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Date:
Year of Wild Magic, 14 Present Reckoning, 20th of Eleasias
Location: Waterdeep - South Ward
Time: Late morning through early afternoon
Located in a large renovated warehouse on the north side of Virgin's
Square, you find yourself in the Adventurers' Guild Hall, an
extension of the Waterdhavian Bureau of Adventure Information that
has most recently branched out to offer a full service to those
seeking guards and sell-swords for caravans and expeditions to the
North.
The guild hall is less than three months old but it seems as if its
services are in high demand as there is a steady stream of men and
women flowing in and out the open doubled doors, and upon one whole
wall, there are postings and announcements of work for the
adventuresome.
One such notice you have seen posted and have heard spoken of in
gossip and worry all about Waterdeep, is the call for brave men and
women by the Hidden Lords' and the Merchants' Guilds to heed the
call of Sir Justin Melenikus, a Paladin of Helm, in stopping the
attacks upon travelers and caravan's along the High Road as it
passes the eldritch Mere of Dead Men. Many have headed the call, but
more are needed it seems, thus you find yourself here.
Several others, like you, have been filtering into the hall steadily
for hours now, and like you, when announcing their intent to aid in
the Mere expeditions, were given a short look and a gruff word from
a grizzled old warrior with a black patch over his left eye. "Alone
or with a party?" he would ask, and upon hearing 'alone' he would
point to the corner of the warehouse where tables and chairs were
located. "Wait there."
So you did, and so have quite a number of others, thirteen at last
count, all of you sitting about fidgeting, and not really looking at
each other or conversing as you 'wait' as you were told. The
exception to this of course are three young men in fine clothing,
the sons of nobles you would guess. Since coming to the corner with
the rest of you, the three would-be heroes have done nothing but
chatter constantly for the last hour, talking of slaying dragons and
eating trolls the whole time. You see more than one of the others
give a black look to the trio.
As you sit there, a commotion at the front of the warehouse grabs
your attention as a large black coach stops with a clatter before
the opened double doors of the guild and a noble woman leaps from
the coach before her coachman can assist her. Storming into the
building the woman begins screeching at the top of her lungs in
fury, "Where is HE? WHERE IS HE? With each word her voice raises
another crescendo and you notice a man near the counter point in
your direction. In a flash she changes direction and storms across
the warehouse, her coachman hurrying behind
her, his hat being worried in his hands.
The snickering and boasting from the three nobles has stopped, if
nothing else, the three look like they would rather be elsewhere
when the noble matron finally stops in front of them, her face
flushed with anger. "Adaalus Sultlue!" the matron starts out in a
deceptively quiet voice, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she screeches before
her hand darts forward, grabbing the dandy by the ear and twisting,
eliciting a cry of pain from the young man as he is forced to follow
his mother. “When your father hears of this ..." the woman begins,
as she drags the young man behind her, his loud protests going
unheard.
The two others dandies look at each other and then at all of you,
noting your amused looks. With red faces the two get up and quickly
make for the exit, where the coach is just now pulling away at a
run, and you can still just make out the screaming of the upset
mother.
Finally you see the gruff one-eyed warrior make his way across the
room and into the corner where the rest of you wait. He clears his
throat loudly. "I'm sorry about the wait," he begins in a deep
voice, "That was the youngest son of the noble house Sultlue. I
wasn't about to send him on into the Mere, nor his useless half-wit
friends, so I had to send a runner to fetch his mother." The hint of
a smile hides behind his patchy and gray beard.
"The names Blazidon," he says as way of introduction. The situation
along the High Road near the Mere of Dead Men has become critical,
and as you've no doubt seen and heard, else you wouldn't be here
now, the Merchant Guilds' along with the support of the Hidden
Lords, have called for a cleansing of the Mere with the goal of
attacks on the caravans to and from Leilon coming to a halt."
"This ain't for no novices. If you aren't good with your sword or
your magic, you don't need to be going. I have been assembling
parties for a week now, and already word has come back that three of
the six groups are missing, or have been found dead. Lizard men,
Bullywugs and Undead have been the main cause for concern, though
there are accounts filtering back now that there is a huge black
lizard, or dragon, skulking in the Mere as well." He looks about at
all of you, seeming to weigh each of you with his one good eye and
gauging your reactions.
It is difficult to tell which brings the broader smile to Jakihm's
face, the descriptions of the dangers on the road or the
unceremonious departure of the nobles. Throughout both, he sits
comfortably on the bench, one leg crossed over the other and a coin
rolling across his knuckles. He gives Blazidon a broad wink under
scrutiny before beginning to hum a light tune under his breath.
The small gnome sits quietly by himself during the course of the
morning, his face turning pale with each new story of dragons,
trolls, or combat. Tinem mostly keeps his eyes to the floor, tracing
circles with the toe of his boot and sneaking the occasional glance
at the others who sit about the room.
As the nobleman's son is dragged from the room by his mother and the
two dandies abandon their hopes, Tinem looks about at the others
with wide eyes. He stands and eyes the door momentarily. "No, I'm
not going." he mutters quietly as if trying to confirm his resolve,
then takes a deep breath and returns to his seat. He pauses for a
second, reflecting on his statement, then quickly adds to those
sitting near him, "That is, I'm not leaving." Tinem again considers
his statement then adds. "Ummm, I mean that I'm staying. Ummm. I
mean I'm going with you all." Tinem then breathes deeply and sits up
as straight and tall as possible.
Tinem's eyes grow large and he nervously shifts from side to side,
as Blazidon begins describing the Mere and its inhabitants. He
slumps back down and becomes pale at the fate of the nearly half who
already set on this mission. Tinem stares at his shoes and grasps at
a small flute tucked into his belt.
"Now that's the spirit," Jakihm says good-naturedly from his place
on the bench. He gives his coin a flip, snatching it out of midair
and smacking it down on the back of his hand. He gives the coin a
cursory glance, again an easy smile coming to his face, then begins
to resume rolling it along the back of his knuckles. "No way I could
stay behind in the face of such commitment."
Blazidon continues as if not interrupted, "A Paladin of Helm, Sir
Justin Melenikus, offered his services to the city, and with the
Hidden Lords' support, he and his men have cleared the ruins of
Iniarv's Tower of bandits and have setup base from there to enter
into the swamp to find out what is driving and directing the attacks
upon the High Road of late."
He pauses, clearing his throat again, "Sir Justin is authorized to
issue a writ for services rendered, and upon returning to Waterdeep,
gold dragons will be paid in full to those named upon the writ. This
is paid for by the combined Merchant Guilds' and backed by the
Hidden Lords'."
