Session 9

Before I continue to detail my life I believe we should go back a bit, back to the Rivers of Stygian Black. I said before it was part of a joke but that isn't entirely true, more of an origin for the name I carry now. And now is a good time to tell that story before I go any further. When I was young, before university, before I had even learned to cast my first cantrip. I would often steal books and read them in a boat some distance off shore, you see even as a young boy my curiosity couldn't be sated with exploring. It much preferred asking questions about why the masons built the walls the way they did or why the blacksmith needed a forge to shape metal. When you're young however, the patience of adults wears thin quickly. So I turned to books and borrowed them from the library for longer than I should have. In a boat, (that I was gifted by an old merchant but that is a different story…) and rather dull to include here, I read in peace far away from anyone that would come looking. One day however I had fallen asleep and when I had awoken it was the middle of the night. The fog was thick in the late hours of the night and I couldn't see much of anything. The only light was the dull glow of the crescent moon in the sky. Disorientated after having just awoken and not being able to see much, I scanned the horizon for the shore. Then I felt the boat shake, and looking down into the dark water below to get a look at what bumped into me, I was met with a strong hand which capsized the boat and pulled me into the water. I struggled greatly against the hand as it indifferent pulled me down into the depths, the darker my surrounding got the more I flailed helplessly till it let go. I was left adrift in a place darker than any night I had seen and by no means was this place underwater. I couldn't tell if I was falling. I felt as if I was but I couldn't tell for sure. Then I landed on a hard surface no different from the darkness which surrounded me. I stood up and there in front of me was a man… A figure clade in a dark robe sitting on the other end of a desk made of a brown dark wood. In front of him parchments, papers and an ink vial of gray ink, he gestured to a simple wooden chair in front of him and as I sat in the chair I got a better look at the figure. He looked like an old human man, his hood hid his face except for the white beard which spilled out of the dark void which hid his face from me. Before I could ask where I was he looked up from the paper in front of him and said.
 
“Stygian? Stygian Rivers?”
 
“No it's just Rivers… Who is Stygian?” I responded.
 
He looked down at the paper then back at me before he stroked his long beard and said.
 
“Tell me boy, how old are you?”
 
“15 sir!” I lied. I was only 14 at the time I believe but every time i tell the story I feel as if it may have been 13. I never did keep track of my age. But upon my response he spoke again.
 
“Strange you're too early” He then looked through the papers on his desk for a while till he finally stopped.
 
“Hmmmmmm, perhaps” he seemed to open a drawer on his desk and took out a small brass object which tick and tocked rhythmically.
“I see the problem here…” He then turned on the face of the object and set it down on the desk.
 
“Seems I am the one who is out of time” He seemed to pause as if to allow the words to reach my ears.
 
“I have made a mistake and have inconvenienced you it seems, well I can't offer you much as an apology except for an answer, but only one…” He paused again after speaking this time waiting for my response. But I had already asked my question. I had thought to myself what other question, where are we is a good one- but then before I could say a word he spoke again.
 
“Who is Stygian… I do not know my boy… What do you mean by, who is?”
 
“You asked for him not me, I was wondering who-”
 
“You asked something impossible to know now, you have arrived too early for me to say.”
 
“Then are they someone of importance”
 
“To some he maybe I suppose”
 
“Are they-”
 
“How about this ask any other question but that one and the next time we meet I will have an answer to the first one”
 
“Then where-”
 
“We are nowhere yet.” He says quickly and before I can protest the non-answer he has given again he speaks once more this time very unnaturally.
 
“That is unfair. we are not in a place per say but rather in a place between places. There is no here. And there is no there. As such because we are nowhere yet.” His voice seemed to twist and contort as if he wasn't speaking to me but to someone who wasn't here and his words were different as if different voices said each word all at the same time.
 
Then I awoke, face in the mud beach covered head to toe in dirt. The Name stuck with me in my head. It reminded me of that impossible man, in that impossible place. And over the years I kept the title both to distance myself from my past and to keep the name Stygian Rivers so when I meet that man again I will be able to hear the answer to my question from him. I dropped Rivers after leaving the university since I had no need for a last name anymore. The only reason to keep it was so nobles would read my works since they didn't dare to lower themselves to read the works of commoners. So I asked for a minor title as a reward for my service to the university so I would be more respected among my contemporaries, so much for that. But why does this matter well as much as I would love to talk about the first potion I had successfully made or the bird looking creatures we fought and killed, the business with a small village and a kindly golem crafter or artificer, always get the two mixed up, some bard that outwitted our bard even the goblin attack and the man with the peculiar weapon. All of this is insignificant in the face of the questions death had whispered in my ears. It was a Dream again but that was impossible. I no longer sleep after all, because of this it was more better described as an audience with some god. The place I had found myself in was dark, dark like the places I had been 3 times now but somehow different, a voice told me it would answer three questions. The reason for why doesnt matter because the answers made little sense.
 
My first question to the voice was what happens after death, the reason this question was my first was I thought this voice to be death itself and if any one would know it would be death. The voice replied.
 
“After death, souls pass through the veil to the Fugue Plane, where they are judged by I, Lord of the Dead. Depending on their deeds, souls may find rest in the City of Judgment or face eternal torment, all under my impartial gaze.”
 
This belief was a familiar one and an answer any supposed god or carleton could give to the question but I believed it at first. I hoped my assumption was true that this really was death but now to test the truth of his answers. The next question was who was the watcher I saw die, if this really was death then they could tell me who it was then so I could verify the answer myself in time. But They said in a voice not like the first and in an all too familiar way.
 
“You saw Kelemvor.. Lord of the dead…. why's it so dark in here…”
 
This makes no sense how could the lord of death be dead when it is here in front of me answering my questions. This planted a seed of doubt in my mind. I turn away from the direction of the voice with a desire to end this audience and keep what little belief I had left in their words intact. Then a thought crossed my mind, something easily verified by me and something a god would be able to know. The dependent(Giggs) How is he doing?

“The dependant is thriving.”
 
This choir of voices reminded me of the man from my past. I believe the two to be connected somehow or perhaps that is what happens when mortals hear the words of higher powers…
It seems time will tell me whether the voice's words were true. The first question however felt wrong… It was all too simple. There must be more to the story hidden in the subtext if it is true… So many different cultures speak of an afterlife… so many speak of judgment after death… and the paths after are alway a simple dichotomy between some final peaceful resting place and the fires of some hell. It can't be that simple. There must be more to death than just a mere final resting place… For all time… Forever… Only when I return to Neverwinter will I know for sure if the voice said anything truthful and this Kelemvor I must learn more about them.