Once Around the Realms

Chapter 10

Centuries ago, Chondath had been one of the leading trade empires of all Faerun, and Arrabar had been the golden apple of its eye. Opulence led to decadence, and decadence to decline. Soon war was followed by war. First, foreign predators lay siege in hopes of sharing in the bastion of wealth. This was followed by petty disputes from within, culminating in numerous civil wars. War was accompanied by famine, plague, pestilence, and the sisters of ruin, leaving the once golden apple a mere husk of its former self.

Arrabar was now in a period of rebuilding, and its streets were a bit more sleepy and subdued than Passepout would have expected of the capital of the allied city-states of Chondath. New construction was underway, and traders and merchants flocked the harborside to claim their recently delivered goods, and engage in commerce. (The Amistad's Bounty had undergone a discreet name change before heading into port so as not to incur the wrath of the intended recipients of its former- living-cargo, and was now called the Balding Quaestor.)

"Where to now, Mister Volo?" Passepout asked.

"Farther south," Volo replied. "I just haven't figured out how yet."

The two travelers took a room for the night at an inn just beyond the city wall. During years prior, the building had been a plague house for those denied entrance to the city during its self-imposed quarantine. None of the city dwellers ever stayed there, and few travelers stayed for the second night of the inn's two-night minimum upon finding out about the building's heritage. As a result, the proprietor always had rooms to spare, and figured that he was making twice the profit for half the bother on each guest. He sometimes liked to joke that the only second-day boarders in the history of the inn were those waiting to be carried off by the plague cart.

As luck would have it, the inn was also boarding a group of mercenary adventurers who were headed south to Ormpetarr in hopes of finding work. Volo and Passepout entertained the band with tales of travelogue, adventure, and tourism from Volo's vast catalogue of experiences, and numerous monologues and jokes and mercifully few songs from Passepout's ever-growing repertoire.

As the entertainment lasted late into the night, a deal was struck whereby the gazetteer and the thespian would be allowed to travel with the mercenary band as long as they paid their own way and treated the band with a bit of entertainment each night. The travelers agreed, and the following morning Volo and Passepout joined the long roll of one-night-stand guests of the inn.

The mercenaries were a fun bunch, led by a former captain in Azoun's Purple Dragons who deserted after finding the peace that followed the successful routing of the Horde invasion too boring. The others in the group included a dark-skinned half-giant with a bad attitude, a good-looking elven marksman who was also a bit of a con artist, and a wayward cleric halfling who fell prey to bouts of chaotic madness. All four were on the run from someone (Azoun, the Lords of Waterdeep, the Zhentarim, whatever) and fiercely loyal to each other, or whomever they accepted employment from.

All along the way Volo treated the heavily armed band of protectors to descriptions of the wonders of Faerun, stories of various encounters, and legends and lore of days gone by. He had just finished relating the tale of Shandaular, the legendary city outside time, when the group noticed that they had reached their destination of Ormpetarr, where his and Passepout's path would diverge from theirs.

Hannibal, the former captain in the Purple Dragons, shook hands with the two travelers who had provided them with so much entertainment.

"I love it when a plan comes together," he said, "and never have I felt so well compensated for merely sharing the road with other travelers."

"And never have I felt so well protected," replied Volo.

"Nor I," added Passepout.

"Fin expecting mention in one of your upcoming guides," Hannibal quipped.

"Guaranteed," replied the grateful gazetteer.

"And you, Passepout, what can I say? Don't give up your day job," the mercenary jibed, then added, "Just kidding."

The mercenaries and the travelers waved farewell and parted company. Volo and Passepout entered the city of Ormpetarr, leaving the familiarity of the Vilhon Reach, for the Shaar, the northern boundary of the Shining South.

From Ormpetarr, the two travelers joined an ever-changing caravan that was headed south along the Golden Road. Initially, it had been composed primarily of merchants from Nimpeth and farther north but now seemed to be composed primarily of nomadic herders and their families, going south in search of greener pastures. Volo and Passepout had made a few acquisitions before joining, including a change of clothing into more suitable 'native' gear, and a few beasts of burden to support the provisions that they would require for the journey farther south.

Passepout was amazed that Volo never seemed to run out of gold, no matter how many purchases he made. No matter where they were he always had the appearance of a man of means, and initially the thespian thought that perhaps he was exercising some magical power that had been left untouched by the dampening spell. After the pre-caravan shopping trip, Passepout finally asked him about his curious abilities at procurement.

