Verridndan Kevaethdal

Ting your blade meets that of your training partners. You pirouette into the air attempting to get behind you opponent but he’s seen this move before and spins around meeting your thrust. He grabs your wrist pulling you forward while stepping to the side of you and brings his rapier to connect with your breast. That’s his third point the round is over, and you have lost. Not that this is a surprise; as you’ve never beaten your older brother at anything. Still the pain of losing yet again burns hotly in your face.

“Don’t let it get to you.” Your brother laughs, “You’ve really improved. You just have to learn to disengage your attack faster. I had the same problem when I was your age.” He spreads his wings and leaps into the air flying for home. The training ground was by necessity at the bottom of the rookeries with two ledges also dedicated. Since you only barely entered the melee academy you were not allowed to fight on the ledges. Something about not wanting you to lose your footing and fall. As you ascended out of the training area the canyon, in which the rookeries were built, grew farther apart. Your house was toward the middle of the cliff carved into the cliff face. It did not have a landing ledge like so many others, and you being a young adult it also wasn’t lavishly decorated. In fact some might call it Spartan. But today you weren’t going to your house but instead to your parents’. They had a special wizarding guest who was supposed to demonstrate a new magic to your father, a powerful wizard of his own accord, and you were expected o be there to greet him. So diligently you set off.

Unlike your own home, your parents house was very lavishly decorated. As you landed upon their ledge your greeted with a carpet made from lion’s fur. The first chamber was well hollowed and dominated by a large aspen table currently being set by your mother with well smoked fish your father presumably caught earlier in the day. The chairs were made of oak and custom carved for your father allowing comfortable sitting even with the wings. Your father entered wearing his customary sky blue robes and standing all of six foot despite being nearly 300 years old. He was currently speaking to one of the premier wizards in all of Faerun, Hinkley Harper.

“It’s really quite a remarkable spell, I assure you.” Hinkley was saying. “If you would just let me demonstrate it for you…”

“No that’s quite alright. “ Your father responds with a small smile. It was common knowledge that unless you’ve taken every precaution don’t let a Harper demonstrate his ‘remarkable spell.’ “We’ll get to the demonstration in due time after I have inscribed a containment circle.”

“Containment circle, bah. Unnecessary precaution.” Hinkley said as he grabbed a pack from the floor. You recognize this pack as your hunting gear. “You just sprinkle this dust on it and say Hoowoo Impoo.” He demonstrates.

“Hinkley no!” Your father leaps for the pack and a bright flash later…

You wake in the middle of a well worn road that seems to weave through a forest, or perhaps as you can see the path outside of both ends of the forest, a grove. The path just ahead of you leads to a village maybe a mile down the road. The path behind you leads off into the mountains. At your feet is your hunting pack and much to your relief you seem to still be dressed in your training garments. The relief quickly dies as you realize you have no idea where you are.

The mountain wind is cold. Colder than normal, and has been for a week now. Its as though the heat and warmth of life was being sucked into a vacuum of deathly chills. The wind wasn’t the only thing that hinted at something unnatural. Lately the mountains had been bare of wildlife. You haven’t seen an animal worth eating for about four days. Your reminded of this by the grumbling of your stomach as you approach the mountains base. At first you thought little of the disappearances after all winter was coming and many creatures hibernated, but the lack of animal life wasn’t all that had changed. Sometimes at night you could hear a clumsy creature or maybe a few clumsy creatures tearing through the woods. You have on more than one occasion attempted to discover the source of the disturbance but seen nothing. Until two nights ago. While hunting, hoping for some night game, you heard the din as the creatures crashed through the undergrowth. Silently you crept upon them hoping they were edible, but to your horror and dismay they were the walking dead. The mountains were no longer the home you had come to know. There were about twenty undead crashing through the trees, too many to take on alone. Your first thought was to alert and maybe receive aid from the dwarves, but upon reaching their halls last night you discovered them closed the entrance barred and no one answered your banging on the door. You may have alerted fellow druids but as winter approached they usually became more reserved and less tolerant of others, so you decided to head into town perhaps to gain aid but definitely to gain supplies. Perhaps if you wait the menace out it is simply passing through. In any case you notice that life is a little more abundant the closer to town you get as birds flit from tree to tree along the path to town. Stretching before you is a road you haven’t taken in a long while and had hoped to never take again but for tough times. As the path evens out from the steepness of the mountain's base so do the woods end except for a patch or two along the way. Krichton is set in a meadow along a stream that came from the mountain. The path you currently walk on runs fairly parallel to the stream. As far as you can see you are one of a handful of travelers that are walking at various different parts of the path.