"If you're set on going, I suggest you band together. Any lone
person entering that place is only asking to be killed. As it is,
some of you might find it no matter the situation." At this warning,
a young woman dressed in new leather, stands and mumbles an apology,
and without looking at anyone, hurriedly walks away from all of you.
Watching her go for a moment the one-eyed warrior turns back to the
remaining nine of you. "Smart lass, knew her limits. The rest of you
smart enough to take that route?" It's clear that the retired
warrior is trying to weed out the faint of heart.
Amershaine gives a slight nod of agreement at the old warrior’s
assessment of the departed girl. He has abstained from the ease of a
chair and remains crouched next to a wall, his arms crossed and
resting upon his knees. He has been like this for the last hour. A
scowl momentarily crosses his face as he looks up for the position
of the sun and is reminded he has a roof over his head.
Tinem stands up slowly and takes a deep breath. He looks around to
the other eight who remain nervously, then focuses on Blazidon. "Ummm,
General, sir, are there any more? Perhaps more would be better, ummm,
sir?" he inquires with timid voice.
Marise chuckles deeply in her throat, "Nope. I'm one'a them fools.
Ya know they call 'em adventurers or somesuch." Marise allows her
soft, doe-brown eyes to play across each of the others at the table.
"Marise Deepaxe and happy to make the acquaintance a' ya. Since we
are here alone mebbe we should band up and meet this grizzled
warrior's challenge?"
Her hand reflexively falls to her left side where a finely crafted
crossbow hangs at the ready. The young dwur woman wears her finely
tended chainmail as a warrior should. A cloak hangs neatly from her
shoulders and is pinned at the right shoulder with a steel wolf's
head clasp.
Marise tosses her head and her long, reddish-brown braid flies up
and over her left shoulder to rest against her chest. A wry smile
graces her beardless lips and the laugh wrinkles indicate she does
her share of the exercise. Her eyes stop roving and settle on the
gnome, "So, gnomie, where ya from and why're ya here?"
Tinem swallows hard and eyes the arms and armor of the two dwarves,
which are much more substantial than his own. "Ummm, my name is
Tinem Glindergold." he replies meekly. "Ummm, I'm from Shimmervale
originally, but of Waterdeep of late. I'd like to go home, but need
more money to make the trip." Tinem pauses, again eyeing the
assembled weaponry. "Ummm, I don't have any weapons like those, but
I do know something about magic." Tinem then takes his seat again,
listening patiently and nervously to the rest of the introductions.
A solid dwarf slides off his chair, plate armor scraping against the
wooden chair before his feet thump to the floor with a dull thud. A
dark grey tabard covers his thick armor and peeking out from beneath
a full, dark brown beard can be seen twin axes in silver thread
emblazoned on his chest. From beneath thick brows a pair of intent
brown eyes look forthrightly up at Blazidon as a heavy calloused
hand rests upon the sweat-stained handle of a heavy dwarven axe that
sits by his chair.
"Me name," he says in a rolling, rich baritone, "is Bedwin Hafnürson,
son of Hafnür Greybeard, son of Ivanor Thardrimmnor, he that slew
the giants Grólnür and Grailnár, called Giantsbane in his youth.
Wielder of the axe Azaghâl. By me beard and me clan, Clan
Baruk-Azhik, if'n I didnae mean ta be here, then I wouldna be here.
I'll be stayin' tha course." Metal creaks as he bends from the waist
in a slight bow and returns to his seat.
The smile disappears from the female dwur's face as he head snaps
around to Bedwin. A look akin to that of a child who has done
something wrong and is getting ready to be punished falls across her
face. She shakes her head tossing the braid behind her once more and
nods grimly to Bedwin. "Axe High, Clansman. I know yer family. Since
yer name is familiar to me, then you more'n likely know me story and
nothin' further need be said on the issue." She then clamps her lips
together and shifts uncomfortably in her chair.
Bedwin's brows converge in a frown and his thick, blunt fingers move
up to stroke his beard. "Axe High," he replies to what seems an
unexpected outburst, "I dinnae know what ye mean." As his fingers
continue to stroke his thick beard Bedwin's eyes look intently about
the room and the others gathered about. Lifting his hand to his
mouth he shifts in his seat, coughs, and adds, "I spent many years
away from the Citadel in Silverymoon. But still, lass, even if'n I
knew what yer talkin' about, some things ain't talked about under
open skies."
Leaning back in his chair, with a hand quietly thrumming the table
top, a young boy listens to the Dwarves intently. When they are
finished he stands.
"I am Azenon," the youth says in a thick Calishite accent. With a
quick scan his green eyes rest on Bedwin. "Although Master Bedwin
here probably has boots older than me, I promise I have seen my
share of battle. I too will be staying the course." With a quick bow
of the head Azenon quietly takes his seat and continues thrumming
the table top.
A second girl in new leathers watches as the first girl takes her
leave, and looks down for a moment at her own new armor, a wry
expression on her face.
Seated easily on the edge of one of the tables, the girl, still in
her teens or possibly her very early twenties, looks on with
interest. She has long black hair, worn simply in a loose pony-tail
hanging down her back. Her skin is very fair, and her eyes are a
deep blue. Her new leathers hug her slim form tightly.
She listens to Blazidon's query, and, even as the dwarves introduce
themselves and state their intentions to go, she nods her own
agreement.
As the boy announces his intention to continue as well, she eyes him
dubiously, but says nothing.
Finally, as Azenon finishes his introduction, the girl, remaining
seated on the edge of the table she'd perched herself on, says,
"Well met all. I'm Na'tally Janisar. I'm a pretty decent mage, if I
do say so myself, born and raised in the City."
She looks at Blazidon, leaning on the pack next to her. "I'll be
going."
After
Na'tally introduces herself Alemnia looks closely at the younger
woman's face as though trying to place it.
Jakihm
sits up straight, setting both feet on the ground and resting his
hands on his knees. "Jakihm of Waterdeep," he says in a friendly
tune, "Luckbringer of Tymora. No family name to speak of. My father
was known as 'Longlegs', but by my Mistress's Luck, I've my mother's
normal sized gams.”
"Looking forward to getting out and doing *something* with the rest
of you. The streets of Waterdeep are good for a lark but when you
begin to know each cobblestone by its name, you know it's time to
move on."
The little gnome's eyes brighten at the comforting words and a
small, timid smile crosses his face. "A Luckbringer along is good
fortune indeed!" he says with glee. "I'll be standing next to YOU!"
he quickly adds to Jakihm.
Jakihm's eyes twinkle as he returns Tinem's smile. "Together then,
friend Tinem, into the jaws of the Mere, a smile on our lips, the
wind in our face, and the lifeblood of adventure coursing through
our veins."