"There really isn't anything to explain," Volo replied. "My travelers' guides have been popular all over, and most merchants are more than willing to allow me the use of a certain ration of their supplies in exchange for some goodwill, advertising, and an occasional mention in print."

Passepout accepted this as an answer that pertained to the merchants, and acknowledged that the master traveler was also a master of persuasion and self-promotion, but wondered what he would do if such perks failed.

Passepout then recalled the two-dragoned coin back in Cormyr and chuckled to himself, thinking, I guess no matter what the situation, Volo will think of something.

Five days later, Passepout's assessment of Volo's non-magical abilities was once again put to the test.

The latest group to join the caravan southward was a quartet of wizards returning to Halruaa after a long trip abroad. Though magically powerful, the four magic-wielders were also rather old and infirm, with wits slightly feeble. They soon became the laughingstocks of the caravan until Volo and Passepout intervened, declaring themselves the quartet's bodyguards in order to discourage future attacks, either verbal or physical, on the wizards whose only wrongdoing was to grow old.

The caravan had made camp for the night in a mountain canyon. The sun was setting, and dinner was being prepared at a half-dozen campfires when the roar of thundering hooves split the peace and quiet of the approach of twilight.

Out of a cloud of dust in the distance roared a gang of bandits who had been lying in wait for a caravan to settle for the night, boxed in by the canyon wall.

The leader of the band was a tall halfling, balding and badly in need of shave, with a wide-brim hat that had been blown off his head and now rested against his back, held in place by a string at his neck. He quickly dismounted from his horse and began to strut around their camp.

"I am Eli of the Wallachs," he announced, "and you have entered my territory. But that is all right, for I am a reasonable man and not the vicious bandit that rumor has promulgated. I know you have no wish to cause trouble, and you will therefore be more than willing to pay tribute to me for permission to pass through my land."

With that the other bandits dismounted and began to raid the caravan of its valuables.

"We have no desire to kill anyone," Eli continued, "and we greatly appreciate your cooperation."

Passepout thanked Eo that the gems were safely obscured from view by the bag that Storm had provided, and since both he and Volo had been traveling light, didn't really anticipate any great losses since the bandits seemed interested only in objects of value rather than supplies of provisions.

The caravan members all complied with the bandits' wishes, until one of the old wizards refused to give up an amulet that he wore around his neck.

"No!" he screamed. "I will never give it up!"

This wanton act of defiance infuriated Eli, who prepared to backhand the wizened old magic-user. Volo intervened.

"Eli of the Wallachs," Volo begged, "please forgive this old man. He is an enfeebled mage, as are all of his fellow travelers, and they are all poor, but honest, men of learning."

Eli laughed a fiendish laugh.

"Mages!" he crowed. "We don't need no stinkin' mages, particularly old and senile ones." The bandit leader drew out a dagger and prepared to throw it at the enfeebled old man who wouldn't give up his amulet.

Volo dove to try to intercept Eli's hand before he could throw the dagger, only to fall against an invisible wall that separated him from the bandit. Momentarily stunned by his collision with the invisible obstacle, the master traveler shook his head to try to clear the haziness from the concussion, and looked up in time to see the bandit Eli, dagger still in hand, burst into flame. In less than ten seconds, Eli had been reduced to a pile of soot and ash.

The other bandits panicked, dropped their loot, and took off for the hills, leaving their steeds and the ill-gotten gain from previous extortions back at the caravan's camp.

Slowly Volo got to his feet and turned around to face the wielder of the fireball that had taken out the fiendish bandit. There stood the other three wizards with their arms folded, stern expressions on their faces as they watched the rest of the outlaw gang heading for the hills. In the meantime Passepout had helped the mage with the amulet to his feet, and was now leading him back to the rest of his group.

The youngest of the four elderly wizards approached Volo.

"I would like to thank you for your kindness and heroism, but as you see, it really was quite unnecessary. It would have been rude for us to turn down your offer to be our bodyguards, but under no circumstances could we allow you to unnecessarily risk your life on our behalf. As you can see, we can more than take care of the whole caravan, let alone ourselves."

Passepout had now reached Volo's side and queried the youngest of the mages, "But why did you stand for the others' insults and allow yourselves to be thought of as feeble old men?"