Leaving is always hard. A lesson you have never had to learn until this point, but you are grown and a man must make his own way in the world. Your life up to today was relatively carefree as a child’s usually is. The Paladins of Beltan were strict but kindly examples of the human race and you are very aware from the one expedition you made into Locksley once that not all humans were as accepting. However accepted or not it was time to move on. Beltan it seems had not accepted you into his order as you displayed non of the power that even he newest of Beltan’s knights displayed. Still even if Beltan would not have you the greatest of the dragons Bahamut’s blood flowed through your veins and with the training of your father Sir Ulric you weren’t entering the world without skill of blade or strength of heart. You finished packing your handful of belongings, clothes mostly, into your baackpack (a gift from one of the other knights.) As you turned to leave in the wee hours of the morning hoping your father was still asleep you ren’t surprised to find him leaning in the doorframe.


“I know you must leave and so will not keep you from it.” Ulric says as he smiles proudly on you. Even through he smile you can tell that he spent the last few hours crying. Not that he would admit it anymore hn you would admit that you had spent the me hours in the same way. “I’ve come to share the traveler’s cup with you and to give you my present.” He opens a little box and pulls forth two daggers. Their hilt is engraved with the scales of balance that mark them as the possession of one of Beltan’s followers. Their blades are sharp and glisten with Ulric’s tears. “These dagger’s have saved my life more than once and it is my hope that they will save yours as well.” You take the daggers gingerly trading them with the kitchen knives you meant to take. “Now come let us drink and send you on your way. If I may give you one last bit of advice and guidance perhaps the best place to go from here is Krichton it‘s about a fortnight to the east of here. It is a traveler’s town and so may be more accepting of your uniqueness. And it may have some one willing to hire you. “ He fills your cup with the water from the Abbey’s well and hands it to you, then does the same for himself. “My Beltan always watch over you and keep your life balanced and just.” He drinks from his cup as you drink from yours. “God speed my son.” And with that he returns to the abbey. You gently nudge your horse to the east.

That was a little over a fortnight ago and you huddle in your cape as you approach the edge of Krichton. True to its title of a village Krichton has not built any walls. With a population nearing a thousand perhaps it should have but the town has never been under attack and so only has a small police force and no formidable defense. You are now horseless having lost it to an encounter in the last town you visited three days ago. The memory of the adventurers, who had discovered you were a kobold and convinced you were a scout for a larger force had attempted to gut you driving you out of town, was still very fresh in your mind as you approach.

The Aether stirred and something was wrong. The Wrongness of the natural world permeated he edges of the Elven wood Loklorith. It was like a contamination, a cancer that the powers of the elves could not fully hold back. Creatures that should never be patrolled the edge of the wood as if they were waiting for the corruption to spread. Silaquai sat in meditation letting her mind and her powers flow over the woods edge attemping to heal the barrier that separated Elvenkind from the rest of the world. The Great Elven Barrier was built on life energy and anyone willing to harm the lives held within was firmly shut out, but lately it seems it had begun to fail. The failure worried the Elven Council especially since it should not be. The lives that the barrier was tied o were all in perfect health, yet fail the barrier did. And around the time the barrier had begun to fail powerful undead had arisen in the woods known as the Gateway woods. It was rumored that the gates to the underworld were held in Gateway woods but seeking such gates was strictly prohibited by Council Law. Not that the immortal Elves would willingly seek the Gates as in order to pass through them one had to be dead. Still with powerful undead appearing in the woods young elves wondered if perhaps they were no longer welcome in their eons old home. Whether the youth spoke the truth or not was a matter of much debate amongst the council. What was no under debate was that something had to be done and answers had to be sought out. To seek the answers the Elven King called upon the Witch of Death Woods, a with that lived in Gateway woods. Rumor had it that she was possessed by many of the dead and while that granted her the knowledge and sight of death it also granted her the voices of the dead and drove her to insanity. Dealing with her was never safe and rarely granted the answers one sought, but desperate times. This meeting with the witch may have been safer than most but it was no more helpful. The witch had spoken of a temple for a non existent god and had proclaimed that the Elf that was not an Elf would need to help on the quest. She said that the quest would not be successful without a being that did not belong on this plane, the Elf that was not an Elf, The man that was more of nature than man, One who can steal spells, the dragonman raised of man, and the chosen of the gods to seek. Without one of these the quest would surely fail and with it the Elven people. The witch also completely out of character handed the King a spell she promised would send their delegate to a place where she could meet the needed ingredients. After much debate upon the meaning of Elf that was not an Elf it was decided that the Elven nation would rely on the Halfling Levana. Summoning her they cast the witch’s spell and sent her through the portal, without explaining why it was she hat must go only saying “there is no time good luck.”