He raises his coin in a mock toast. "Ah, to live in a world of
endless possibilities...."
Na'tally watches the Tymoran wax poetic... and rolls her eyes. "This
should be interesting..."
Looking about at the others, and then Blazidon, she asks, "I suppose
it's best if we team up now. When are we supposed to be heading
north?" The thought of the Mere doesn't seem to bother her much.
Having sat through the recent chatter, a poorly concealed frown upon
his brow, Bedwin turns to observe Blazidon's reply. "We'll be needin'
some supplies before we go," he rumbles, "food an' tha like at
least."
"I'm good for five days," Jakihm says cheerfully, "and have all I
need for 'roughing it'." His tone on the latter is a curious mix of
excitement and apprehension.
Something of her old self comes back at the cheeriness of the
Luckbringer. She looks shocked as she speaks to Bedwin, "What ya
ain't got it on ya a'ready? My, my an unready dwur..." Then she
giggles and puts a reassuring hand on Tinem's shoulder. "Don't worry
too much," she raises her crossbow lovingly with her other hand and
places it before Tinem, "I'll put a bolt in anythin' that looks at
ya wrong."
"And what she doesn't shoot I'll bash with my mace," Jakihm adds.
"With hope, my arm will be tired a lot and she'll become every cat
in the North's worst nightmare."
Bedwin glowers at the young female dwarf, his brows darkening and
eyes flashing even as a bright flush creeps into his cheeks. About
to get off his chair when she turns her attention to Tinem, he
instead turns his back to her while muttering something very low
under his brief in dwarven.
At the sound of such powerful reassurances, Tinem positively beams.
A mischievous grin appears below his large nose, the previous
moments worries obviously forgotten. Tinem rises from his seat and
declares with an air of new found confidence, "Well, let us be on
our way then. I'm ready to go!"
Tinem then begins to rummage through his pack. "Let's see. I've
rations for several days, my tools, book, Hmmm. I think I've got
everything I need." he adds with slightly less confidence.
"I'm not too late to join the party am I?"
The voice was husky and alluring, speaking with the lilt of a
strange, foreign accent. A woman casually leans against the
doorframe as she peruses the group with a slight smile. This
creature is strange to say the least, some mixture of feline and
woman. She is of average height, with a lushly feminine form garbed
in a diaphanous costume that is indecently slit on both sides all
the way up to her hips. A silver belt rests low on her hips, set
with tiny bells that are designed to jingle with every swish of her
hips. Her torso is covered in an exotic bodice, laced up the front
but allowing her attributes to nearly spill out. Her face holds an
exotic beauty, nearly human but for very high cheekbones, and the
soft down of fur. Her eyes have a slant to them and are golden
yellow, almost topaz. Long red hair flows down to the middle of her
back and two pointed ears, set higher on her head then normal, peek
out from her hair. She carries with her a haversack and what appears
to be two well oiled leather cases that likely hold instruments.
She lightly pushes up from the doorframe and saunters over to the
group, each step accompanied by the jingling of bells. She grins
wide and dips her head in greeting to any she passes and continues
in a sultry voice, "I would have been here sooner, but a black
carriage nearly ran me down."
Jakihm greets Mehet with a smile and says, "Ah, I remember dodging
carriages in my youth. It was one of ou...my favorite sports." His
smile wavers and his eyes momentarily grow distant.
Shaking the memory off, he introduces himself, "Jakihm of Waterdeep,
well met and welcome to our merry bunch." His wave includes everyone
who has introduced themselves.
The low steady thrumming of the table top stops as the alluring
feline woman enters. Sitting up with interest on his face, Azenon quickly
looks to others as if watching for something.
Since the cat-like being came in Marise has been staring at her with
wonder. Jakihm's introduction snaps her out of her rudeness and she
coughs roughly, "Aye, welcome to ya. Marise Deepaxe, out of Citadel
Adbar. Sorry fer the stare, yer just ... well to be blunt -- the
first of yer kind, whatever it may be, that I have seen. Not that I
have seen all types before, the elf there is just as strange ta me."
Marise's gaze drops to the elf. "Don't see many a'his kind either.
But since being in Waterdeep I seen many a'thing I never thought I
would. And, I suppose I'll be seein'a many more before my feet find
their grave."
"Waterdeep
attracts weirdness", inputs Alemnia with a smile, "apparently that
is part of its charm."
Amershaine resumes his vigilant stare, which is focused upon the
most unusual member of the assembled group, a female of some unknown
origin. Brow furrowed as if in deep thought. Amershaine follows the
golden newcomer's every move with an intense and piercing stare.
His reverie is broken as a she-dwarf answers Blazidon's query and
then introduces herself. Another dwarf, several humans, and even an
apparently nervous gnome, follow suit. With one last glance at the
golden female, Amershaine stands, slings his pack onto his right
shoulder and picks up a stout longbow with his left hand. He takes a
step forward and addresses the group of would be adventurers in a
deep, bass voice unexpected in one of obvious elf-blood, "I hight
Amershaine Ragingwolf. I will join this tribe. When does our journey
begin?"
A
short and slim, dark-haired woman who had arrived first and sat
quietly while the others arrived glances around the rest of the
group. Initially she makes no reply, but as discussion burgeons her
face reveals some of her reactions to their statements. A smile to
Tinem’s and Jakihm’s quips and a raised eyebrow to the entrance of
the exotic looking bard.
Abruptly she stands and without missing a beat she smiles and
addresses Blazidon, "no, it doesn't look like any of us are that
clever." Briefly turning serious she continues, "Besides, the
streets of Waterdeep are not always that safe either".
Turning back to the
assembled adventurers she introduces herself with a slight smile, "I
am Alemnia. A wizard."
Na'tally
quirks an eye at the Luckbringer, thinking his words are in quite
poor taste, considering the cat-like Mehet is standing right
there...
Then, she looks back toward Mehet, eyeing her warily. There was
other-planar blood in her veins, no doubt. Of course, Na’tally
thought, her uneasiness might be because Mehet was just so...
feline. A very well endowed feline. Na'tally surreptitiously glances
down at her own less thanimpressive bosom, before quickly looking
back up, pretending not to notice Mehet's presence.
To the group, she says, "I'm ready to go. All I have to do is
collect my horse." She pats the pack next to her. "Everything I need
is either in here or in my saddlebags."
As introductions and conversation get underway, Blazidon stands
there and watches the proceeding, the grizzled warrior watching with
a knowing eye. At each introduction he gives a small nod of
acknowledgment.
When the dwarfs begin to quibble immediately Blazidon gives an
almost inaudible sigh and actually gazes around for a moment before
taking up a chair, turning it around so that he can straddle it
backward and sets in, from the looks of it, for a long wait if the
situation progresses further. He gives scowls at the hin when he is
called 'general' but it doesn't quite make it to his eye.
