into?
“Farewell, my friend. I think I have work to do.”
Tharivol looked up into the pouring rain, finding the space between the raindrops. The next morning, he’d find Galeath, and tell him about the Commune.
30 Abadius
Finally, on the 30th of Abadius, the Sellen Starling reached Cassomir—just two days after the Jeroboam left.
Before heading up the hill to Gaeleath’s house, Tharivol was down at the harbor. Standing amongst the chaos. Seeking his own peace within it. Readying himself for the conversation ahead. Praying.
The Starling tied off and Stazi began the hunt for information about the Aurora. Word was still very much on everyone’s lips, since it only just disappeared out in the Dog's Teeth the day before.
Or so people said.
Stazi thought, I must get out there myself.
And then Tharivol saw Stazi. And he recognized his Sign. It didn’t come in the form of an earthshattering supernatural event…
It came in the form of the haunted look in a stranger’s eyes.
She needs help, Tharivol thought. And she may not be able to ask for the kind of help she really needs.
So, when this woman came barreling up, asking everyone she passed where to find a Water Breathing potion, where to find boat rentals, did anybody know the Dog’s Teeth well…
Tharivol stepped forward.
He had the spell prepared (one always did as a priest in a harbor town). He knew the area. He knew where to get a boat.
“I’m a Cleric,” he said. “I would like to help.”
Stanhope, meanwhile, finished his duties on the ship and found a runner to bring his letter up to his mom. He was going to give her a little time to adjust to the New Reality. To soak up the good news. He figured he’ll kill an hour or so down in Abbey Green and then make his Grand Entrance after mom had gotten what’s-her-face dolled up and her father, what’s-his-butt, ready to sign the employment contracts (and wedding contracts, of course), but then Stanhope spotted Stazi with someone he didn’t recognize.
“Hey guys! What’s going on?”
What was going on was that Stazi was grabbing a boat to head out to the Dog’s Teeth, where pirates had sunk a ship or something, and she only had this random Elf she’d known for, like, two seconds with her.
“I know this place like the back of my hand,” Stanhope said. “I’m kind of a huge deal around here. Or my mom is, at least. Anyways, you could use some extra muscle and I’ve got time to kill. I’d be happy to lead your party.”
A Nexus.
Later, inside the Aurora, all three of them were Seeded. And Nothing Would Ever Be The Same Again.
They returned to the shipyards. Tharivol knew who’s-who, and Stanhope actually had a name he could throw around a little bit. They got access to Julius Caine and learned all about the Jeroboam, which had JUST set sail for Absalom the day before yesterday.
THEY COULD STILL CATCH IT.
Tharivol secured passage on a fast ship called the Venture, which was leaving right away. They went to tell Chester what they could, Stazi grabbed the party’s Bag of Holding (holding all the food and expedition supplies), and they raced back down to the docks just in time for all three to hop aboard the Venture. They would hopefully catch up to the Jeroboam around the time it reached Absalom.
Later, out in Star Bay, Tharivol stood on the deck of the Venture and stared into the emptiness between the stars. The wind off the water felt the same as it usually did…
Except, of course it didn’t.
The same elements of the sensation were still there. He recognized them. But it didn’t feel the same as it always had. Nothing was or ever would be quite the same. He couldn’t tell if an oily film had been laid over everything, or removed from everything. The uncertainty was disorienting.
What was not disorienting to Tharivol was the certainty of his being Where He Was Supposed to be.
“Black Butterfly, Silence Between, eternal foe of the Dark Tapestry,” Tharivol prayed, “I don’t even know what to think to you. Do you know of what is now in my head? You have shown me so much, but this…”
He wasn’t sure if he should pray any further, lest the name slip through his thoughts. He understood that this entity existed wherever someone knew its name.
Is the Space Between the Stars a safe haven? Does such a thing exist?
This was what happened Demrium, Tharivol realized. And this was what drove him to his final Choice. It might have been the bravest thing Tharivol had ever heard. How often do those who look for knowledge, upon learning something horrible, sacrifice themselves rather than risk those around them? Not often.
“It must not be for nothing.”
Stazi and Stanhope spoke of others they travelled with, who they were sure had been fighting this for months. They were incapacitated right now…
“But we will carry on their mission.”
Offering himself up was rash, perhaps. But so was offering himself to this stern woman clearly unused to asking for help. And that rashness had altered his life forever. But the Random Act always has a ripple effect. He was usually not allowed to see that play out. But this time he was in the middle of it, it seemed.
“Silence Between, whether by your will or your wing, I have been placed in a whirlwind that touches the Dark Tapestry. My being is at peril. But it doesn’t compare to the peril of the world.
“I accept the burden. I accept the peril. From the Spaces in Between, I will carry your touch, your torch, and your will. The signs have been followed.
I am here.”
Tharivol felt the wind on his face. It didn’t feel the same. But he was what had changed.
