To recap:

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Each of you has received a missive of surprising content and import:

Notice Legal notice is hereby given that unless the last known heir(s) of Shallagh Gann come forth, his keep and all posessions therein shall escheat to the Lords of Waterdeep forever without any further claims by said heir(s). Claims must be filed no later than two tendays from the date of this notice, and the provisions of the will fulfilled within thirty (30) days of verification of lineage. Persons claiming to be heir(s) should apply to the honorable Court of the undersigned.

Dated this twenty-third day of Marpenoth,
Hargrove Seedius, Magister of Waterdeep

Each of you , upon entering the gate into Waterdeep and showing your letter, will be directed or guided to the Honorable Magister's Court. After showing your respective messages to a clerk of the court, each of you are provided with an open-ended voucher for a stay at the Fifth House Inn, a twenty-minute walk from the Court Halls.

[[ I leave it up to the players to decide -- via PM or game post -- whether or not they introduce themselves or discuss their message. Regardless, they will meet (again) in the Office of Magister Hargrove Seedius ]]

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On the thirtieth day of Marpenoth, those of you who have arrived are summoned to a meeting in the Office of Magister Hargrove Seedius at the Magister's Court Halls by a messenger. This messenger, who wears the standard tabard of a Clerk of the Court, waits for all of you to gather and accompany him to the meeting. You have all been to the Magister's Court before,on hour arrival to the city, but the purpose of the Clerk is to identify those he accomanies as being under the protection of the Lord Magister of Waterdeep. Travel to the meeting is uneventful, but not uninteresting, for there is much ado in the City of Splendors, day in and day out, whereever one is.

At the Magister's Court Halls, you are ushered into a well-appointed office, almost opulent in it's furnishings and decor. In front of a large darkwood desk are six chairs, arranged in a semi-circle, with padded backs, bottoms, and arms covered in a silken material with a leafy filigree pattern. The chairs are of varying heights and widths, to accomodate, in comfort, each of tne physical body types represented by your diverse group. The chairs are obviously designed with worn weaponry in mind, for none of them Interferes with weapons worn anywhere but on the back. Obviously, to sit comfortably, weapons worn on the back must be removed. As you select your seat, the man behind the desk stands until all of you are seated, then seats himself. You are in the office of Magister Third Hargrove Seedius.

     "Thirty days ago, the body of the deceased was brought into town by a group of merchants from the North who discovered it along the road just south of Red Larch. He apparently died from an arrow wound. The only possessions on his person were a dagger, a pouch with 20 gold pieces, a pen, an empty ink pot, and an old bill of sale."
     "The merchants found his body sitting against a large rock, where he apparently wrote out his will on the back of the bill of sale. When he ran out of ink, he finished it with his own blood. That makes it a holographic will, one written entirely in the handwriting of the deceased, and it is legally acceptable even though it is not witnessed."
     "The will's conditions are some­what unusual, but they are legally binding on the heirs of the estate. If the conditions are not fulfilled within the time frame set by local law and the will itself, the keep and all its possessions become forfeit to the Lords ofWaterdeep! You have only thirty days left before I must make my final judgment on the es­tate and render it to the Lords themselves. I will now read the will. Please listen carefully to ensure you under­stand what must be done."

LAST WILL OF SHALLAGH GANN      I, Shallagh Gann lie dying from a foul arrow. Invaders came in the night, assaulted my keep by surprise, and killed all my retainers. These monsters were similar to orcs but fought more fiercely and had in their service a large, red-eyed beast that threw my men-at-arms about like toys. I barely got out my secret ooor, but not before one of the crea­tures shot me in the back.
     I leave all my property, both real and per­sonal, to any living heir who avenges me by ridding my wonderful home of these foul creatures no later than 60 days after my death. It is my direction that this be done by my heir without help from any but his or her closest companions, or voulunteers who do so in his or her presence, so that my heir may prove worthy oj the treasure I leave behind and which I trust the monsters have not found. .

