You find yourself in the outskirts of a lush and wet jungle. You’re out of breath from running, but you push on past all your limits because the alternative is worse than death itself. The howls and screams of the Togre tribe chasing you speaks of the horrors approaching to those who understand but even your limited understanding makes your stomach turn. As you break free from the tree line a strong smell of the ocean hits you as the waves of the ocean crashes down on the cliffs at the base of Martook. You feel a sting in your ear as an arrow cuts through your cloak and outpaces you on to the cliffs. Finally putting the jungle behind you the screams fade of into the jungle again before an eery quiet grows, broken only by the crashing waves. You finally stop, chest heaving, and look up on the looming city. A city that has been torn down more times than anyone cares to remember yet still rebuilt on the ashes and crumbles again and again. A city always under construction, always moving, always growing, rulers changing yet people persevering. The movement of the people emphasised by the slow moving, massive, lizards hauling materials for building and trade. The only part untouched by the destruction is the Martook library, Candlekeep, with its many towers stretching for the rising moon. If you can only bring back what you found in the jungle to the bookkeeper you will have paid the debt, and your temple will be free of blame. As your breath catches you start climbing for the gates, but your strength is weening after the long chase. You force your body to keep climbing but the cliffs seems to stretch taller and taller over you. As the poison from the cut on your ear fully enters your bloodstream, you loose your grip and tumble down the cliffs into the warm but angry ocean.