Levana appeared in a back alleyway behind the tavern Trotting Horse. The alley smells of vomit and soured meat. Taking a quick measure of herself Levana is pleased to note that just before she was sent spiraling through the portal Silaquai had managed to attach a backpack to her back and a little money in her hands.

Trained reflexes jolt Verridndan into action. A quick flap of pinions and he was already standing and moving towards his gear. Honed muscles flexes and his lunges pumped air into his body as he without even thinking of it made his way to the cover of the trees. Grasping his hunting pack, his wings flowing downwards again and he was in a half run half glide. Stopping as he came into the shadows of the trees and letting his pack drop behind a tree, a long sigh escaped his pumping chest.

“Where am I?” turning left and right as he looked through the forest and back to the path he’d appeared on, “Damn Harpers and their magic. Mystra save them,” his voice musical, with a hint of an accent in it.

Brushing back his dirty blonde hair as he knelt with his brown flecked wings curling on his back. Unstrapping his hunting pack and sifting through it, checking to make sure he still had everything he’d packed. He was suppose to go on a weeks hunt with his brother after the dinner with their parents, but not know he guessed.

“Good everything is there,” standing back up and strapping his pack onto his back, its custom design allowing him still full use of his wings, his clothing and armor were all the same as well, each having special holes in the back to fit his wings.

Now what to do? All his instincts told him to hide and try and find where he was, then make his way back to his home. Verridndan Kevaethdal, was an Avariel, a winged-elf for those who weren’t educated on the true differences between his kind and their wingless cousins. Grinning, he tapped his hip and felt the familiar worn leather hilt of his rapier and laughed aloud, the sound a musical note echoing through the forest.

“A journey? An adventure? Father and brother are always talking about how they best learned about their abilities while in some dungeon or helping someone. That’s what I’ll do. Now, lets go see what this village has to offer,” with those words, he stepped out from the trees and tested his rapier to make sure it was easily retracted from its sheath and then headed towards the village with a musical note on his tongue.

"Adventure? Is this what it meant to be on an adventure?" he thought to himself as he half-limped into the village. He'd been beaten worse than that at the hands of the weapons master at the Abbey, but still, the cuts were fresh and the pain in his right leg was nagging. He knew there would always be people who didn't accept him because of his race, but it didn't make the beatings and thievery any easier. At least they hadn't gotten away with Sir Ulric's daggers, which he'd carefully stowed in a pocket in his now-soiled cloak.

He saw the inn from a distance and thought it might be a good place to rest up from the beating he took and have a pint. He didn't know, however, how the local ale was, as he was accustomed to only having the ale brewed by the paladins of Beltan. Their ale was dark and strong, and it took him the longest time to get used to it. Pulling his cloak around him to disguise his appearance, not wanting to upset a local shopkeep or anything, he made his way into the Trotting Horse.

The tavern was small, but homey, in its own way. There were few patrons, and Hammer was able to seat himself at a table in a dark corner. He was a warrior at heart, but knew he couldn't face a horde of misguided guards with just his wits and daggers. He thought darkly to himself that the day would come when they finally recognized the name Hammer Ulric, the day when he would finally be able to take the rites of knighthood, as his adopted father had.

Be that as it may, a curvaceous tavern girl came up to him, tossing her auburn hair and asked what he would like to drink.
"
"Ale, please, the house special," he said in his raspy voice.

The girl looked at him strangely, then smiled and said, "One Horseman's Ale, coming right up!"

The hood bounced as he nodded his acknowlegement and placed a coin on the table in payment. He carefully adjusted the hood of his cloak, wary not to reveal his scaly, clawed hands. The last thing he was in the mood for was another beating. At least a good pint would clear his head, warm him up, and dull his wounds, at least for the time.

Hammer had begun to smoke the table's pipe as the girl brought him his ale in a wooden flagon. He smoked and drank in quiet, his brooding mood slowly opening up to curiousity and peace as he began to people-watch, peering out from beneath the hood with bright green eyes that matched his scales, in the tavern.