Avenge me!

     "What records we have show that Shallagh Gann was apparently a recluse who dabbled in illusionist magic. A couple of times a year, he would go into Red Larch for supplies. He married a woman from that town, but that is all that is generally known about him. What is also apparent is that he was in good standing with the Lords of Water­deep, because the archives hold a recorded deed from the Lords to the deceased, dated some five years ago. The deed granted him a tract of land 10 miles wide by 10 miles long, cen­tered on the southernmost point of Kryptgarden Forest. The keep was built by a clan of dwarves from the North and is somewhere in that area mentioned, but exactly where no one is sure; the dwarves have long since departed and the keep itself was kept hidden by illusions created by the deceased. These illusions may or may not still be working or effective."
     "It must be noted here that the words "living heir" used in the will also includes others whom the decedent has listed in records as possible recipients. These documented recipients are, or are related to, those who performed a notable service for the deceased at some time in his life. It is because of those records that some of you, those whe are obviously not blood relation, have received the messages you carry. Those of you who are not blood relatives would also have had legal, and equal, claim if no living blood relative had been found."

     "In addtition, 30 days remain of the 60-day period included in the will and recognized by this Court and the Lords themselves. This 30-day time limit begins as of the date of this meeting. After that time, if no proof has been, or can be, given of the completion of all the terms of the will, the lands, keep, and title all revert back to the Lords of Waterdeep, and any claim by the heir is moot, nullified, and voided for perpetuity.

     "Almyrikon the Bearspaw, you are the son of the brother of the deceased, once estranged. Before your own father's death, he set his estrangement aside to sheltered the deceased in a storm that would have killed him had your father not given that shelter."

     "Ahelllltha Ehthyr Kenyurrrkor De'Lues," here the magister stumbles over the pronunciation of the name with visible embarrassment, "your own recognition is more obscure, but is documented nonetheless. You are the sole issue of a pair of elves that had aided the deceased during one of his recent endeavours. The information provided by them was instrumental in allowing the deceased to later save the life of one of the Council of Lords which, in turn, led to the deceased receiving the honor of his lands, keep, and title."

     "Kannizan of the Stonesunder clan, you have been chosen by your clanmaster and clan elders to represent your clan as hr youngest descendant of the builders of the home of Shallagh Gann, the deceased.

     "Jethro, you were the most difficult to locate. The resources of this office were strained severely in our efforts to deliver the message you carried here with you. Documentation shows that the deceased felt responsible for the death of your father, and that remorse led to your inclusion in the lis of possible heirs.

     "Velina Nightdancer, your mother was sister to the deceased wife of Shallagh Gann, the deceased. Your own inclusion on the list of possible heirs is a result of a request from your aunt to look after her sister's family in the event of her death. The deceased honored that request by recognizing certain abilities in you. Proof of these skills allowed him to call a favor and place you where your talents would be developed to their fullest possibility.

     "Maranda Grey, you are of the blood of Shallagh Gann. You are the daughter of the son of the sister of Shallagh Gann. In strictly leagal terms, you are not directly descended through the male lineage, but the blood is there and is therefore recognizeable, legally or otherwise. Your claim as the sole, living, blood-relative heir of the deceased has been recognized and duly recorded by this court.".

     "Now, since a living heir has been found, the entire list of possible heirs, save one who is still traveling, has been brought together here and now to fulfill another term of the will. I cannot legally make a suggestion here. What transpires is for all of you to decide. I will leave you to make whatever decision you wish, and return shortly to finalize preparations. I will leave the will here on my desk to refer to, if necessary."