"It is true that we are not as young as we used to be, but no one is," he answered. "Insults are cheap, and when you get to our age, one sometimes gets selectively hard of hearing so as to make it easier to ignore the callous remark that is occasionally thrown our way. Daggers, however, are another matter entirely, and require a much different course of action, as you have just observed."

The youngest wizard offered his hand in thanks to Volo and Passepout for their unnecessary but appreciated assistance, and gave each of them a medallion that had been forged in ancient Netheril.

"Please accept this as a token of our gratitude," the oldest wizard, who had refused to give up his amulet, said. "Tomorrow we will leave the caravan to travel on our own. It is not meant as insult, but I'm afraid that the rest of you will slow us down. The medallion will protect you and the others until you reach your destination. If you are ever in Halarahh, please look us up at the Porter's Shop, at the corner of William and Henry. If not, just think of us kindly whenever you remember the gift mages."

The following morning, when Volo, Passepout, and the rest of the caravan arose from a sound night's slumber, the four old mages were nowhere to be seen.

Though Volo undoubtedly picked up numerous details and anecdotes to be used in some later Volo's Guide to the Shining South, the rest of their journey southward continued uneventfully, and the caravan was disbanded upon reaching Halarahh.

"So let me get this straight," said Passepout. "This is a city of wizards, right?"

"Well, not quite," answered Volo indulgently. "It's a city that was originally settled by wizards."

"Big difference," the thespian replied. "I guess I better count my fingers after shaking hands with any of the citizens."

Volo scratched his head, puzzled at his companion's blind prejudice.

"I really don't understand why you feel this way toward wizards," he said, vocalizing his confusion. "You know that I have magical abilities… well, uh… at least I used to."

"But for every kindhearted Mister Volo," Passepout said, "there is a dastardly Lord Khelben just waiting to take advantage of his powers, and take advantage of you."

"What about the four mages on the way here," Volo countered. "What about them?"

Passepout just shook his head and refused to listen to reason.

"I think the old sage said it best," the thespian replied. " 'To trust is good, but not to trust is better,' and as far as I'm concerned, that goes double for mages!"

Volo chuckled.

"Despite your prejudice," the master traveler countered, "you have a lot in common with the people of Halruaa. Why, I remember reading some- where that someone once referred to it as the most paranoid country in all of the Realms, and that you couldn't walk three feet without some sort of divination spell being cast over you. It's a nation rampant with courtesy and politeness based on fear, and a strict set of laws to insure order, with justice and punishment meted out faster than a lich can lurch."

"Which reminds me," the thespian interrupted. "Just exactly why are we here?"

Volo resumed his strut through the city streets, calling back to his companion, who was scrambling to catch up.

"If one shortcut fails, try another," the master traveler answered. "Surely we don't expect to walk all the way to Kara-Tur, do we?"

The Porter's Shop was an inn located at the corner of William and Henry. The four mages who had been part of the caravan resided there between trips abroad for study.

"Welcome! Welcome!" said the eldest of the four, his much-prized amulet still hanging around his neck. "We are so glad that you could drop by. One never knows when one might need two burly bodyguards such as yourselves."

The other three mages laughed at the absurdity of the fourth's joke.

Passepout became offended, but, as per Volo's direction, kept his mouth shut.

"The pleasure is all ours," Volo replied, using his best reviewer-at-large persona. "Do you own this inn?"

"Of course, and for helping us in the Shaar, we are more than willing to offer you, without charge, accommodations for the duration of your stay. Let me call our porter to fetch your things to a room. Oh, Henry!" the youngest of the four called.

"That won't be necessary," Volo replied before he could repeat the appellation. "I'm afraid that we are in a bit of hurry, and I was hoping that you might be able to point us in the right direction of where we could possibly rent an airship."

"An airship," the eldest repeated, scratching his chin whiskers.

"An airship!" Passepout exclaimed, remembering in terror Volo's query of the cleric who cured his motion sickness, about its effectiveness on airsickness as well.

"An airship," Volo repeated. "You see, we have to cover a great deal of land in the least time possible."

"How much land?" inquired one of the previously silent wizards.

"All of Toril," Volo replied. "I agreed to a foolish bet out of pride and vanity, and must now live up to my part of the bargain."

"From what I understand," the youngest replied, "the airships are only supposed to travel within Halruaa airspace. They are the property of the archmages and require frequent recharging."

"I realize that," the master traveler pressed, "but I have also heard rumor of a supposed black market of mages who have, shall we say, fallen from grace, who might be willing to rent out one if it were made worth their while."