"My child, my child awaken." The sweet voice of Maer your goddess sings in your ears. Your eyes snap open and you look around your room quickly seeing the form of your beloved goddess. "My child I must ask a favor of you. There is an artifact I have need of and you must retrieve it for me." The image Maer shimmers and fades without telling you where the artifact is. The image of a pyramid flashes through your mind followed quickly by the image of scroll. You know that the scroll is what you must seek and the pyramid is where you will find it. Leaving your warm comfortable bed you begin to pack. It isn’t until your half done with your packing that the zeal of having personally seen your goddess begins to die down and thoughts like What am I doing? Where am I going? Where do I start begin to flutter through your mind. Through many years of being cloistered in the Abbey you have learned that there is really only one place to go when you have questions without answers. The Library. And so with a prayer to Maer for guidance you head to the Library of Durkon, the world’s most extensive source of knowledge. The only clues you have are that your looking for a pyramid that would hold sacred scrolls. So you begin to search through the section on sacred temples, but none of the temples you find written in these ancient texts seem to match the one your looking for. With careful consideration you begin to search the section on mage towers in hopes of discovering one to match your pyramid, and still no luck. Finally you decide to share your vision with one of the Holy Mothers whom have guided you through your training a disciple of Maer.

“Well then my child we shall consult the Seer to see where you must begin.” The Holy Mother smiles upon you with reverence as if you were an auction piece she just spent a fortune on. Not many were graced with visions of Maer, but since those who relieved the honor were humble and honest folk the churches policy was to believe a visionary and lend whatever aid they could. The Holy Mother led you down a corridor you had until now avoided. It was dark and there were arcane sigils scrawled into the walls. This part of the abbey belonged to the Mages and it was taught to respect a mage’s power and temper but to remember that if your right Maer is more powerful than even the Emperor Mage and will protect you. The balance between any church and the Mages was tenuous at best. The sigils lit the way farther down the corridor as the Holy Mother led, and you cautiously followed. The sigils led to a door made of bone framed in even more sigils that burned a bright orange. With a prayer to Maer the Holy Mother touched the top sigil and the door opened.

“I have foreseen your coming.” An old man said as he sat at a table with three glasses of wine poured. “Yours is a mission most important, though I do not know of all the details. Your journey begins in Krichton where you will meet the heroes you must take with you and where you will find the first clue to your lost artifact. Come now that I have given you what you seek and give a lonely old man some company.”

And so you find yourself outside the Trotting Horse with 600 gold given from the abbey to hire the ‘heroes’ and buy the supplies you will need for your journey, and without any idea of what the first clue is only that ‘you will know it when you see it.’ And to make matters worse it’s beginning to rain.

Undead, in my mountains? Isn't that just bloody brilliant. The cold wind blew across his numb face. and this weather to top it off, aint I just the luckiest man alive. Bravish was used to the mountain weather but this was worse than usual. Usually the weather would let up long enough to allow him to regain his strength. But it hadn't let up a bit all week. To make it worse he was quite certain that the weather was still on the decline, continually getting windier and colder. At first he thought that this was the reason for the lack of wildlife but after seeing the undead he began to wonder more about the weather. He was beginnning to doubt about whether or not it was natural.

As Druids go Bravish never considered himself all that 'one with nature'. It was more of a give take relationship between them. He would use the mountains to help him survive and in return anyone who felt like harming it would have him to answer to. He didn't defend it out of some sense of duty, he was completely content in knowing that everything he did was out of self interest. He loved the mountains, the crisp air, the panoramic views and the constant fight for survival. If anyone wished to try and take it from him, they were free to try. Just don't blame him if their blood stains the snow. Considering hes never felt anything from the forest before, the pain he felt emanating from it made him very nervous. But first came food.

Whenever possible he avoided going to town. He couldn't stand the townsfolk, they always seemed to be complaining about some little problem. Everything is practically given to them and they still manage to find issue with it. This was only the second time hes visited, the first was for directions. As he walked into town he avoided eye contact. If he remembered anything about his last visit it was the small talk. You give them the slightest opportunity and they will babble on forever about whatever they feel will break the ice. This would have been much easier if he was less noticeable. He stood at 6'8" making him tower above the ordinary man. His hair was a dark brown and obviously hadn't been cut in several months, it was draped in front of his face and went down to his shoulders in the back, he also had a short but messy beard covering a fair portion of his lower face. His eyes were barely visible beneath his hair. His clothes were made of bear hide and he carried a shield made of bones and wood on his back alongside an ordinary quarterstaff. A small man tried to force in some small talk but Bravish gave him no notice as he continued along the path. He then suddenly stopped in his tracks. He had no idea where he could buy food. Realizing he would have to ask someone about it he pressed his hand against his face and groaned. The small talk would be unavoidable.

