Warmdale
Day of the Impaled Witch
9th day of the 7th month: Pfier
10:35 pm
The festivities in Warmdale started to reach its peak. The great fire was roaring as mighty as it would ever, and hot colours of red and yellow streaked the surrounding grass field. Tables filled with flowing kegs and dishes long since broken into fenced the partyground. The average local had already devoured too much ale, and stepped forward to slur his thanks one last time, before dropping into a deep slumber besides the nearest pile of cow dung.
This party was more than a late summer festivity. There was a reason this little village had to celebrate.

Warmdale, positioned next to the River Suni, just outside the northern border of Sendria, had suffered the wicked schemes of a true witch. A sorceress foul, with twisted limbs, warted nose and an appetite for small children. She had pestered the village and the farmlands from her swamp, until the villagers could do nothing else but send a group of fine adventurers to put an end to her agonizing deeds. The heroes conquered the witches lair, slew the old hag, and returned with her head impaled on a stick.
That same head was now slowly smoldering into blackness on top of the great fire in the grass field.

Not only had the villagers paid the adventurers well (considering their poor nature, they still added 350 GP and an old magical ring to the groups cash), they also threw a major party, complete with music, dancing, drinking, more food than anybody could ever eat, and a speech by Warmdale's elder. This day would from now on be a holiday; the day that the swamp hag was defeated by a group of mighty warriors. The heroes would always be welcome, and would always find a free bed in this village.

But enough of festivities. They are how adventures end, while we're still at the beginning of a new one.

---

There was another traveler in Warmdale that evening. A Khordaldrum master in merchant's clothing, clearly bearing the symbol of an anvil set with jewels on his wear. He participated in the dining, but kept his tongue off the ale with caution. Steadily he made his way to the bales of hay where the group of adventurers was vividly recalling their victory over the witch.
He addressed them kindly, and stated his intentions. He was a merchant in the service of Guland Granitefingers, whose enterprises stretch far beyond the borders of Khordal, the Khordaldrum capital. Guland was in search of a group of adventurers, heroes that would aid him in a secret quest. The merchant could not tell anything else about this quest, for he himself did not know anything about it. But he had been requested to find Guland a capable group of heroes that would be handsomely rewarded for the performed services. He believed that he had found that group.
Before leaving them the merchant explained that if they were interested, the group should find his employee in Khordal, within two weeks. He handed them a small green gem with two tiny G's engraved in its top surface. It would be their pass to see Guland. If they were not interested in the job, the gem was still theirs, with the compliments of Mr. Granitefingers. With that the merchant left the adventurers to make their decision.

---

Khordal Kingdom
Your average workday
22nd day of the 7th month: Pfier
12:42 am
The door to his room in the Grand Library opened, and Geimiedefher looked up. It was not often that he got a visitor in this enclosed part of the stalactite. The Grand Library in Khordal was an enormous cone of rock that hung from the ceiling of an immense cave that was a part of the Warrens of Caelbo. It was here that the Runemasters, keepers of ancient lore, made what other people mockingly call: their storage room. Layer upon layer of carved out rooms stuffed with tomes, artifacts and dust. This was where Geimiedefher found his calling. But right now, it was interrupted by a hand that dropped of a letter, and quickly disappeared again. The letter was neatly wrapped in an envelope crowned with the symbol of an anvil set with jewels. His dear friend Guland had not forgotten him.
The contents were brief though, and Geimiedefher continued his business soon after reading them. The words spiraled in his mind though, and would not let go.

---

Maelamin Kingdom
Another day of training
25th day of the 7th month: Pfier
7:13 pm
Another letter was composed. By different hands, in a different script. A falcon's claws were the first to receive it. Then the winds brushed past so fast the letter fluttered. The seal of two crossed blades held the parchment rolled up stiffly. The flight through the forest was not long. Between the trees everything seemed quiet, but a falcon's eye is not easily deceived. Elessarae was found, in the middle of her training. Today she had been hunting the marks that Ivindior, who also achieved to be a bladesinger, had scattered for her throughout the woods. She did not think much of the falcon until it dropped a letter in front of her feet and screeched loudly. Seeing the seal she knew better than to linger opening it.