[[ I leave off here to allow for a little character interaction. Questions that can be answered will be answered in a straighforward manner. Those that cannot be answered will be identified in a likewise fashion. After all, it is in the best interest of the court to execute the will and keep the Lords of Waterdeep both happy and free of lengthy legal wranglings. Bear in mind that you have been informed that Gann was a recluse, but it is also reasonably clear that he kept records that he obviously thought were important. Success of the mission depends on the occurrence of something pretty obvious (it's in the will) ... ]]

Waterdeep was indeed an amazing city. Anyone one wanted he could get... except that which really matters. At it's heart Waterdeep was a city of excess, a city of greed, and a city of moral bankruptcy. Aheltha'ethyr Kenyrkor'dlues strolled the city streets taking in the sights. It had been nearly a decade since he had been to Waterdeep, and it was hardly the same city. All the magic that coursed through this land was nearly unbearable to him. He had slain many, many Drow mages, and forever associated the dark elves with the dark art. Aheltha'ethyr Kenyrkor'dlues, or Ether as his non-elven brethren called him, was a knight in the order of Vengeance - a cleric of Shevarash. His guild name meant "Tears of the Eternal Vigil, Sworn to the Black Bow," in elvish. A part of an elite strike force sworn never to smile or laugh until Lolth and her children have been erased from Faerun.

The meeting was a bit of a flashback to Ether. Though he disliked the notion of removing his bow and quiver from his back, Ether sat uneasily, making sure never to let his bow leave his immediate reach. He had no idea even of the man that he had helped, for he remains far and wide and active in a number of operations. Being one of the younger members, and one of more martially minded in his order, he is often dispatched with the paladins to do various works to further their goals. While he couldn't remember the details, he did remember the event of which the magistrate spoke. The Lords of Waterdeep seemed characteristically eager to take the money and ease the estate in question into their personal vaults.

If there was ever an event that made Ether want to break his oath never to laugh, it would be the bumblings of humans and non-elves trying to pronounce the forest folk's names. While elvish names were difficult enough, the wood elven dialect was particularly tricky. Add in the divine nature and invocations that were used in bestowing Ether with his guild name, and the poor sap never had a chance. He would sit in amusement as they tried to pronouce his name. His holy symbol - that of a broken arrow fixated to his buckler, seemed to match the amused but stoic expression on his face.

This Maranda Grey was only a few days shy of being robbed by the greed of the Lords of this city. But his mind was already decided. Shevarash called all his followers never to ignore the ever cried request. Avenge me! The will ended with it. It was now perfectly clear why he was summoned. The Mourning Lord Shevarash (not to be confused with the Morning Lord Lathander) had a hand in guiding one of his own to the manor. This wasn't a matter of inheritance and heirs... this was a matter of revenge. A matter of loss. A matter of which his patron had dominion.

As soon as their host had left the room, Ether arose and addressed the table in common, although the hint of forest accent makes a few words hard to understand. He walked over and took the will, underlining the last few words with his finger as he spoke. Ether was a short fellow, although all elves were. He wore basic adventuring gear, and with his buckler with the broken arrow attached to it, his sheathed longsword and of course the signature bow he looked no different from a common ranger. With a trio of throwing sticks hanging at his belt, and a quarterstaff lying near his removed quiver, he appeared nothing more than a monk. Nothing on him suggested the role of cleric - and that was the way Shevarash preferred his acolytes to look, so that the wicked would not see their demise coming in the form of divine invocations.

"My friends, there can be no doubt that I will be venturing to Shallagh Gann's keep and seek to bring divine justice on those who have murdered him. As a ward of the Patron god of vengeance, my purpose here is to guide and forward the retribution. Though I may have known him only peripherally, Shallagh Gann has made a personal request of me, and one that I cannot ignore. May the oath I swore on this..." He raises his pitch-black bow to eye level - it is nearly as tall as he is - and bows his head, "May the oath I swore on this, the divine might of Shevarash, continue to be fulfilled with the extermination of those who killed Master Gann."

He was going to the mansion, with or without anyone else.

The meeting inside the Magister's office was something strange to Kannizan of Clan Stonesunder. This was his first trip into Waterdeep, and it was all in the name of some Shallagh Gann or something. That was a weird name for a relative of his. All Kannizan understood clearly was that Gann had been murdered, and if he avenged him, the Kannizan would earn his inheritance.