As pledges and introductions begin to wane Blazidon begins to clear
his throat before stopping and sitting up straight as he was the
first to notice the strangely beautiful bard. It's clear that the
old warrior is enjoying the sight of the woman as she jingles across
the open hall. He clearly isn't the only one.
Allowing the talk to go on for a moment more, the old man finally
clears his throat, gaining the attention of everyone. "Sounds to me
like you all might just work out with each other. Keep the good
spirits and watch each others backs and you just might do alright by
each other."
Looking over his shoulder for a moment, watching the affairs at the
counter and the people entering and exiting the building, he raises
his voice and hollers, "Lars!" From near the counter a thin man
looks up as his name is called, "Any more?" to which he gets a
negative shake of the mans head. Turning back about he fixes you all
with his good eye.
"I'd have liked to sent a few more of you along, another mage and a
few more swords if I had my choice, but you folks look to be it."
Looking around he says to all, "A name and direction are both good
things to be having, but I'll not think too high of myself and tell
you how and when. It'll come when it comes."
"Now," he continues, "there are fee's involved with being an
official member of the Waterdeep Adventurers' Guild, but as your
gathering at the behest of the Merchant Guilds' and for a goodly
reason, the fee is being deferred until you receive your first writ
for your deeds in the Mere." The man gives a grimace, as if he's not
quite happy with the administrative side of his position. "The cost
for membership and our services are an initial seventy-five gold
dragons with a fee of twenty gold dragons per year following."
Seeing that some may raise objections he continues on, "Membership
gains you plenty of benefits." He raises a sword scarred hand and
begins counting fingers as he mentions each guild membership
benefit. "Discounts on equipment and services at certain
establishments. Priority job placements with clientele. Learned
specialist that can explain laws and customs of a region or area and
point out any obvious situations to avoid, at a small additional
cost. Training in skills, tactics and weapon play as well as lesser
magic's, all at a reasonable cost." He holds up the four fingers and
then adds a fifth to it, "Also, for up to three nights within a two
month span of time, you can call upon the guild to provide you with
room and boarding. The fare is simple and the bedding rough, but it
is free and you'll sleep well knowing your safe."
"In signing with the guild we will take your information and, should
you fall in battle and your body and belongings be retrieved, will
see that a proper burial is given as well as any belongings
specified, given unto those mentioned in your contract.
Blazidon closes his opened hand and rests his crossed arms on the
chair back in front of him. "Now that I've got that said," again you
get the impression that the man is more geared towards action than
administrative duties, "it will take a little over two days of
steady riding to reach the ruins of Iniarvs Tower along the High
Road, or if you don't have the means, six or more days of hard
walking. The road is fairly safe until you near the Mere of Dead
Men, then you’re liable to find trouble."
The man stretches a bit as if he has sat inactive too long and in a
smooth motion he stands from the chair and stretches his legs before
continuing, "Sir Justin Melenikus has cleared the ruins of bandits
and has been given complete control of the situation. Once there you
will receive your guidance and direction from the Paladin as he will
determine what your course of action will be on your excursions into
the Mere."
Pursing his lips through his gray beard, Blazidon looks to be
thinking before he gives himself a half nod. "That seems to be the
cut of it. If you've got any questions, ask, otherwise we'll see
about having that paperwork filled out and your names noted."
Marise has a serious expression as she face the grizzled warrior.
"I'd rather be payin' me own fees up front. I don't take to carryin'
debts, if'n ya don't mind." The female dwur marksman reaches into a
pouch and withdraws a bit of coin and several gems. "Ya have an
appraiser available ta take gems?"
A broad grin appears on Tinem's face once more. "If they don't, I'd
be happy to do it. I'm a jeweler too!" he says excitedly with a wink
at Marise.
"I too, must pay partially in gems," Amershaine says as he pulls
four blue quartz stones and some gold coins out of his worn belt
pouch.
The
enticing bard continues her sauntering walk and gracefully drops
into a chair. "I see I have forgotten my manners." She once again
moves her eyes slowly over the assembled group, as if measuring each
person up. "My name is Mehetaten Pasht Ghani, but my friends call me
Mehet, and I know we shall all be great friends," her voice draws
off into a throaty laugh as her eyes stop and consider Amershaine
for a long moment before she purrs, "very good friends." She finally
takes her bold gaze away and centers it on Blazidon. "I would like
to hold off on paying this fee, as I find myself with very low
funds…I prefer to seek out pleasures while I can and have spent most
of what I did have…Bast, would have it no other way."
Eyes
cutting from Mehet to the others and back, his head starts to slowly
nod as though he's answered an unasked question. Rising, he
announces, "Before we are thrown into the arms of battle,
and must count on each others blades and spells, some measure of
trust should be set." with a slight wave toward Mehet, he continues,
"I, like Lady Mehet here, am different. Efreeti blood courses
through my veins." With that said Azenon's usually green eyes start
to glow red. Slowly looking at everyone in the group he says, “I
swear by the flames of Kossuth, I shall not fail you."
"Difference adds spice to the broth," Jakihm says happily. "As for
failure," he shrugs, "it happens. Just don't let it happen often."
Though his face is straight his eyes twinkle with mirth.
Mehet’s golden ears flick toward Azenon as he starts to speak. She
leans forward, listening intently; her unblinking yellow eyes never
leaving him. She seems fully aware of him now, even though her eyes
passed right over him upon her initial inspection of the group. She
nods slowly as his speech ends and also rises from her seat, moved
by his words.
She
turns and addresses the group. "I too will do all I can for our
little group. I am not a warrior, as I am sure you all must have
guessed *said with a slight smile* and know that while I have some
magical abilities, they pale in comparison to a true wizard. But,"
she stresses that last word and pauses, her hands lightly
readjusting her outfit. Her voice grows husky with conviction, her
Mulhorandi accent becoming thicker, "all of my passion, all of my
zeal, will be in my songs if ever things should be at their worst. I
will sing to the very gods if I must. I promise you all that."
She falls silent for a long moment.
"Besides," she starts again, laughter touching her voice, "I am
passing good with the crossbow and I will watch your back-as I am
sure some of you will surely be watching mine." She spins on her
heel, her hands resting on her full hips as she wiggles her rear in
emphasis. She gives a quick, playful look back over her shoulder to
the majority of the group, then turns her attention back to Azenon.
"Shall
we hope then that anything we have to fight is bipedal, either male
or lesbian, and has less than perfect concentration in the task of
killing us", asks Alemnia the group in general with a slight smile.