---

OOC: Here starts our adventure for everybody. Greenleaf and Dragon Mistress start out as single characters. The rest is part of the group and at what will soon be the end of the party in Warmdale. Hope you will all enjoy participating in this!

Another letter was composed. By different hands, in a different script. A falcon's claws were the first to receive it. Then the winds brushed past so fast the letter fluttered. The seal of two crossed blades held the parchment rolled up stiffly. The flight through the forest was not long. Between the trees everything seemed quiet, but a falcon's eye is not easily deceived. Elessarae was found, in the middle of her training. Today she had been hunting the marks that Ivindior, who also achieved to be a bladesinger, had scattered for her throughout the woods. She did not think much of the falcon until it dropped a letter in front of her feet and screeched loudly. Seeing the seal she knew better than to linger opening it.

Elessarae snatched it up wondering if this was some ploy of Invindior. She unrolled it and read.

Strangely it was unaddressed and had no introduction

The winds have brought the time for you to prove yourself worthy of the title you aspire. Meet with us in the Hall of Song, Megilindar Nost. The seal that holds this letter should be your passage in.

The Order of Admittance

One look and the seal and Elessarae took her bearings. turned, and started to run. Invindior had lured her far from the Megilindar Nost on a twisted path of his making. She return like a bee, straight to the Keep. It was a long run, but Elessrae carrying the scroll in hand raced the distance, bounding over great roots of the giant sentinel trees that abounded in the Elven forests. It was once said that a squirrel could run for months from one side of the Elven land to the other and never touch the ground. It was not the same today. Now the once Great Elven Forest was broken into three parts and the areas of the forest between them were diminished by the hands of other races. At last Elessarae came out from under the tree and beheld the Bladesinger's Keep

Megilindar Nost a gem of Elven architecture, a slender graceful monument that was a song in itself. Elessarae continued to run, right up the the door and she opened the scroll to revealed the seal the the guards at the threshold of the Keep.

"I was summonsed," was all she said.

She had come far since that fateful day just after the sixteenth anniversary of her birth. Alyssia thought about all the different events that had brought her to this point in her life. The death of her betrothed over three years ago had started this chain of events that had brought her much bliss and happiness. Lysora guided her on a path of goodness and instructed her in the ways of healing bodies, minds and spirits. Learning the hard way, Alyssia knew that at times you had to take life in order to protect it. Such had been the case with this village.

Looking around brought the sight of many happy villagers to her eyes, but it had been bought at a great cost. Tears began to roll down her cheeks at the sight of the witch’s head ablaze atop of the bonfire, smoking and turning to ash with the heat. Sadness at the loss of a life, even that of an evil one, plagued her. Alyssia knew deep down that she had been at fault for not being able to heal the sorceress of the pains that troubled, that she had been unable to bring peace to an aching soul. Maybe the gods would be merciful to the woman in the afterlife which she now resided.

“May Lysora grant you peace and heal your pains, dark maiden,” Alyssia whispered beneath her breath as her slender hand and fingers wrapped themselves around her oaken quarterstaff.

Many words, of thanks and good tidings, passed by her ears. These people were now able to go back to their live without worry for their children or their own lives. Why was it that she could not feel the piece within her own self at the moment? Was there something else that she could have done to save this woman? Alyssia would now never know, and this troubled her. A true servant of Lysora would have been willing to have lain down their own life for the others, but she had been full of greed at that moment in time, had not yet been willing to die. Perhaps these tenants were not true, but it was what she believed deep down.

Solitude came to Alyssia as she made her way into the woods surrounding the small village. Although she could still hear the villagers’ celebrations, it was but faint music to her ears. Kneeling down in the earth and loose leaves on her knees, she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. In and out, slow and steady, the rhythm came to her. The material world fell away from her sense of awareness and was replaced with one where she felt lighter, as if the weight of the world had been taken off of her shoulders. Red filled her vision where a brighter light came through her closed eyelids.