Waterdeep was a big city. Big city filled with soft people. Pah. When he got there, he even had to glare at a few people to get them to stop staring at his immense frame. Grrr... annoying people. They would learn to respect him.

Boring stuff was said, introducing all the other people trying to take his claim to the throne. Apparently some of them were his relatives. Meh, they could be second in command. He would avenge his ancestors, and take his proper place on the throne. But of course... nobody could do anything without good allies. Perhaps he should seek friend within his blood first... no need to get outsiders involved. Making nothing subtle about it, he Almyrikon says,

"Oy! Velina! Maranda! I need to talk to you two! Meet me outside." Then, leaving, hefting his huge axe, Almyrikon casually walks out of the room.

In the days leading up to the reading of the will, Velina spent her time watching people. It had been a long time since she was in the company of so many humans. Years ago she was sent to live with the elves and she hadn't seen a human in almost 10 years. Many eyes fell upon her; some friendly, others not. Such is the way it always is for a half-breed. Never really at home with those of either of her mixed background, she was never completely out of place either.

At the reading there had been an odd mix of folks considering they were all related to a recently dead fellow. As luck would have it the only human in the group was named the true heir. From what she had learned from the elves that was exactly what she expected. Everything would pass from human to human. Then her ears perked a bit when the executor mentioned that should the first heir be unable to stake a claim due to death it would pass to the next. Since the only way to make the claim was to evict some rather unsavory house guests from the deceased's manor she figured there was a good possibility of that very situation coming to pass. No one really mentioned exactly what the lineage of succession was but that was of little matter at the moment as the designated heir still lived. When the others spoke up about going, she figured she might as well go along.

Then she heard the human call out two names; one of which was another in the party and it took her a moment to figure out the other. "Velinda?" Then it hit her, he meant her. "That would be Velinda. And don't be trying to be all lordly and start throwing orders around. I'll join you outside when I am done in here." Her tone was not quite polite but a bit less than insulting, annoyed would perhaps be the best description. There was something about the manner with which the human carried himself that caused her pause for a moment. She wasn't sure if he was confident or arogent. One was a good thing and an admirable trait but the other led to trouble; and trouble led to adventure. Where there was adventure; there one could always find Velina.

Turning to the executor she asked a question or so. "Is there a map perhaps to the manor mentioned? Where can we purchase supplies? What exactly will serve as proof that the terms of the will have been fulfilled? She waited for answers and only when she received them did she prepare to exit the room.

Checking once more to make sure he twin daggers were concealed properly under her robe she set off following the human. It seemed introductions of any kind other than those given by the executor as he named each of them would have to wait. Humans as a race were always in a rush and often acted and then planned. It seemed the heir apparent and his big axe were traveling down that very path.

After Velinha has voiced her questions, a clerk pops his head through the gap in a quietly-opened door. The Magister holds up his hand signalling a pause, then uses that same hand to motion the clerk into the office. The clerk approaches, rounds the desk, and leans down to whisper into the Magisters ear.

"Oh? ... ... Yes, your were right to do so. ... ... ... ... Please have a chair brought in and show him into the office. Afford all courtesies."

As the clerk scurries out Magister Seedius addresses the group again. "It seems that one other message has been delivered, and the recipient has just arrived. Please bear with me for a moment, until he is seated, and I can begin again." The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the office door opens again, and a clerk carrying another chair like the rest of you already occupy. Behind him is a tall, slender half-orc, wearing nothing but a chainmail shirt, a belt with a greatsword hung from it, and a small, leather-wraped bundle tucked into that belt.

The new arrival stops just inside the door and scans the room slowly, ceiling to floor, front to back, and side to side. Seemingly satisfied, he moves to the vacant chair and seats himself.