Closing
his eyes and lowering his head, Azenon takes a deep breath.
Exhaling, he raises his head back up resting his once again green
eyes on Blazidon. "I have all I need for the road, but I must ask
you to defer the fee." Sitting back down, Azenon starts double
checking his gear.
Curious, the cat-like bard walks over to Azenon. She pulls a
stool over besides him and lowers herself onto it, tucking her legs
to the side of the stool, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her
leg is bared by the slit skirt-all the way to her waist. She watches
him rummage about his belongings for a moment, totally silent. At
last she leans toward the young man, inhaling slowly; her delicate
nose twitching almost as if testing the young man’s scent. She
smiles and lightly touches his shoulder with the pads of her
fingertips.
"I
have heard of your kind," her words are but a soft whisper, "and of
the Firelord." She pauses, pulling her lower lip between her teeth
as a frown flits across her features, "when I was in Thay," she adds
reluctantly. But just as quickly, she releases her lip and the frown
is quickly smoothed over. "I wonder if you have the blood of Kossuth
flowing through your veins, besides that of…" Her voice dwindles as
she tries to remember his exact word. "What was it you called it?"
She asks at last, her ears flattening just slightly in thought. "Efreeti!
Yes. That was it." Her ears lift straight up as she recalls the
word. Her lips purse as if she had a sudden, unpleasant thought.
Her face adopts a worried cast and she quickly searches Azenon's
face for signs of displeasure at her abrupt and perhaps rude
question. She brings her eyes back to his, looking deeply. "I do not
wish to be nosy," she pauses for an impish grin. "Well, perhaps a
little. But the truth is, I myself was born of a union between a
human woman and a divine servant of Bast. I find myself curious
about others that may be like me.....like you. Is an Efreeti a
servant of Kossuth?"
It is
clear that remembering his past fills him with sorrow. "My mother's
choice of profession...” he pauses as if searching for the right
words, "let's just say that my mother never got to tell me who my
father was." He raises his head to meet Mehet's eyes. "I was told
that I may be of Efreeti blood by the priests of Kossuth. At one
time, Efreeti ruled Calimport, the city I called home from birth.
I'd like to share more, but I am afraid that's all I really know
about my past," he says quietly. A smile then returns to his face.
Shifting slightly, Na’tally pulls out a book from her pack. The book
is well constructed, but quite weathered. She then pulls out a quill
and some ink, and, flipping it open, begins to note something down.
Tapping her quill thoughtfully against her chin, Na'tally looks at
the two Outsiders. "He's got elemental blood in his veins, Mehet. An
Efreet is a creature of elemental fire. I dare say, flames won't
overly bother friend Azenon...”
“Ah.” The cat-like woman looks up and towards Na’tally. “I have not
heard of such a creature,” she responds with a touch of
disappointment, her ears drooping a bit. “Though I do know of
elementals.” She glances back at Azenon and sighs, but it doesn’t
last long and quite suddenly her face lights up with a grin. She
briefly turns her attention to Na’tally once again. “But I have
found that it is fair difficult to singe my pretty fur, so perhaps
those touched by elementals and those touched by the divine do still
share something in common.” She turns her gaze back towards Azenon
as she speaks the last few words and winks at him. Mehet smiles and
nods to Azenon. "I bet the priests were interested in your
birthright, after all, they should be-you are the descendant of
ancient rulers."
Na'tally makes another note, muttering as she does so, "B-A-S-T..."
Drawn to the sound of her deity’s name being spelled out, Mehet
shoots an intent look at Na’tally. Seeing the woman absorbed in her
writing, Mehet shrugs and returns her attention to the young man
beside her. It seems her interest is more focused on Azenon than the
possibility of discussing her goddess at this moment.
Then, Na'tally looks up at Blazidon once more. "It was twenty gold,
wasn't it?"
Accompanied by more amusement in her, Alemnia replies for Blazidon,
"yes, he did say twenty per year after the initial fee."
Bedwin slips off his chair with a low thump as his feet hit the
ground. "I wouldnae be beholdin' ta anyone either," he says with a
thoughtful look towards Marise, "I'll be payin' me own fee now as
well." Reaching back a hand to steady the heavy axe strapped across
his back, he walks towards the desk where Blazidon sits. "Before I'm
handin' me gold over," he adds in his deep baritone voice as he
stands with feet set before their recruiter, "I'd be likin' ta know
everythin' up front like how we'll be gettin' paid fer our troubles.
A set wage paid through tha guild? Or a share of whatever we might
be findin'?"
Behind
Bedwin's back as he is at the desk Alemnia's eyes sparkle with
amusement in her otherwise deadpan face. Once Bedwin is satisfied
Alemnia says, "I will have to owe the guild, Blazidon, since you say
that is satisfactory."
The small gnome swallows hard at the prospect of his own death.
"Death! Bodies!?! Burial?!?" Tinem exclaims in a high, almost
creaking voice. His face turns a pale gray as he begins to breathe
quickly with the thought of his own demise, verging on
hyperventilation. Catching himself, Tinem tries to regain his
composure. He looks about at the rest of his new companions and
breathes deeply, remembering their reassurances.
After a few deep breaths, Tinem appears to calm and steps forward to
grab Blazidon's papers. "I suppose, ummm, that there must be some
risk to justify the potential reward." With each word, Tinem's voice
returns to the giddy lilt from just moments earlier. "I'll sign your
papers, General! And, I'll pay that fee now, too. But, I'd like to
hear the answer to my new friend Bedwin's question first."
"Risk is the reward," Jakihm says to Tinem with a chuckle. "As for
the fee, I will pay with or without explanation. It is, as far as I
can tell, as close to a tithe to my Mistress as you can get without
going to her temple." He pulls the coins from his pouch and holds
them at the ready.
Amershaine finally breaks his intense inspection of the exotic
golden creature called Mehet. Looking Blazidon in the eye, he points
to his own chest, "I will pay this fee now." He then makes a gesture
with his hand moving horizontally out and away from his body,
fingers together and extended, "When my time comes, I want no hold
of this world preventing my journey to the Lady's Forest."
Refocusing his piercing gaze upon the nervous little gnome known as
Tinem he continues as he strikes his chest once with a closed fist,
"For who can know when death's arrow will find your heart."
Tinem momentarily cowers slightly at Amershaine’s pointed gesture
and comment. He furls his brow and peers down at the floor, once
again contemplating his own death. However, he quickly perks back up
and holds his head and shoulders high. The small gnome looks the
much taller half-elf squarely in the belly button. "Clearly sir, I
have not had as many experiences in the wild or faced death as much
as you, but I have made up my mind. I do not want to die, but I am
going." he says with a great deal of passion. Having spoken his
intentions, Tinem takes another deep breath, looks away from
Amershaine and starts to search through his belt pouches for the
guildsman's fee.