A grassy meadow filled with an array of wildflowers that was always the same filled her vision. It was here, in the wide open space that she was truly able to be in solitude, where she was truly able to be alone and feel at peace. Sweet scents came to her nostrils, the scents of dandelions, roses, lilies, carnations, and more. It was a place where all but the ugliest of souls could find some measure of healing to their soul. This was the realm of Lysora.

What is it that you wish, my child, the disembodied voice came to her mind. It was calm, soft, and soothing.

“Sacred mother,” Alyssia spoke, “I am troubled by recent actions. No longer am I sure if I have done the right thing.”

Lysora came into view. Her soft blue eyes came to peer into Alyssia’s as if looking deep down within the sould that rested in the shell of flesh. Waist length hair that was white as swan’s down rippled as if it was in a light breeze. Her very movements spoke of both the pain and joy that filled her being. Robes of soft silk of a very light blue hung on shoulders that not even this place could help to feel lighter. It was as if Lysora truly bore the world’s pains.

Her lips remained still as the words once again came. Fear not daughter, my hand guides you always. One can only be helped if they truly wish for the help that is brought to them. Sometimes one life must be snuffed out so that a greater number may be healed. Your actions were not formed out of greed, daughter, but a desire to live that is the basis of any sentient creature.

If you had given your life for that of the sorceress, how many more would have gone unaided? How many would die in the future for you to not be there to aid them? This, my daughter, is the answer to the question that rests in your heart. Now go and bring light unto those that will accept it.
Alyssia awoke back in the forest, aware of all the life that surrounded her. A rose full of soft, bright red petals rested in her lap. No thorns lined it stem, as was befitting of Lysora. The goddess had no thorns, had no desire to harms others that would embrace her. A new sense of calmness fell over Lysora as she made her way down to the village that had been freed of tyranny. Alyssia looked at the witch’s head in a new manner. The witch had been offered healing and had refused. No longer could she blame herself for the actions of others.

Tossing the rose into the bonfire, she spoke, “May you truly go on in peace to rest in the embrace of the goddess if she will take you.”

The sweet scent of roses filled the air, and more than one head turned to look in her direction. Tomorrow would bring another journey to her steps, would bring the start of a new path under her feet.

Geimiedefher started his day as usual in prayer to the Master Mason, Gamultindar. The Ageless Craftsman provided him with the strengths and skills to continue. His mission as a member of the Runemasters was to be the line defense against demons and elemental creatures that slumber within the earth's core. This group of clerics did this by keeping the Khordaldrum lore and knowledge alive. Today he would spend much time researching siege warfare, one of his many interests. The building of war machines fascinated him and he spent an inordinate amount of time in the library.

Today something unusual had happened. He had a visitor in the Grand Library who dropped a letter in front of him. The seal belonged to his friend Guland. He paused and read the messag. It said:

My dear Friend,

I have some urgent business that I want you to help me with. I need your knowledge and expertise to aid me in a certain matter. Can't write more now. Visit me tomorrow morning.

Best Regards,

Guland
Considering the request, Geimiedefher decided that he was obligated to assist. At any rate it gave him a reason to go see a friend. This was probably why Guland has asked for his help. There were many others with his skills. Besides, too much time spent in research was bad for a person. A request from a friend was as good a reason for taking time off from the Grand Library as the search for lost artifacts. He would see his friend in the morning.

Still holding the scroll with reverence, still waiting outside the great doors of the keep, Elessarae took the time to pick off bits of leaves and twigs the had caught in her cloak during her run in. She straightened her tunic and felt that her boots were still snug and in the correct position. She remembered back when part of her initial training to properly tie on her boots, with the warning that ill fitted and unsecure footware could be dangerous. She remembers the day when she had been in the training barracks and as she was putting on her boots she was attacked by one of the instructors. She had been forced to fight with her boots untied, which was a lesson, put on one boot and secure it beforer pulling on the other. Of course she lost, much to her embarrassment and it spurred her create a faster way to don her boots and tie them. On top of the she had soft topped boots made with some alterations.