[[ in the interest of brevity here, I will note the Magister, with visible signs of slight annoyance. reiterates all the information in the intro post, including the names of those present and why they were included on the "list" ]]

      "Gunk-karg Rooka-darg, your own presence on the list of possible heirs of the deceased is just short of reprehensible, as far as I am concerned, but it is legal, regardless. It is documented that the deceased placed your family's name on the list under duress. The reason for it is also documented, but is legally irrelevant here and now. It should be obvious that, had the deceased been able to provide issue from his marriage, none of you would be here now. As it turned out, his only effort to that dilemma was taken from him along with his wife. Therefore, Gunk-karg, legally, your claim is as valid as any of the others here who are of no blood relation.

[[ yada-yada the rest of the intro post ]]

"Yes, Velina, a map of the area can be provided but, as I mentioned, the exact location of the keep is unknown. I doubt that even Kannizan, here would know of it's location, for the deceased was known t6o have hidden the keep with his magics, in keeping with his hermitage. "

Magister Seedius, reaches up to pull a bell-pull and, a mere few minutes later a clerk pops his head intl the doorway without knocking. The Magister smiles and says, "Wake Reddeg the carto-savant. A map is needed of the area surrounding Waterdeep and including Waterdeep, the Kryptgarden Forest, and the mountains to the north of Kryptgarden" The clerk nods once and ruxhes off.

To the gathered group, he says, "The map will be done in about half an hour. I will return with it in my own hand. But I cannot provide you with the map or anything physical until the lot of you have fulfilled one action described in the will.

"Any supplies you deem necessary can be purchased at one of two places, the Open Market in the city's Central Plaza or, my personal recommendation, the Whole Delvers's Mercantile, directly east on the very street this Court is on, approximately an hour's walk."

"Proof? Not knowing the circumstances, location, or current condition of the keep, that would be impossible to answer with certainty. And, again because of the legalities, I cannot provide you with that information. I am certain that those of you who travel to the location will be able to provide some proof of completion of the terms of the will, if and when that is done. Even if not, there is an option that I may not legally provide you with until the time comes for it's necessity.I will leave you now to to perform the most important action required of you by the will, even though it is not the first one listed."

He stands and moves around the desk, exiting through the office door ...

Gunk-karg looked around as he stood in the door way, his shaved head dressed only by the eye patch strap reaching around his head. His right eye covered by the black piece of cloth, hiding what gruesome sight that dwells beneath it. His left bottom tusk sticks out, the yellowish pointed tooth almost to over sized for his mouth. He grunted once and straightened out his chain shirt, looking around the room. He raised his arms and ran them over his greyish green skin, and adjusted the great sword that hung off of his back. He knocked his large studded leather boots together kicking some dried mud off of them onto the carper, looked down at it and entered, sitting in the chair that was brought in for him. He took his sword off and let it clamor to the floor and slid it underneath the chair, and then leaned back in his seat, putting his boots up on the table in front of him. From his looks he seemed unusually slender for a half orc, but none the less he was tall and muscles bulged out from where they could. He listened to what was said next.

"Gunk-karg Rooka-darg, your own presence on the list of possible heirs of the deceased is just short of reprehensible, as far as I am concerned, but it is legal, regardless. It is documented that the deceased placed your family's name on the list under duress. The reason for it is also documented, but is legally irrelevant here and now. It should be obvious that, had the deceased been able to provide issue from his marriage, none of you would be here now. As it turned out, his only effort to that dilemma was taken from him along with his wife. Therefore, Gunk-karg, legally, your claim is as valid as any of the others here who are of no blood relation."

" Meh names Gunk-karg Rooka-ROOKA-Darg." After that he just chuckled at the rest of the explanation on why he was here, and nodded slowly as in recognizing how wrong it was for him to be here. But here he was none the less.

Next this little half-breed asked a question about supplies, and how will the mission be proved its completion. Gunk-karg looked over to her and spoke.

"We figure out who gets it done by who ever comes back alive! Most of us will probably die anyways, crazy old man he was should never of played with those damned spells. Probably cursed us all to the nine hells."