"But mommy what's going on?" the little halfling that thought she was a elf asks her mentor and the person that had raised her since she was a child.
"There's no time little one." was the only answer she got as she was lead to the portal.
"Alennna forena cursa." the death witch chanted just before the little halfling steped up to the gate.
"But mommy I'm scared." Levanna said as she got close to the portal.
"It's alright little one you will be well taken care of...." before Levanna's mentor could say any thing else the portal pulled Levanna through. Levanna had to close her eyes as she felt her world swival around her. When it was over she held her head between her legs and vomited.
Levanna held her head up for a second to take in the surrondings she noticed a tavern and she remembered that her mentor had sliped her some coins in the mist of her confussion. She headed to the tavern and asked the bartender if he had seen a dragon man and a nature man the bartender said that he didn't know of any dragon man but that the nature man was due to visit soon though he didn't come very often so don't count your chickens just yet. So Levaana ordered some elven wine which she had learned over her years with the elves to like. paid the nessasary copper peices and waited.

My child…
Marianna’s lithe form lay still on the firm bed, only the slight movement of her chest giving sign to her sleeping form.

My child! Awaken!
The young woman took in a sudden gasp of air as her eyes snapped open, and she would have likely gone back to sleep if her sparse room had not been bathed in beautiful, holy light. Turning over and sitting up straight, Marianna found herself face to face with her Beloved. The light cast from her goddess seemed brighter than the sun itself, yet the girl (for Marianna was little more than that) found herself able to look directly into it without going blind.

A heartbeat after realizing whose presence she was in, Marianna was on her knees in worship. “Oh, my dear Lady!” she exclaimed in adoration.

“My child,” Maer spoke tenderly to her faithful priestess, gently lifting her face so that she could look into the girl’s eyes once more. “I must ask a favor of you.”

“Ask, my Lady,” Marianna replied, trembling a little. “For your handmaiden is willing.”

Maer smiled softly. “There is an artifact I have need of. And you must retrieve it for me."

Maer stepped back away from Marianna and her image began to fade away into the glorious light. In her place, the image of a pyramid appeared, quickly replaced by the image of a scroll. And then… the holy light simply faded away, and Marianna was left alone in the darkness of her sparse room. There was an ache within her spirit as she knew she had been in the presence of her goddess, and it was likely to be the most beautiful experience of her entire life. There had been nothing so beautiful before, and there would likely be none after.

And Marianna wept…

She wept, tears of utter joy that she should be so blessed to have been chosen from amongst her order for such mission mixed with tears that longed to once again be in such sweet communion with her Beloved.

Without a doubt, the girl knew that the scroll was the desired artifact of her mistress, and that Maer had given her specific insight into where she would find it – the pyramid. Rising from the floor, she began to gather her few belongings – her journal and her writing kit; her knitted blanket and her flute; her pouch of healing herbs and salves… It wasn’t until she put in her most prized possession – the ever-bright crystal of Maer, a symbol of her order – that the questions began to arise… What are you doing, girl? You don’t even know where you’re going? Do you even know where to begin? Doubt taunted her.

“Be still!” Marianna scolded herself. “You know where to go when you need to find answers.”

The Library.
Pulling the drawstrings of her pack together, Marianna said a simple prayer to her Lady as see picked up her staff and headed out of her room. “Lady of the Light, let every step I take lead closer to the desires of your heart.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++

The Library of Durkon – Marianna had spent much of her last five years in this place. With reverent familiarity, the young priestess made her search on the only clues she had been given… pyramids with sacred scrolls. But, it seemed her own strength and intelligence would not be enough this day for, though she searched through texts on sacred temples and mage towers, Marianna found none that looked similar to the image Maer had impressed upon her mind.

Frustrated and agitated at her inability, Doubt once again came to taunt her. Why can’t you find it? The Lady showed you clearly what you needed to look for. And yet, here you are, unable to see what should be plain.
“Be still.” Marianna commanded her inner thoughts

Perhaps you are not up for the task? Perhaps Maer should look to someone els…
An attendant, younger than Marianna herself, interrupted her thoughts. “Can I help you find something?”

“No!” snapped Marianna. “No, I do not need…” She stopped mid-rebuke, her words caught in her throat. And then… then she laughed. Silly girl! she chided herself. Why have you let pride take hold of you? You’ve been given a vision and a sacred task. Why would you think that you must go it alone?
Turning back to the attendant, Marianna apologized, “Forgive me, dear sister. You have already helped me more than you know.”