Even though her boots felt right she did look down to check them. That brought on a smile. After the boot incident Elessarae had not just learned the proper way of booting up, but she had used her considerable mind and imagination to create an alteration to her boots. Like the overlaping leaves that went down the back of her boot, which hid a stiffening that keep her boots standing upright like hard legged riding boots when off her legs. Also the hard leather leaves that adorned the front flaps of the boots where they were tied, were sculpted and well waxed to allow the laces the slide through faster. This allow her to step into her prelaced boots, with the first part of the tie knot completed, tighten the laces with one pull, and finish the knot.

Elessarrae straighten and waited.

Gunar Goldstone was doing what a dwarf does after any battle. He was trying to exhaust the town of drink. It was all going smoothly he had drunk a lot of the town under the table but then no one else was coming to drink with him and he realized the party was drawing to a close. So he looked over at the stacks of people who had been drink with him.

“Sirs I hope you guys don’t mind but I think I will take a nap till you guys wake up then we will get back to drinking.”

With that Gunar sat back against the barrel even though he had a room he didnt want to leave these fellows alone passed out. It was the barrel he was drinking from he had lost track of what it was all he knew was it wasn’t dwarven made. He took a nap till the fellows near him woke up so they could drink again in the morning. Drinking was fun alone but it was always more fun to drink others under the table.

Elessarae looks up at the sun and measures the time. She wonders why she still waits. Until the guards open the doors she can not go in.

Maybe she got here quicker than they expected, or that other business was taking longer than expected. Other that her brows lifting and her eyes moving, there was nothing in Elessarae's bearing or demeanor to show nervousness or impatience. Her body remained relaxed, to an observer she was just standing there unaware and yet, she was ready for action. Such was the training of a Bladesinger

A figure seemed to melt from the darkness that surrounded the party field. Two, golden eyes glowed from a shadow cast face, and they darted now over the sleeping bodies of the passed out villagers. They paused a moment on the snoring body of Gunar, and the orbs narrowed into golden slits.

Draven stepped into the firelit and cast back his black hood, revealing a face as pale as snow, and proud as etched stone. Long, black dread locks poured over broad shoulders, and a pointed goatee hung from his chin. His unnatural eyes still glowed as he peered into the fire light, and hefted the massive, black Dai Katana from his shoulders and leaned on it like a staff.

Swooping, he grabbed a bottle that had rolled from his sleeping, Khord companions hand. Tearing the cork out with his teeth and spitting it into the fire, Draven drank, long and deep. He had been drinking all night. Yet he had been in solitude as well, for the most part. It's who he was. Dark and unsocial, as others would put it. Downright evil, according to others. Indeed the latter description may very well have matched him, according to the populous, had most people known anything real about him.

For example, he could still feel the freshly secured threads of his soul. He felt whole again, for a time. The witch had done the job, though her soul was the equivelent of a rotten apple. He wouldn't need to feed again for a time. He did need the bottle though.

Draven slammed it into the fire, and watched the explosion of orange sparks drift into the darkness overhead. He glanced around for his party members. None of them knew what he had done to the witch after her body had been broken. None of them would want to know, he was sure. It didn't matter if they did know. It wouldn't change anything.

He didn't see Alyssia anywhere. She certainly seemed bothered, by the death of the witch, and in his mind, ignorance was bliss. THe old hag would find no peace. Not in death. Draven spit and turned to see a dwarf approaching. He had seen the Khord earlier, and had noted his change in dress. So it wasn't surprising, when the dwarf intoduced himself and asked the service of Draven and his group. Draven had accepted the green gem a gloved hand, but had made no promises.