Gunk-karg shrugs, and yawns with his tusk filled mouth wide open.

"But oh well, we all gotta die sometime and at least we're getting paid, right?"

Gunk-karg laughed haughtily and sat back straight in his chair, and went through what little amount of gear he had making sure he was ready.

"Well, just being alive doesn't in any way prove we have completed the requirements of the document. I am sure you are well aware that humans are sticklers for exactness when it comes to legal issues. As for being paid, I am not sure where you got that idea. There has been no mention of any such thing so far; in fact I believe the whole idea of 'volunteers' is that they are not compensated."

Velina looked the stranger over and shrugged. In many ways he was no less out of place than most of the gathered group.

Gruk-karg looked to Velina who spoke out about his comments.

"Fickle er not, if only a few of us come back then something happend, right? Even if then thats not enough we could bring some heads back, roll 'em out and show 'em whats what! Gettin' paid in lots more ways than you think, loots all good to sell and make a profit, also is the whole lot of assets we get if we're the heir!"

"Perhaps a few heads on poles may serve to some as proof but the will said we had to 'rid the keep' of monsters not just kill a few. As for loot, I doubt the heir will look kindly on us stealing the very stuff they intend to inherit. Which of course brings us to teh last point, you are not the heir. The heir has already been established and to no surprise to me it is the human over there."

Kannizan's gruff voice spoke up above Velina and the half-orc. "Can you two quit bickering and let the magister finish saying his piece? You sound like two ole dwarf maids arguing about how best to light a fire. There's no best way to provide proof, I'm not even sure there's a way to prove we were victorious short of sending another party in the see if anything is left. As long as the job gets done, who cares how it was achieved?"

"Excuse me? I know you didn't call me an old dwarven maid. In case you haven't noticed the magistrate already left the room so he certainly has finished his piece." Vilina shook her head, "Well against my better judgement I suppose I can tag along on this trip as I have nothing better to do."

"Bah, then he has some shoddy speech skills. All I caught out of that was avenge Gann, and I'm not the heir. And either way my point got proven. One way or another, my task was accomplished. While I should go home, I believe I will volunteer as well." Kannizan stood resolute, just like any stubborn dwarf would. He didn't like the company. He didn't like the way this whole affair sounded. But he'd just made a fool of himself with that mix-up, and he had to make up for that.

Deep down, he knew why Stonesunder didn't mind him going to Waterdeep. If the clan lost him, they didn't lose much at all. He wasn't particularly attentive, as he just showed, he wasn't meticulous enough for smithing, by most dwarven standards, he wasn't adequate for anything but the most menial tasks.

Jethro had never seen a city this big before. He had passed through many towns along his way but this was something entirely new to him, he was lost in wonderment at the bustling crowds and undercurrent of magic he could feel coursing through the town. Despite feeling like a child, moving on eye level with belly buttons, Jethro felt at home. Felt as though this new and exciting environment held something for him he had entered a shining pleasure palace of new and foreign experiences.

Jethro felt a certain shame to be clad in the shambles he had assembled over his travels. A tattered pair of faded navy slacks hung from him, too large and cut off too short, they had once been sheltering a human's thighs before Jethro had liberated and resized them, pulling twine through the loops tightly to hold them above his rear end. A flapping, cream-coloured shirt poofed and billowed about his arms, stuffed into the waist of his stolen paints to disguise the flaws in sizing. Draped over his shoulders in a baggy mish-mash was a torn olive green vest, which reached midway down his thighs. His thick, dark brown hair struck out in curls form beneath his massive, floppy plaid cap, with long and wide sideburns reaching down from over his ears, stopping on his jawline to leave some cheek before the beginning of his goatee which crested his chin and circled over his lips. Off his belt hung a sling and a pouch of bullets and a dagger and across his back a morningstar was strapped.