"I'm afraid that we can't be of any assistance in those sorts of matters. We of the city of Halarahh are an honest and orderly citizenry," said the youngest.

"The place you want to go is farther south," the eldest interrupted. "Khaerbaal. It's a wild town."

"Hush!" the youngest scolded. "We don't want to lead these young men astray."

"We realize that we would be taking a risk," Volo countered.

"We do?" Passepout interrupted.

"We do," Volo repeated, "but we also realize that we have very few options."

"Then try Khaerbaal, and go with Mystra."

"Go with Mystra," all four mages said in unison.

"We shall," Volo answered, and taking the still-stunned Passepout by the hand, led him out of the inn.

No sooner had they turned the street corner when they ran into the eldest of the mages, who had teleported there to intercept them in private.

"Don't ever tell my brothers that I told you this, but try the deserted shipyards down by the Bay of Taertal. Occasionally an archmage will junk an old airship there when he's acquired a new one. In many cases, it is still charged enough for a few more months of flying. Go with Mystra."

Upon completing his blessing, the old mage disappeared, leaving Volo and Passepout looking at each other on the street corner.

"Well…" Volo announced to his companion.

Passepout interrupted.

"I know," the thespian replied, "we're burning daylight. On to the Bay of Taertal."

"Yes!" Volo agreed enthusiastically, "On to the Bay of Taertal!"

"Eo save us," Passepout muttered, following the master traveler to the harbor, where they would book passage to their next destination.

It was a rocky ride southward along Lake Halruaa. The ship hugged the shore out of necessity as the wind and strong current continually threatened to throw it off course. The experienced crew was more than a match for the elements that continually confronted them, and the voyage went off as usual, without any mishap. What the crew did not lack in skill, they made up for in lack of hospitality. Volo and Passepout were booked in steerage, and locked below deck for the entire trip so they would not get in the way of the busy sailing experts. Food was passed down to the two travelers by means of a hatch in the deck, which also afforded them their only glimpse of sunlight for the entire voyage.

With three voyages under his belt, Passepout was unsure which he preferred the least: the one with seasickness, the one with pirates, or the one in steerage. He prayed that this would be his last seagoing venture and that the dreaded upcoming airship journey would be easier… but of course, he doubted that it would be.

As the two travelers finally enjoyed the luxury of standing upright, feeling direct sunlight on their faces and firm ground beneath their feet, Passepout decided to query the master traveler on his plans.

"So we are going to try to rent an airship?" the thespian remarked.

"It will make things much easier, and our journey much quicker," Volo replied. "Look at it this way: We've already determined that our sole restriction is that we can't set foot on the same place more than once. Therefore flying over it shouldn't be a problem. Our sea voyages have also shown that the gems will still mark the passage of distance, even when they are not on land."

"I think I've probably thrown more gems overboard than I've dropped on land so far," commented the thespian, who felt the bag of gems getting progressively heavier as time went on, despite the reduction in the number of gems.

"I'm sure you're mistaken, dear son of Idle and Catinflas," Volo corrected, taking a quasi-parental tone with the thespian/novice traveler.

"Whatever."

"Don't be discouraged. Once we rent an airship, we'll be flying east in no time. Just think of the sights we'll see. We could pass over Dambrath. True, men aren't exactly welcome there, but who says we have to land? We can always view the legendary Bay of Dancing Dolphins with its entertaining inhabitants from above… or perhaps you would prefer stopping by Luiren, the land of the halflings. We could pick up some of their remarkable cheese and stout. I've sampled both, and paid a pretty penny for the pleasure, too. I ordered them through Aurora's Whole Realms Catalogue and…"

"Stop," Passepout insisted. "You're making me hungry."

"Then we shall eat," Volo replied.

"Just so long as it's not fish!"

"I guess the lack of variety of the steerage menu has gotten to you, my friend," Volo replied. "So let's go find us some real land-lover food!"

Volo and the thespian discovered a tavern, not too far from the shipyard, that boasted good food, strong ale, and accommodating hostesses. The manager of the establishment recognized the master gazetteer by his reputation and needed no prodding to roll out the red carpet in the hope of securing a good review in the guide that the master traveler claimed to be working on.

Well-supped and entertained, the master traveler and his thespian companion planned to enjoy a few tankards of ale before turning in, and perhaps secure a few leads on an airship available for rental.