Amershaine nods his head in appreciation of the gnome's resolve and
bravery which has surfaced through his outward nervousness. "Well
spoken, you will be fine," he offers as an apology of sorts.
"That's the spirit," Jakihm says, matching Tinem's enthusiasm.
"After all, what fun would there be in the things we did if there
was no risk in the outcome? Savor the moment and let the future
bring what it will, I always say."
Na'tally, still sitting on the edge of the table, nods as Blazidon
finishes the details. As the others voice their wishes on how to pay
the guild's fees, Na'tally chimes in with, "I'll have my costs
deferred as well. My funds, like Mehet's," here she nods toward the
bard, "are a bit low."
As you all begin to line up in agreement to signing the guild
membership, Blazidon turns about and bellows loudly, "Lars, bring it
over!" Several people in the converted warehouse look up, though the
one named Lars gives a wave and disappears behind the counter as he
ducks down to gather up some material.
Blazidon turns back around and with a sigh, begins to field your
questions. "First you need to know that you're not paying for the
right to enter the Mere and rallying to the call to clear that dread
place, your paying for our services in placing exploring and hunting
parties together, the gaining of information that a non member might
not have access to, and our various services that are offered."
"As for how you are to be paid, that will come from the Merchants
Guild, a representative which can be located here once the writ has
been gathered from Sir Melenikus for services performed. He has his
hands full something fierce and there is plenty trouble for all. He
and his Watchers will assign a fair price for your services. As for
what ye find while doing your duty, it is yours by claim and right."
As coins and gems start to appear in hands for payment and Tinem
quips about being able to appraise the value of the gems Blazidon
chuckles likely, "Not bloody likely," he gives the gnome a friendly
wink before continuing, "We've got someone on the premise that can
do that."
At Mehet’s comments about pleasure the grizzled warrior gives the
busty woman a look for a long moment before clearing his throat.
Looking around for a moment he finally spies a gnome lounging in the
corner. "Thompson!" he calls, startling the gnome out of his
dreaming and nearly sending the poor creature to the floor. "Need
you to look at some rocks." Quickly the gnome hops down from his
perch.
From across the warehouse, Lars finally comes back into view and in
his hands he carries several sheets of parchment, a quill and ink
well, and a small wooden box. Blazidon points to a table beside him
and the man takes a seat, setting out everything before him neatly
before looking up at the first person in line.
"Name, occupation, faith of choice - optional, current place of
residence, next of kin and their location, preferred manner of
burial should it come to pass and manner of disbursement of any
estates and debt." The man says this in a crisply efficient manner
as he scans the document before him before looking up at the first
person in line. "If you don't know your letters, I will read for
you. Your mark you will have to sign for yourself with two witnesses
in support, both myself and Blazidon can act in this manner if you
wish." Taking up the quill and dipping it into the ink, he looks up,
the point of the quill poised over the parchment. "Lets start with
you."
Thompson, an elderly gnome, arrives as Lars finishes his spiel and
from his pocket he pulls pair of spectacles that seem to make the
gnomes eyes ten times their normal size. Blinking hugely the wispy
haired appraiser looks around, "M'kay, whatcha got fer me?" Reaching
into his pockets he pulls out small pair of tweezers.
Tinem's face sours at Blazidon's remark and turns to refute the old
warrior's implications. "Hmmmpfh. Sir, I am a reputable and
professional jeweler. I can assure you that it would be a breach of
professional etiquette to not give an accurate assay. We gnomes may
be short, but you can be assured that there are no shortcuts when it
comes to appraising fine gems." he animatedly explains to Blazidon
with no small amount of gesturing.
"Why, my family has followed this honorable trade for generations"
he continues with his lecture about virtues of gnome jewelers, but
quickly trails off as he sees Blazidon's appraiser. With a quick
change in tone, Tinem adds, "Oh, well. I see you already have the
services of a capable appraiser. Very good then."
Amershaine places four blue quartz gems as well as some gold coins
in front of the appraising gnome.
The offended tone of the gnome elicits a chuckle from Mehet. She
glances at her haversack, then back at Tinem. Her ears flick forward
and she strides over to the gnome. "You are an expert? Perhaps you
would be so kind as to appraise a few choice pieces of my own
collection? I had them appraised once, but I found out later that
said appraiser had a nasty habit of understating the worth and then
buying said appraised jewels." She shakes her head, "I just don’t
have much of a head for such things-they are pretty and that was
enough for me."
Tinem
nods to Mehet, blushing slightly at her provocative clothing and
nature. "Umm, yes, I am an expert," he says, his shyness receding as
he begins to talk shop. "Not surprised you've been taken. I'd wager
it was a human appraiser who cheated you." He pauses, then takes
another look at her shapely form. "I'd be happy to take a look."
Blazidon looks rather sour at the whole situation and once again it
is distinctly clear that the man is one of action, not an
administrator. Grimacing away his sour face he picks back up the
conversation. "If you die in your actions under guild direction, any
moneys that are upon your body upon retrieval, if possible, will go
towards payment of debt, though personal belongings such as armor
and weapons as well as any magic will be dispersed as desired. Any
items left with the guild in leu of debt, will be confiscated, but
that is to cover additional costs beyond membership that may have
been incurred. If you are part of a banded party, such as this that
is being formed, the fee will come from the writ that will be
issued."
Lars continues to take your information, writing it all down in a
clean script and setting the parchment aside when you have answered
his questions to his satisfaction.
Beside him Thompson examines each gem handed to him, humming to
himself as he does so, his large eyes blinking maddeningly during
his inspection. Much to the annoyance of Lars, the small gnome pulls
a sheet of parchment from the mans neat stack and beings to scribble
down numbers as he sets aside each gem.
Blazidon watching the progress of the two turns his attention back
to the group, "Now I'm not sure what type of transportation you've
got for getting to the Mere but we've two affiliates that sell
horse-flesh to membership at a discounted price. Surrolph Hlakken
and Torst Urlivan sell fine equines, brought from Triboar and many
of the local ranches from the nobles that breed them. I can give you
directions if your interested."
"Seeing as more than one of you is obviously a spell slinger you
might be interested in knowing that we have several dweomerworkers
that have consented to sell through the guild magics at a discounted
price as well as provide special services upon request."
Thompson, having verified the worth of each of the precious stones,
gives a thumbs up to Blazidon and hands him the parchment as well as
a small pouch in which he scooped all the stones into as he
finished. With a hurried step the gnome makes for his prior perch,
and presumably a quick snooze from the looks of it.