Pushing herself away from the table at which she had been studying, the young priestess sought out Mother Elise, one of the high priestesses responsible for her discipleship and a woman known for her deep wisdom. And upon finding her, Marianna shared with her Mother the vision she had been granted, leaving out no detail.

“Well, then, my child,” Mother Elise said gently, her eyes moist with holy joy. “we shall consult the Seer to see where you must begin.” Immediately, the Holy Mother led her daughter down a corridor Marianna had long been told to avoid. Unlike most of the sacred spaces of Maer, it was dark here and arcane sigils were etched into the walls. Marianna knew better than to trifle with the mages; they were a temperamental lot with a power not given to them by the gods. She could feel Fear growing in her bones.

“Fear not,” Marianna whispered to herself. She comforted her mind with the truth that her Lady was not mortal such as these mages, and Her presence would allow the faithful to stand up to even the Emperor Mage himself if it should be required.

As they entered into the mage’s study, Mather Elise said a prayer, “May you enlighten your faithful, fair Mother.”

And Marianna concluded with, “and may your truth be revealed.”

Even as she finished her sentence, the Seer spoke. “I have foreseen your coming.”

He was an elderly man, mysterious and wizened. On his table, were three wine glasses, each filled, as though he spoke the truth and had indeed expected company. Following Mother Elise’s lead, Marianna sat down at the table with the Seer.

There was a pause as the man took a pull from his glass, savoring the taste. When he set down the glass, the Seer was all business. With a crooked finger, he pointed at Marianna, as he peered into her face with squinted eyes. “Yours is a mission most important,” he stated harshly, as though attempting to test the young priestess’ resolve. When he found Marianna unmoved, his hand went back to the glass for another drink before he continued with a more gentle tone, “Though I do not know of all the details. Your journey begins in Krichton, where you will meet the heroes you must take with you and where you will find the first clue to your lost artifact.”

Again, the Seer paused, taking another drink. “Come now,” he said with a slight smile. “I have given you what you seek. Give a lonely old man some company.”

Marianna smiled graciously at the Seer, and bowed her head. Together, the three drank together as Marianna shared her vision with the old man. After a time, the Seer abruptly stood up, with Mother Elise and Marianna following suit. “Thank you for blessing an old man with your graceful presence,” the Seer spoke gently to Marianna as he clasped her hand. “But you must not tarry any longer.” Looking to Mother Elise, he continued speaking encouragement to the girl, “I am sure the church shall provide you with what you need for your task. Now, make haste to Kritchton. And do not worry – you shall know the first clue when you see it.” He gently kissed the young priestess’ forehead before giving his blessing, “And may the Fair Lady lead you every step of the way.”

“Thank you,” Marianna spoke reverently as she bowed and exited the room

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Trotting Horse? Hmmm…
Marianna stood outside the tavern with a bit of apprehension. While the journey to Krichton had been rather uneventful, the young priestess still did not know what exactly she was looking for, nor even where to begin. The six hundred gold coins she carried did not make her burden any lighter either. The weather itself seemed to capture her mood, the clouds hiding the sun reflecting the distance Marianna felt from her Mistress.

But it was the rain that finally pushed Marianna beyond indecision, and the young woman pushed open the door. Mother of mine, light the way.
As she stepped into the tavern, Marianna pushed back her hood. The woman stood at about five and a half feet, her figure slender though not skinny. Her form was graceful, her skin fair, and her face a bit red from the cold.

Finding a table that gave her a good view of the whole room, she set her pack and staff aside, undid her cloak and hung it on the chair to dry, and finally sat down. Running a slender hand over her pinned up hair, she pushed away some of the raindrops her cloak had notprotected her from.

A serving girl approached her with a wide smile, "What can I getcha, sweetie."

"A simple meal, if you please," replied Marianna. "A warm stew, perhaps, and a bit of bread if you have it." The girl turned to leave, but Marianna continued, "And, if you have any, I believe I shall need a bed for the night, ma'am."

The girl gave Marianna a curtsy before leaving the young priestess alone again.

[OOC: Ion, not sure if I should be taking this further? I figure you'll be pushing the story along towards introductions, but if not, I can continue... well, I want to wait for the others to find their way into the tavern first, I suppose. (hurry on up, folks! it's nice in here!)

For everyone, if you want to get a sense of what I envision Marianna looking like, check out this link...

http://www.tudordressing.com/images/PRS1028_other2.jpg

Enjoy!