When the conversation was over, Draven turned back to the fire. His long trench coat wrapped around his tall frame, and he held his massive sword against his shoulder.

(Since noone else has spoken with the dwarf, I did. Anyone can have seen us talking, and can approach Draven if they want and see what went on.)

She watched him as he passed among the sleeping figures and was never quite sure what he was going to do. Mysterious was his features and slightly disturbing for her to think about. Although she knew to never truly judge a person from their physical appearance, Alyssia thought of a dark evil when she looked at him but could sense no darkness from him. Perhaps he was a troubled sould, one who needed help to pull him out of the struggle between darkness and light and show him the true path.

The servant of Lysora watched as he yanked the cork out of the bottle with his teeth in a violent manner and tilted the bottle upright as if to drain all of its contents. A look of relief washed over Draven as he finally lowered the glass container before winding back his arm and throwing it full force into the fire and creating a bigger inferno for just a moment. Such pain filled the man that Alyssia did not understand how he lived with it.

She only watched on from the edge of the forest as a Khord that she did not recognize came up and introduced himself. A few words were exchanged before the Khord handed Draven something and proceeded on. Curiousity filled Alyssia, and she made her way from her area of solitude at the edge of the forest and toward her dark companion. Maybe this is why Lysora has led her to this point, to help this one man.

"So, friend if I may use the term so, what just transpired at this point?" the question hung in the air. Alyssia truly hoped the man would tell her the truth; it would show her something of his character.

(OOC: although I have no ranks in sense motive, I will do my best in trying to discern if he lies or tells truth. No offense Val, but she does not truly trust one who seems so "dark")

Warmdale
Day after the Impaled Witch
10th day of the 7th month: Pfier
8:04 am
The feast of the evening before was hardly forgotten the next day. A round pile of coal still centered a circle of tables, that was now slowly taken apart by drowsy villagers. The few drunks that still spotted the scene were escorted home and in the local inn the adventurers awoke one by one. At the breakfast table they all met: the sober and the hung over.
Whatever their state of mind, one thing still remained present, and that was the question what to do with the green gem that the Khord merchant had given them the night before. In the Kingdom of Khordal a rich merchant named Guland Granitefingers awaited with a quest. And rich merchants often give rich rewards. What were they to do?

The answer was found swiftly. They were adventurers, even if they were for different reasons. They had defeated the Warmdale Witch, not only to do good, but also to gain something: money, a free pint, divine gratitude. All these could also be found in the service of a Khordaldrum employer. They were going to hear him.

Preparations were taken and that same afternoon the group left the small town as gloriously as they returned from the swamp. Flowers were thrown over their heads by young kids, the local band played a heroic tune and they could barely avoid another speech from the village’s elder.
As they rounded the first bend of the road, a flat silence fell over them like a bucket of water on a hangover. Gone was the fame and the warm wine. A muddy road and the first falling leaves welcomed them back to the life of heroism. In the distance the Kharolis mountains beheld the landscape, and it was there that their destination awaited.

**********************

At midday of the fourth day of their journey they had reached the mountain range that need to be crossed. A path lead up to a gap between two peaks, and though it was not an easy one, it was always better than losing days in going around the mountain. After countless bends the group suddenly halted. Upon a big rock alongside the path prowled a big beast. Its head was vaguely apelike but its body was definitely feline. Seeing the group, the creature straightened up and two massive wings flapped wide. A long tale covered in long spikes curled from behind the rock and pointed aggressively at the heroes. To their astonishment the beast began to speak:

“You manlikes dare enter Troshba’s ground without proper bites for Troshba? Troshba will bring claw and spike on you!”

Although she makes no move yet, the creature is definately ready to strike.

OOC: I have fastforwarded you guys a bit. Since I just now read Vesper’s second post, I hope you guys are willing to backpost, or otherwise forgive me for ignoring your conversation.