8 Calistril
Nearly a week later, on the Venture, Stazi, Tharivol, and Stanhope were getting to know each other as they crossed the Inner Sea, heading due south toward Absalom.
In retrospect, the idea was obvious. But they’d had other issues to adjust to. And they’d had every reason to believe their information had been good. However, Stazi brought up the fact that the man they were chasing could be scried. “I have seen Dabwick do this twice on the deck of the Starling. I can describe him in detail.”
“Perhaps, both men can be scried,” Tharivol offered. “I know Mun like the back of my hand.”
“We should be sure.”
“We should be sure.”
It took many days of trial and error, but on one day it did work. It worked on Lowls, in fact. And when they saw him sitting like a malignant, cancerous lump at the aft of the Jeroboam… and they saw coastline on their port side… Tharivol made the realization:
“They’re not going to Absalom.”
It took several Commune spells and a few more attempts at Scrying to confirm and catch Lowls and Mun in conversation, but they figured out that their targets were going to Katheer. Some place called the “Mysterium.”
It wasn’t easy to get the captain of the Venture to entirely change her course. None of them had much money on them. But what they did have was a very expensive Bag of Holding filled with a small fortune’s worth of food, water, and supplies.
And so a bargain was made.
The Venture changed heading for Qadira.
1 Pharast
On the 1st of Pharast, Stazi, Stanhope, and Tharivol made their first monthly saves against the Seedborne Consumption. And unlike how rough it went for the other party back on the Starling, this time they were not unprepared. Because Stazi had been through this already. Not the suffering, but the care. She’d seen it. She’d helped with it. And at the first sign of fevers, she told Tharivol what spells to have on hand. She took all the lessons she’d learned from watching Vik care for the Dreamers and she got them through the worst of it.
23 Pharast
Finally, in the late morning of the 23rd of Pharast, Stazi, Tharivol, and Stanhope reached Katheer.
The Venture docked in the Port, and the Inquisitor, the Cleric, and the Swashbuckler were herded into the Visitor’s Center, where they were made to register. And when they stepped out into the Great Market to get their bearings and some directions, who should be munching on a lunch of delicious fried street-meat nearby, but Nheb.
Nheb saw the angry, foolish reckless one that hurt him so badly. But he also saw the quiet one—one of the healers from the ship. How could this be? Nheb wondered to himself. It seemed almost unbelievable. Is it really them? Why are they here?
Nheb watched the trio finish talking to a local and then they marched off to the west. Oh, well. How weird.
Stazi, Tharivol, and Stanhope headed west, and in front of what turned out to be the Mysterium, they found a scene of panic. Something was Going Down. A gaggle of militant monks—a dozen of them—who all actually seeed like they might also be spellcasters, were gathered around an old man who was yelling at people on the street in a distracted, angry panic while some of the spell-monks were strapping him into a gorgeous suit of mithral chainmail it would appear he had not worn for a long time.
Something was definitely going down. And Stazi and Tharivol recognized the look in the old man’s eyes immediately.
He had been Seeded.
Lowls and Mun were there. And judging by the arming of forces and the clearing of the road, they were there RIGHT NOW and these folks were going in after them.
And they probably didn’t know what they were up against.
Tharivol was the only one who spoke the local tongue, but the old man—Elder Lythiin was his name—spoke Taldane. It took some fast talking from Stazi and a Zone of Truth spell from Tharivol, which they all voluntarily submitted to, but the old man heard them out.
Elder Lythiin answered some quick questions:
“Yes, they’re inside the Mysterium.”
“Lowls has been in there about an hour. Mun, just fifteen to twenty minutes or so?”
“No, there is no way out. None at all. They’re trapped.”
And Elder Lythiin received some quick answers from Stazi, Tharivol, and Stanhope:
“These men are even more dangerous than you suspect.”
“They work directly for the entity now in all of our heads.”
“We have crossed the Inner Sea to bring them to justice.”
And the Elf even knew the name of The Book… the book no one should know was there. And the Elf was sworn to ensure it never sees the light of day.
So Elder Lythiin agreed to allow Stazi, Tharivol, and Stanhope to join them. “But you must stay close,” Elder Lythiin insisted, “and obey all of my instructions. Can you agree to this?”
They could. And they did.
And then Nheb appeared. With a strange little Halfling.
A Nexus.
And Stazi remembered the final assessment from the other party: “That rat’s all right.”
So they enlisted some arcane firepower.
They all entered the Mysterium together. All but the weird, angry little Halfling.
Shortly after they entered, there was the sound of a bell. Not the bell at the Shrine of Thaffaar, so far away, but the bell atop the Mysterium’s pyramid.
Tolling to announce the triggering of the wards.
And at that EXACT moment, nearly 500 miles away, Dabwick woke up in their flat.
First Reference: Act IV Interlude Part 1
Other Notable References: —