Ayrn ]

Dark clouds rolled across the sky as Fate reached its fickle fingers out to pluck a gentle chord bringing six souls to the not so little village of Krichton. The first to arrive was a soul unique to itself in the world of Ryall. A winged Elf pulled from a world not so close and yet not so far away.

The air shimmered as the gateway between Ryall and Faerun opened and deposited its traveller then closed. Verridndan Kevaethdal was in an almost half flight heading to cover with the pack he instinctively grabbed before he even realized the room wasn’t spinning anymore.
“Where am I?” turning left and right as he looked through the forest and back to the path he’d appeared on, “Damn Harpers and their magic. Mystra save them,” his voice musical, with a hint of an accent in it. However unbeknownst to our unique soul Mystra was too far away to hear his words. The birds twittered through the trees as he considered what recent events just occurred and what they meant.
“A journey? An adventure? Father and brother are always talking about how they best learned about their abilities while in some dungeon or helping someone. That’s what I’ll do. Now, lets go see what this village has to offer,” with those words, he stepped out from the trees and tested his rapier to make sure it was easily retracted from its sheath and then headed towards the village with a musical note on his tongue.
With his rapier loose the Avariel was ready for a rough greeting and with a song on his lips he was ready for a pleasant greeting. The greeting he received however was neither of these. As he entered the village villagers that he passed stopped in mid conversation to stare at the beautiful pride of his people, his wings. The lower class peasants that make up the majority of a village shied away from the Avariel muttering wards against curses and shielding their children. The more open minded merchants that inhabited the square simply stared. One man dressed in chain mail with leather breeches and a sword strapped to his waist stepped from the crowd in front of the Elf.
“A visitor.” The man announced his hand close to his sword hilt. “Come have a drink with me at the inn and we will discuss your predicament.” The man was eyeing the wings with an obvious look of pity.

The clouds darkened as they gathered preparing to release the moisture trapped within them and Fate plucked another note brining the second soul out of hiding and into the scene. A savage trained to be civilized by the love of murderers of his kind, Hammer Ulric limped into town largely unnoticed by those caught up in the spectacle of the foreign Elf. The dragonman limped his way into one of the few comforts that are universal, a dark frothy brew of Durkonian ale and a lively tavern room. The tavern being lively was very fortunate for this traveler as it gave the waiting beauty no time to notice the differences between Hammer and her other patrons. Smoking the tavern pipe and drinking the tavern brew Hammer began to relax and began to take notice of the other patrons. The tavern though lively was still only about a third full and seemed to mostly have the town drunks at this early afternoon hour. The tavern held six tables each seating about eight and a bar that could sit ten. The table Hammer sat at was a bit of a distance from the fireplace as the other patrons currently in the bar seemed to favor that corner. The tavern wench delivered two ales to Hammer and began to ignore him as she flirted with her ‘regulars.’

A few drops fell from the sky and Fate once again plucked a note drawing out another soul. This soul belonged to a bear of a man who preferred the company of bears over men. A man named Bravish. Bravish entered the town square a little after the spectacle of the Avariel and so as he walked the town’s streets he heard whispers, but could not make out what they were saying. As the rain fell the streets began to clear. It was well known that winter storms were not pleasant to be out in and that this had so far been a hard winter though winter had just begun. The few people caught out in the streets hurried along to either their homes or the tavern not speaking or even acknowledging any greeting given from the shopkeepers anxious to make one last sale before the business day was ruined by weather. Sighing in disgust most shopkeepers only tried one or two passerby’s before closing up shop and making their own way to their homes. As the street cleared Bravish’s stomach growled reminding him of his mission.

The dark clouds were in full storm as Fate plucked yet another note pulling from across the world a fourth soul. The Elven nation placed its hope of survival on the shoulders of one small childlike Halfling. The Halfling armed with the riddles of prophecy was sent to find her destiny and perhaps the key to her foster race’s survival. Elven Bards will always remember that the journey for the survival of their race started with vomiting in an alley. Once the Levanna regained her composure and gained a sense of her surroundings she decided to seek the heroes of her prophecy in the only logical location, the tavern. As she enters Hammer watches her approach the bartender and hears quiet clearly her ask about a nature man and a dragon man.
“Sure whatever kid they’re in here all the time” Is the response that the bartender, who is obviously more interested in the waitress than the Halfling, gives. While the flippancy of the response is obvious to an observer like Hammer it doesn’t seem to be as obvious to the Halfling who sits at the bar and orders an elven wine drops some copper on the counter and waits. Being as far from the forests of the Elves as the village is its only a surprise to Levanna when the bartender looks at her as if she’s grown a pair of wings herself and asks ‘what’s elven wine?”

