Sheena's Tale

As the party gathered for dinner with the EF and Lady Canaglym, Sheena caught up with Dala'gse and told him the story of their family. 

When you told me about that purple light on the ocean I had a strange sensation, but it was when I pronounced your name, Darrak, that I say in your eyes: you are my brother, you are a Canaglym. I need to tell you our story.

Three centuries ago, our ancestor, Daeros Canaglym, called the Dragonspear, led our clan out of our Underdark home after the gem seams ran dry. With the fortune in gems, he built a castle fortress on the surface that became known as Dragonspear. Daeros had been an adventurer, a paladin of Torm, and in his travels befriended an ancient copper dragon, Halatathlaer. He rode atop his companion bearing a massive spear - a proud and fearsome sight! Dragonspear prospered for nearly a hundred years. We cleaned up the Moor, we kept the region safe with our military prowess, and we built a temple to Torm.

But the wealth and dashing figure of Daeros brought enemies—one in the form of an evil wizard named Casalia. Casalia befriended the castle but worked in secret to undermine it. With dark magic, he teleported the aging  Halatathlaer far away. With the dragon guardian absent, he created a portal to Avernus. When Daeros, now an elderly figure around Dragonspear, saw his companion gone, Casalia convinced him that he needed to go through the portal to rescue his friend. In so doing, Daeros opened the portal to the Hells and fiends and demons of all sorts swarmed in, destroying the castle and its people. Daeros was killed in Avernus, and our family, his direct descendants, were among the few who managed to escape.  

For many years we lived in exile, traveling north to the Silver Marches to seek refuge among other dwarves, all the while hearing tales of the happenings in Dragonspear. Halatathlaer came back to find his home destroyed and while he was in the process of attacking the fiends, a trio of jealous dragons arrived. They had heard that a weakened Halatathlaer maintained a massive hoard below the castle. The three dragons destroyed Halatathlaer and threw the castle into chaos. Before he died, Halatathlaer managed to kill one of the dragons, a massive Red Dragon (whose bones still decorate the keep!), and shut the portal to Avernus, but it was a weak seal.

Our exile continued, and tidings from Dragonspear did not improve. Throughout the years, our home became the fortress for various rampaging humanoids — orcs from the Moor, hobgoblins from the Underdark. Every now and then a more powerful resident would seek out the rumored riches buried in the caverns below the castle. And every now and then the portal to Avernus would reopen and fiends and demons would gleefully rush into the region. Dragonspear became associated with the Hells. I was born during these years of our exile. I was raised on these terrible stories.

But after a few generations living in the North we had hope again. Our father was a tireless champion for our cause and our northern kin agreed to help us reclaim our home—the castle was rumored to be abandoned and it was a good time to strike. At that point, I was a young forty-year old dwarf, and our parents had just had another baby, who they named Darrak. We set out from Luskan and charted a course south for Baldur’s Gate.

But what we did not know was that the voyage was cursed.

Word had spread of our campaign to reclaim Dragonspear, news that was unwelcome to the Church of Talos. For in our absence, the humanoid tribes had desecrated our temple to Torm and converted it to worship the god of storms, chaos, and destruction: Talos. Word spread through the clergy of the Storm Lord and arrived in Luskan where the temple there was led by a young cleric just coming into her powers. But she was ambitious, and charged with carrying out the god’s will. She cursed our ship in secret on the morning of our departure, as a red sky welcomed the day. 

The trip was beset with hardship from the start, and our parents had to lend a hand to replace some of the sailors who had fallen ill from bouts of incapacitating gout. They charged me with watching my baby brother, Darrak. But with much of the crew sick, we soon found ourselves blown off course in the Trackless Sea. Storms raged in places cartographers have never put down on maps. We floundered, lost. And one night, as a particularly harsh gale blew around us, a terrible purple light emerged from above and below, and the sky burst open with a cyclone’s fury, a display of lightning such as I’d never seen. I was on the starboard side of the ship, holding on to Darrak in his pram, when the force threw me across the boat. But the pram was stuck by a rope, and as the starboard side lurched and the boat capsized, the purple and electric blue light dancing off of Darrak’s face was the last I saw of my brother before he went under.

The worst part of it all, was that as the storm quieted throughout the night, a dazzling sun shown on calm sees to usher in the new day. It was the most beautiful day of the journey, and all was lost. Many of the crew and our clansman, my parents included, did not make it through the night. The few of us who clung to the tattered remains of the ship eventually were discovered by a passing ship and made our way back to Waterdeep.

When we were back on shore, I took the name Starboard to commemorate my lost brother, and remind myself of my failure. I vowed to take up my parents’ campaign and over the years built a band of allies who agreed to help. The final piece was rediscovering our family’s faith in Torm. I steeped myself in his ways and he blessed our campaign. I took to carrying a massive spear like Daeros, and styled myself a Paladin of Torm in his memory. It was Torm who granted us perseverance through the harsh winter of our exile, and Torm who helped conceal our plans from Talos as we mustered more allies to the cause.

Around thirty years ago, we were ready. Old family lore proved correct and we discovered an underground entrance into the caverns below Dragonspear. We struck from above and below, and the disorganized hoard of demons and goblinoids guarding the castle were no match for our fury. Torm guided my spear unerringly, and we were victorious. When the last of the intruders was destroyed, Torm sealed the portal to Avernus, and the long work of rebuilding our legacy began.