---

Khordal Kingdom
Absolutely not your average workday
23rd day of the 7th month: Pfier
3:48 pm
The next morning started with an itch for Geimiedefher. His feet did not follow their normal path towards the Grand Library, but missed their turn and guided him through a series of dark tunnels. Few homes lined this street, and the absence of light and sound made the cleric feel very cold. Close to the stone walls he could see the figures of several homeless Khords. Their torn clothes pulled over their twisted faces as they eyed him walking by. They shrunk back against the walls under his gaze, avoiding contact.
Soon, Geimiedefher entered one of the bigger caves of the Warrens of Caelbo. Just a few buildings away was Guland’s residence. It had been built long after his friend had started his business, a series of smithies known for their superb quality or useless ornamentation. It was built on the base of a huge stalagmite, and seemed to flow into it naturally. Geimiedefher walked under the big symbol of Guland’s merchandise that was positioned on the façade above the door. A servant opened up before the cleric could knock and led him through a marble hall into a cozy study. There he was ordered to take place in one of the leather couches that flanked the desks and bookshelves. Guland would be in any moment.

On the table in the middle of the study lay an old binding of pages. A sharp object had cut a deep gap in the pages and ruined most of the book. The leathery substance of the cover looked eerily fresh though.

---

Maelamin Kingdom
Bladesinger Keep
25th day of the 7th month: Pfier
8:21 pm
Elessarae stood before the gates of Megilindar Nost, seal ready for display and feet eager to march inwards. The guards at the closed wooden doors stood silent as statues, and gave no reply, physical or verbal. Again she stated her business and once more was she ignored. The double door that closed the ground level entry to the keep remained as motionless as its protectors.

Then her pointed ears picked up a faint change in the wind. The beginning of a melody was carried over an unseen path. Elessarae’s gaze followed the sound and remembered hearing it before. It had been the symphonic tune to a bladesong that she had witnessed weeks prior to this day. It had been during the practice of one of the senior bladesingers; a man with more years of practice then Elessarae had lived.
This version of the song was different though, as played on a flute rather than the original string trio. It came from a window, about fifteen feet above the ground.
OOC: The guards make no sign what so ever to let you get in. They don’t even look at the letter and the seal. Perhaps you’re required to do something else to come in.

The sound of the music drew her to the window and gone was her decision to wait patiently. An open window was a open portal of another sort and she had the invitation,

Elessarae moved back from the window gauging its height and the length of run she would need to attain the window sill with a running jump. She put the scroll in her left hand as her keen eyes swept the ground looking for the best footing and angle.

Like a deer suddenly startled, she took off, coming at the keep from an angle, reaching the correct speed and distance she leaped right arm, hand, and fingers upstretched. (Jump: 16+8 )

Getting a grip on the sill she let the momentum of her run carry her body up and thru the window to land lightly on her feet(Tumble: 17+10) poised and at ready with her left hand in front of her, the scroll stretched out, and seal showing.

His eyes burned against the embers of the fire, like molten gold, but his mind was elsewhere. Khordal. He’d never been there, personally; but he could withdraw one or two tales. It was a civilization, entirely beneath the earth, he had heard; and that was enough for him to dislike it, although, like any human would be, he was curious to see these grand halls, and whole cities, carved into the very bones of the earth. But why travel two weeks just to be given a mission? That, to him, hinted it wouldn’t be worth it.

Then again, he could feel the weight of the emerald, and the wealth it represented, in his pocket. It had been shaped with more skill than he had seen from any human gemcrafter. Whoever the dwarf’s “employer” was, he was bound to pay generously. After all, this gem was “Compliments”!

He could hear the soft padding of small, approaching sandaled feet. He didn’t bother turning around, but gently twisted his pointed chin beard between two fingers. Alyssia appeared beside him.

"So, friend if I may use the term so, what just transpired at this point?"

Withdrawing a flask, crafted of onyx and silver, he took a yank and glanced at her. The firelight burned in her normally white hair. She was young, and probably innocent, he decided. She had a power in her, however; and she could had a mastery over the arcane that was rarely seen. His voice was deep, and gravelly, when he spoke.