Finishing the task before him Lars sets aside his quill and opens
the wooden box, pulling forth a stick of wax and a signet ring. A
silvered piece of metal lies within the box and upon placing the wax
stick upon it, it begins to melt, obviously giving off magicked
heat. Upon each of the contracts signed with the party, he places a
blob of wax and imprints it with the signet ring. The imprint shows
a crossed sword and staff over the symbol of Waterdeep, the symbol
of the guild. "We're done sir." Lars says helpfully to Blazidon.
"Make up their membership writs then and lets get them on their
way." Blazidon replies. Turning back to everyone he says, "I believe
we're all done here when Lars gets them writs finished. Is there
anything else we can do for you, other than point you in the right
direction and wish you well?"
Marise is the first finished with the distasteful job of enrolling.
She looks at the pouch in her hands and feels its weight, snorting
she puts it away. "Spoils ... we get ta keep what we find? Or does
this Sir Justin expect us ta bring it back ta him? I don't rightly
know 'bout these other folk, but I been savin' fer a few things."
Alemnia also gets through her paperwork pretty swiftly, happily
letting the staff act as witnesses to her enrollment.
Mehet
rises from her seat and finally moves over to the man taking down
all the information. She smiles at him when it is her turn and
answers each of his questions in a slow, unhurried voice.
"Mehetaten
Pasht Ghani," she starts, "Minstrel by trade, devoted of Bast by
choice." She pauses for a moment as she considers the next
questions. "I have no next of kin that I can name. I guess that
anything I leave behind should be split between the Temple of
Pleasures in Skuld of Mulhorand and those of our party who survive."
She nods again and continues, "Fire…I would like my body to be
consumed in flames so that my ashes may scatter upon the wind." She
watches as the man writes her words down then takes the quill and
signs her name with a flourish, also not minding that the two
officials act as witnesses.
Amershaine walks over with the smooth gait of a predator to take his
turn. "Amershaine Ragingwolf. Ranger. Mielikki. No next of kin.
Should I fall, my body and all possessions, including my steed,
Oakshield, should be given to the priests of the Lady of the Forest.
If that is not possible, divide my belongings between the members of
this tribe, release Oakshield to her own desires, and return my body
to the circle of life and death by fire." With that resolved, he
turns and approaches the be-speckled gnome.
Waiting for the others to come forward and make their arrangements,
Bedwin stands aside, running one hand through his thick beard. When
the chance arises he moves forward to stand before Lars, taking a
writ and filling out the details before reaching into his belt pouch
and counting out seventy-five gold coins. Nodding his head at Lars
he steps back and turns to face his new companions. "I dinnae know
how we’re plannin’ on getting’ ta this tower in tha Mere," he says,
"but I ain’t one ta be ridin’ no horse."
Marise eyes her countryman while waiting for Blazidon’s answer, "Yer
not serious." She rubs a hand on her chin and laughs, "I be'a ridin'
MeLinde. She's sturdy an' a friend. Mebbe one'a the others can strap
ya ta their saddles? Or mebbe somethin' can be rigged ta drag ya
behind one'o us?" The female dwur finds the options quite amusing.
"Hmph!" Bedwin replies with a disgusted sounding snort, his eyes
glaring out from beneath his brows as his hand drops from his beard
to rest near the shaft of his heavy bladed axe. "If'n anyone here
wants ta strap me on to a saddle or drag me behind a horse, then
they'd better be ready ta do a lot of bleedin'."
Looking at the dwarf seriously, Marise says, "T'was a joke. I dinnae
think anyone could lift ya to the saddle or use enough rope ta tie
ya to tha back-end of a horse. But ya should think a'how yer gettin'
to the Mere, 'cause I'm ridin'. And though Me'Linde is sturdy and
slow, she's faster than a grumpy dwur with his feet on tha ground."
"You sure you don't want to be dragged behind a horse?" Jakihm asks
with a smile. "I am sure we could find a Gondsman to build you a
small cart, something just big enough for you. Maybe, if we ask
nice, he can build it so you could stand up. I would be happy to
pull you along."
Biting back a smile Alemnia interrupts the conversation, "excuse me
sir, but by horse are you including all horse like creatures? Mayhap
we could find a pony or donkey if you would be willing to ride
such?"
Marise stops short and looks at the unassuming spell-caster, “Aye,
that’ll be good. Get the mule a jackass.”
"Girl," Bedwin replies with a flat look towards Marise, "you make
more hot wind than Obould's warty backside." Deliberately turning
his back on the female dwur, he glances towards Blazidon then looks
at Jakihm and says, "A cart would be fine, especially if'n we'd be
takin' supplies ta the others in tha Mere." Lifting a hand to cover
his mouth, he gives a muffled cough as though clearing his throat
and adds, "I ain't never riden a horse or any other creature of tha
like, and in this armour me legs cannae get nae purchase or grip."
As Na'tally reaches the head of the queue in turn, she says, "Na'tally
Janisar, adventuring mage. I follow Azuth. I currently live in
Quilhearst Tower, South Ward. Next of kin, Vander Janisar, uncle.
Quilhearst Tower is his home. If I die, I too would prefer
cremation, and to have my spellbook returned to my uncle. Everything
else can be divided up between my companions."
As she finishes, Na'tally returns to her perch on the edge of the
table. She looks about at her new companions, people that she will
have to trust her life to, and a hesitant look appears on her face.
Then with a shake of her head, she dismisses whatever thought had
disturbed her.
In response to the query as to how they'll travel, the young mage
says, "I've a horse stabled nearby. She'll carry me north easily
enough."
Stretching his neck and stifling a yawn, Azenon takes his place in
line. When it is his turn he greets Lars with a quick nod of his
head. "The names Azenon," he says with a smirk, "I'm a spell hurler
of the Firelord's faith. I have no family. If I fall, please pay off
any debt I've incurred to the guild. The rest being divided between
the group and the Temple of Imperious Flame in Calimport. I
want Inferno, my steed, to be released to the wild. My choice of
burial is fire," he pauses for a moment. "If my body doesn't burn,
I've somehow angered the Firelord. My body should then be left
there as carrion because I've disgraced my God." He waits for Lars
to finish writing, and then signs his name.
Jakihm approaches the questions with gusto and a broad smile on his
face. "Name, Jakihm of Waterdeep. Occupation, Luckbringer of Tymora.
Faith of choice, er, Tymora." A dramatic pause follows the question
about current place of residence. "Current place of residence? I
suppose after I sign it is wherever I rest my head. My mother,
Lyandra, here in the Trades Ward, would likely be my next of kin.