Despite the shabby clothes Jethro maintained a charming air that piqued the interest of those around him. He even caught the eyes of a group of giggling teenage girls who met his smile with sighs. Funny, he was two-feet shorter than them and still drew their glances. Jethro's striking good-looks had been an asset to him on many occasions: saving him form danger and conning his way into wealth.

On any other day, Jethro would've at least entertained the idea of talking to the girls but today he had a place to be and for the first time in a long time, he cared about being on time. He had been called by the Lords regarding the will of a certain Shallagh Gann. It wasn't the inheritance he was concerned with, though the money had been quite the draw, it was the name. Shallagh Gann had saved his life, if it was the same one, and now he was apparently dead. Jethro didn't know who he was or what any of this meant but he had to find out.

*

Jethro slipped the morning star off of his back and rested it next to his chair, sliding into the seat comfortably and accepting an air of ease immediately, watching as the others filtered in. A motley crew to be assembled together for the same inheritance, Jethro thought to himself. Could they really all be related to Shallagh Gann?

It seemed they all could, perhaps not by blood, but in some way Gann had touched each of their lives. What a strange man he must have been: a recluse who had managed to reach into such diverse paths and altering them. A mysterious murder had been the thief of Shallagh's final breath, not surprising Jethro thought to himself, that he would go in suspense, just as he had lived.

An implication in his father's death! What could that possibly mean? Jethro was a little thrown by this, something he tried to do as little as possible. He shuffled in his seat slightly. That silhouette had haunted Jethro in waking and sleeping, could this be the time when he finally unravelled those dark shadows and illuminated them?

There was indeed a rashness in the group! Men and women were leaping up all over the place proposing immediate commitment to the service of this mission. Jethro was not so sure whether that was the wisest thing to do, he did value his life. Arguments sprung up all over the place, and Jethro smiled slightly at the foolish bickering, how unnecessary he thought to himself.

It seemed that everyone here, who all appeared to dislike each other, were bent on journeying together! Jethro almost laughed out loud as the dwarf swore his commitment. Elves, dwarves and half-orcs... lead by a human! That had to mean entertainment. Jethro was tempted to join for the sake of the humour but he knew that he had to think through this before he cast his lot.

These beasts that plagued the keep had somehow managed to find it, something no one else could do it seemed, and had made Shallagh Gann some sort of spellcaster with at least some power, flee in fear, only to his death. Rushing into a place like this could mean merely his own senseless death. Let these fools get themselves killed while I rob Waterdeep blind, Jethro thought to himself... but something fixed him to his seat. He didn't want to just leave, he was too curious and besides perhaps he could weasel some money out of a deal like this! Jethro turned to the heir herself, thus far she had been utterly silent, what were her thoughts on this... perhaps she didn't want anybody going with her, perhaps she wasn't going at all. Jethro watched her then turned to the vigorous discussion between the multi-racial group.

"Perhaps we should hear the words of the heir before we rush into commitments of our aid. This is her business and the rest of us may volunteer ourselves if it so pleases her." Jethro said, calling the attention of the others despite his small frame. He had not wanted to get mixed up in this! And yet here he was in the middle of it all again! Stupid, Jethro thought to himself, Go ahead, get yourself killed! But this was the place he had placed himself and he was not about to back down, Jethro was certainly not that type of man, if any. Besides he hadn't promised his own commitment only taken leadership for the time being, undeserved as always. But still something pushed within Jethro, if he turned away now he would never find out who Shallagh Gann was... if he turned away now he would never find out who he was. Then Jethro knew, though he said nothing, that he would do everything he could to include himself in this mission with no interest the monetary reward! Oh damn it all, Jethro thought to himself.

From the hall, you hear a loud bellow. "WHAT'S TAKING SO LONG!!!"

As the doors slam open, Almyrikon comes thundering back in. He had litterally just pushed the closed door open, not turning the knob. "I've been waiting forever! Marching his way over to the group, he forces his way into the group. "What's so special?" He asks, clear irritation in his voice.