Small brass statue

According to the song of this statue, located in the South Exhibit Room of the River's Rest Museum, turtles never have been able to survive for long on this island. The loresong also confirms that greed and tolerance go hand in hand in River’s Rest.

Description

The small brass statue has been cunningly cast to resemble a turtle engaged in a graceful dance movement.  There is an expression of seraphic joy on the turtle's upturned face.

Attached to the statue is a tag which reads, "This statue is part of the treasure recovered from the wreck of the Delora, a coastal cutter which went down in Maelstrom Bay during a storm.  The Delora was owned and operated by members of an obscure cult of turtle worshipers.  The wreck of the Delora can, it is said, still be found sitting on the bottom of the bay.

Loresong

The room seems to jolt and sway as you sing to the small brass statue.  You find yourself in a small room appointed like a temple.  The room is lighted by a dozen brass turtle-shaped oil lamps.  On a low dais at one end of the room is a fanciful gold statue of a dancing turtle.  In the flickering lamplight a couple dozen men and women, mainly humans with a smattering of halflings and half-elves, frolic and gambol about the room in an ecstasy of dance.  Their eyes are half-closed, their arms sway sinuously around their bodies, their lips move as if in silent song or prayer.

As the dance ends, the worshipers cheerfully seat themselves on reed mats on the floor.  A man wearing the simple robes of a priest steps forward.  The lamplight casts the entire room in a golden tone.  The man raises one arm.

"My friends," he says.  "My brothers and sisters, we have found a home."  Happy laughter and applause fills the small room.  The priest continues, "Our welcome here in River's Rest may not have been enthusiastic, but it was genuine.  We may worship freely here, without fear of persecution or taxation.  We have found a home!"

The room seems to sway and roll as you resume your song.  You find yourself on a platform in a willow tree, swaying slightly in the breeze.  Below you is the town commons.  A number of clerics, priests, monks and other sacerdotes are gathered together, including the priest of the turtle cult.  There is a low murmur of polite conversation.

The tallest of the gathered men and women stands and holds up a hand to call for silence.  He raises his voice and says, "I'm glad so many of you could make it to our monthly meeting.  The first thing I'd like to do is welcome the newest member of River's Rest's spiritual community."  He introduces the young priest, saying "I'm not quite sure what his followers profess to believe.  Something to do with cavorting turtles, I understand.  But no matter, they are welcome here."  He turns a smiling eye on the young priest.  An old monk sitting cross-legged at the edge of the platform looks at the priest, extends his hand, and waggles his thumb.

The young turtle priest, clearly confused and uncertain, stands and starts to explain the beliefs of his group.  "My dear boy," the tall cleric says, "we're not interested in what you believe, or why.  Dancing turtles, leaping bullfrogs, pirouetting newts, it's all one to us.  What we care about is this...ten percent of the contributions you gather will come to this Council.  Follow that simple rule and you can worship twirling sea slugs for all we care."

As you continue to sing to the small brass statue in your hand, the room again seems to be swaying.  A fresh, salty breeze seems to bring the promise of freshening ocean air.  You find yourself on the deck of a small coastal cutter.  The young priest stands on the deck, leaning against the leeward rail, addressing a small gathering of his followers.

"This is an historic day," he says.  "Today you set out to gather the rest of our group in Fairport and bring them to their new home.  By the end of the month we will have gathered all our people throughout these lands and established ourselves as a serious spiritual presence in River's Rest.  We were meant to be here.  Even the name River's Rest is an omen.  It comes from the trollish 'rhee v'reskha,' which means 'turtle egg.'  And from this glorious turtle egg will grow a new and...."

The captain of the cutter coughs and says, "Beg pardon, sir, but if we want to make this tide, we need to be shoving off now."  The priest blushes and nods.  "Yes, yes...well, there we are then."  He raises his hand and makes a sign of a turtle.  "The blessing of the Shelled One on you all.  May your voyage be safe and...yes, yes, I understand, captain."  The priest scurries down the gangplank of the small ship.

Once again the room seems to sway as you sing to the statue.  You duck and shiver as if splashed by cold sea froth.  You find yourself once again on the deck of the coastal cutter.  The sea is storm-tossed, with waves towering over the small craft.  The captain is calling out for everybody to abandon ship!  He points to a sturdy lifeboat being lowered into the stormy seas.

The rush of turtle worshipers toward the lifeboat is halted by a single, stout woman.  She holds up the small brass statue and cries out, "Fear not, brothers and sisters.  We are the blessed of the Shelled One.  No harm will befall us so long as we remain steadfast in our faith!"

The captain yells, "Board the lifeboat now, or stay and drown!  We're leaving!"  The turtle worshipers look at the stout woman, they look at the rising seas and the monstrous waves, they look at the tilting deck of the cutter and the cutter's crew climbing into the lifeboat.  Without a sound, they rush past the stout woman and clamber into the boat.

The stout woman, finding herself alone on the deck, drops the statue and scrambles wildly for the lifeboat.