“The Khord has been sent to request the aid of a worthy team of adventurers, for his employer.”

Withdrawing the emerald, and holding it out to her in his one ungauntleted hand, which was covered in knotwork tattoos. (he will hand it to her)

“He hasn’t said what his lord wants with us. We’re supposed to meet him in Khordal.”

Draven spit once into the fire, his unnatural eyes fixed in the flames.

Three days of uneventfulness was leaving Alyssia bored as she traveled with the rest of her companions along the pathways throughout the mountain passes. The sorceress had not paid much attention to where she was going until her companions came to a stop in front of her, causing her to bump into the back of one, she wasn't quite sure which as she took a couple steps back. Alyssia looked up and saw the beast that now stood in front of her and her companions. It was something that she did not recognize from her travels.

As the beast stated its hostile intentions, Alyssia could only shake her head in sorrow. Why must it wish to do such violence. "What is it that you wish, good Troshba?"

Alyssia would think it much better if they could get past this beast without any need for violence. Just if they coud find out what it was that it wanted.

(Will use diplomacy [at a +10] to try and get past it peacefully if no one decides to provoke it to attack. If it does attack, she will have no choice but to defend her companions.)

As usual, today would be a busy one. Immediately after morning prayers, Geimiedefher headed to see his friend, Guland. They shared a common interest in smithing. Geimiedefher even had his own seleta, a craftsman’s mark is a source of great pride, He looked forward to whatever Guland had to show him The message his friend had sent had been brief and had requested a meeting on short notice. This was the reason he hurried down the streets,

He walked into Guland’s residence after a servant had opened the door for him before he could knock. He was definitely expected. He was led through a hall to a study. He was told to sit on one of the couches in the room. His eyes were drawn to book on the table. He would ask his friend about when he showed up.

Still there was no need to waste time, he would pray and meditate while he waited.

Kharolis Mountains
Troshba’s Grounds
13th day of the 7th month: Pfier
0:24 pm
“What is it you wish, good Troshba?”

Taken aback by the unexpected politeness, possibly mistaken for submissive ignorance, the beast lowered its angry stance slightly. Though her guard was not lowered, Troshba seemed to relax.

“Manlikes bring Troshba bites to fill Troshba’s belly and feed her young Troshbas. You walk her rocks, then fill her needs.”

She eyed the group with intelligent eyes, looking for a hidden offer that she missed earlier.

---

Khordal Kingdom
Granitefingers’ Residence
23rd day of the 7th month: Pfier
4:11 pm
Meditating in Guland’s study proved more difficult than Geimiedefher had expected. The books and maps around him called him silently. The Runemaster felt an aura of unrest coming from the damaged book on the centered table. He managed to find his inner peace and got drawn into the flow of energy named life, creation by some, or the thoughts of Kharox by others.

He was rudely interrupted by the opening of the door. In walked his friend Guland, red beard combed and braided carefully. He was short and chubby and wore his wealth for display in rich colours and embroidering. His deep and warm voice bellowed through the room.

“Geim, my friend! Sorry to keep you waiting.” He shook the cleric’s hand and gestured towards the table.
“I’ll cut right to the chase. One of my merchants found this tome on one of his travels. Its content are shocking if authentic. That’s where I need your expertise. I need to know if this book is real, and from the time era it should be. It describes fragments of the downfall of Chakranna through the eyes of a goblin cleric.”

---

Maelamin Kingdom
Bladesinger Keep
25th day of the 7th month: Pfier
8:29 pm
The window was high, perhaps too high to reach, but Elessarae was going to try anyway. She took a running start and flew straight at the wall. She had learned to ignore the reflex of shielding herself, and aimed her direction at the window post instead. Right before impact she pushed herself up with hands and feet and gripped the sill. With a sudden push she hurled herself into the opening and stared into a blank room. There was no fluteplayer, no furniture and only another door, shut tightly.
(OOC: the door is locked, but you can hear the music coming from the other side.)