"What to do with my body should luck leave me, huh? That's a sticky
question, isn't it? Well, if I have the coin, I'd like my body taken
to a mage, pay for him to polymorph me into a comfortable piece of
furniture, maybe a well-padded chair with a symbol to my Mistress,
and have me delivered to the Yawning Portal. Tell Durnan to set me
up at the edge of the Great Well. That way I can always be close to
a good adventure story or two. If I don't have the coin, dig a hole,
drop me in, and say a few words. "Anything else I have, after
expenses of course, should be delivered to the Tower of Luck."
Tinem listens to Lars' instructions carefully, frowning once more at
the possibility of his own demise. While the others take their turn
registering, Tinem listens while looking over Thompson's shoulder as
he values the gems. With half-an ear to the other's requests and
particulars, Tinem nods with most of the older gnome's assessments,
but wrinkles up his nose at others. All told, Tinem seems content
with Thompson's work and soon takes his turn in front of Lars.
"I am Tinem Glindergold, umm wizard and jeweler, as you may have
heard. Naturally, I tend toward the teachings of Flandal Steelskin,
but have no objections to Garl Glittergold either.Of late, I've
resided in Waterdeep, but am from Shimmervale near the Greyspeak
Mountains, where my family still lives." Tinem pauses for a moment,
eyes looking toward the ceiling in thought, then continues, "Should
I die, gods forbid, I would like my body to be taken to the nearest
friendly temple or priest and raised from the dead. I'm not even 100
years old yet. I've got to live to see that. All I have, I carry
with me, but all can be sold to pay for my resurrection. I will even
sign a writ with an oath that I'll work off any balance once alive
again." Satisfied, Tinem waits for the others to gather their gear
before setting off.
The golden-furred woman bursts out in rich laughter, her sides
shaking. She rubs her face after a moment of mirth and speaks with
the laughter still in her voice, "Our Tinem here is very wise! Why,
even I had not thought of such a thing and I prize my skin very
highly!" She allows another chuckle to creep into her speech, but
waves a hand in the general direction of the others. "Indeed it is
something we should all do. Perhaps we can all agree that a portion
of the spoils gained in our ventures should be set aside for just
such an unfortunate emergency."
Though he still smiles, Jakihm shakes his head and his eyes are
serious. "I do not want to be brought back if I should die. After
all, where is the adventure if there is no cost for failure?" He
brightens up. "On the other hand, if we agree to this fund, my share
could be used for a polymorph spell. The rest of you could stop by
from time to time, sit on my lap, and tell me of your adventures."
Tinem blushes again as Mehet praises his idea and smiles at Jakihm's
request. "I'm not sure how wise I am. I just want to live a little
longer!" he says once again. "I'd be happy to contribute what I have
to such a fund."
Na'tally shakes her head. "No thanks. When I go, I don't plan on
coming back." There's a somewhat offended look in her eyes, as
though she finds the thought unpalatable. "If I'm lucky," she looks
at Jakihm with a raised brow, "I'll have a place among Azuth's
Faithful. I won't need to come back, there won't be anything here
for me."
Jakihm's smile continues and he bows extravagantly toward Na'tally.
"My thought exactly. I only want my dear departed body to have
something to do for eternity and if my Mistress should give leave
for me to visit the Prime from time to time, it would be nice to
hear a tale or two while I was here."
Lars continues to work quickly at his task, noting quickly on a
register who paid and in what form and who still owes the initial
fee and notes such on the writs that are starting to stack up as he
creates a charter of legality for each of you.
When Marise questions the distribution of spoils Blazidon actually
laughs out loud, "You are a feisty one eh? I can see why this one
likes you so much," he jerks a hand towards Bedwin. "Aye, everything
you find is yours to keep. The knight and even some amongst the
guild here would be interested in first dibs on anything you might
be seeking to sell, but as I said, it is yours to do with as you
wish."
Completing his tasks Lars hands a rolled up parchment to each of
you, "May Tymora watch over you and Kelemvor spare his hand." With a
nod from Blazidon he gathers up his tools and walks back towards the
front of the warehouse. Looking at the thick parchment you see that
it is the type that will readily hold up to wear. In a flowing
script, written in common, the writ proclaims you to be members in
good standing with the Adventurers' Guild of Waterdeep, dated as of
today and signed by Lars. A red wax blob with the impression of the
guilds' signet, is attached at the bottom of the writ.
Mehet and Tinem, stand to the side from the others as they discuss
the worth of some of her items that she pulls from her belongings,
all of you seeing the largest of the items being an ivory statue of
what seems to be a cat.
As the conversation continues, finally settling on the issue of how
to get to the Mere of Dead Men and with Bedwin refusing to take a
mount, Blazidon shakes his head slightly at the dwarf as Bedwin
looks towards him, "Sorry friend but the Watchers have all the
materials they need for awhile, the merchants having supplied them
completely not too long ago." Turning to Alemnia he continues, "Yes
ma'am, I believe Surrolph Hlakken will be able to help you with
finding a suitable mount for one of smaller stature. Think he even
had," he almost covers a smile, "a warpony that was trained by a
late halfling. Was quite the talk here the other day when the
creature brained its handler." He turns away for a moment to cover a
cough.
Seeing that all is in ready for you to depart Blazidon gives some
parting advice, "Now, before you get underway know that the Mere for
the most part is under water, and that ruins liter that fell swamp
from the days when the lich Iniarv raised the water of the coast and
swamped the Twilit Lands. Much of it is only a foot to three, with
dry land in quite a few places, but in other places you could hide a
dragon and not know where to look. Sir Justin will know where he is
directing you, and he usually has scouts out well in advance, so he
will know the terrain."
It seems as if the old warrior has more to say but he stops suddenly
and stands from his chair as a man in the priestly vestments of Helm
enters the guildhouse and beckons for Blazidon urgently. Meeting no
more than fifteen feet from where you sit the priest hands a roll of
parchment to Blazidon who quickly scans it with his one good eye.
"Banes black balls!" the warrior exclaims suddenly and more than one
conversation in the converted warehouse stops as eyes are drawn to
the commotion. The priest aware of the eyes speaks low to Blazidon
and puts a comforting hand on the older mans shoulder which is
quickly shrugged off. "Dead, all of them. They are sure?" he asks
out loud at which the Helmite nods and says something quietly,
nodding his head in affirmation. "Of course you are, forgive my
manners." With this Blazidon claps the man on the shoulder and turns
away from him as he turns back towards all of you.
Crumpling the missive in his hand Blazidon makes a fist and waves it
vaguely in your groups direction. "More dead - whole crew this time.
Watch your backs friends, watch your backs." With a smart step he
turns and swiftly walks back towards the counter where Lars and
several of the other administrators of the guild gather to hear the
grim news.
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