The wind howls from the mountains and the rain drums in response as Fate calls forth a fifth soul. The soul of a devoted cleric of Maer is special in its own way as all falls apart should this soul be cut from Fate’s Song, as this soul is given the sacred charge of a Quest from her Goddess. Marianna, armed with cryptic riddles and her faith, arrives at the beginning of her quest when the storm begins to hit its zenith, and with the common sense that drove the villagers to their homes she enters the tavern. The tavern has in answer to the storm filled considerably to the point where only bar seats and a few seats by a huddled form tucked away from the fireplace are left. The first sight that catches Marianna’s attention however isn’t the lack of seats or the bard who recently began entertaining the guests, but instead she is drawn to the sight of a small child or perhaps a Halfling sitting at the bar staring with much concentration at the door as if she’s willing someone special to walk through it. The second thing to catch her eye was a lone table as if set just for her that had the tactical advantage of surveying the room. It was at this table that she rested.
A serving girl approached her with a wide smile, "What can I getcha, sweetie."
"A simple meal, if you please," replied Marianna. "A warm stew, perhaps, and a bit of bread if you have it." The girl turned to leave, but Marianna continued, "And, if you have any, I believe I shall need a bed for the night, ma'am."
The stew arrived with some bread and the waitress scooped up the offered money in payment. On the tray which held the stew was a simple room key.

Now a note about Krichton. Krichton is a village that until recently was like any other village in the fact that it was mostly poor. However about five years ago the two prominent kingdoms in the land signed a trade agreement that placed the trade routes going straight through Krichton which increased its fortune and population considerably, unfortunately it also increased its mortality rate. The graveyard which once held only a few family crypts had increased its population by approximately two times. This fact wouldn’t matter except currently the fresher graves were being dug up from the inside out.

As the food arrived, Marianna thanked the lass for her service. And, while she enjoyed the simple food, the music, and the sound of the villagers gathered, the priestess rehearsed the vision given to her and continued to scan the room for the "first clue".

Over the course of her meal, Marianna found that her roaming eyes continued to come back and rest on the child-like person seated at the tavern's counter, who also seemed to be waiting, looking for someone. Perhaps she is looking for her mother, the cleric thought dismissively.

And yet, even as she finished the last of her meal, Marianna found her eyes draw to this youngster at the bar. Not one to brush aside her intuition, the young woman pocketed the room key given to her, and made her way to the young child. Perhaps she is in need of some help, Marianna reasoned. And, if nothing else, I may be able to provide her with the comfort of companionship whilest she waits.
Taking the stool next to the young child, Marianna had her sight corrected -- while young, the person next to her was no human child, but one of the slighter folk. A halfling! The realization did nothing to deter the priestess of Maer, however.

Looking at the halfling, Marianna smiled warmly. "It seems that you are looking for someone. Am I right?"

[OOC: Tag TUS. I'm assuming you'll say something like "Yes", though if not I will edit what follows...]

"Do you mind if I wait with you?" Marianna asked, though she did not wait for a response. "I, too, am waiting for someone, though, I am not sure what they look like." She grinned sheepishly at the halfling. "A bit silly to be looking for someone when you don't know what you're looking for."

With a gentle, warm smile, Marianna turned the question to the halfling, "May I ask who you are looking for?"

[OOC: Again, tag TUS. I'll leave it here for now.]

As the warm aroma of the stew came wafting toward him, Hammer perked up. Then his stomach began to growl. It had been a long journey, and some stew certainly would hit the spot.

He placed his pipe back on the table and, ensuring his cloak was adequately wrapped around him, began making his way through the crowd of people to the bar.

"What'll it be, mister?" the barman asked gruffly.

"How much for some of that stew?" Hammer inquired of the man, withdrawing his purse and fingering through it for a copper or some such.

The barman told him, Hammer paid, and moments later, he was the proud recipient of some homemade stew. Beef, potatoes and carrots fair filled the bowl and the young kobold made his way back across the tavern to his table, only to see that his seat had been taken.

A bit crestfallen, he began to search for a table, and noticed a few empty stools at a table with a young woman enjoying a meal alongside a halfling. Gathering up his courage, he walked over, bowl in hand and asked, "Excuse me, are any of these seats taken? It looks like the table I was sitting at is full now."

The song was one that his mother had sang to him while he was but a child falling asleep in her arms with tiny brittle wings, it was this song that caused his heart to thump against his chest as he realized he had no idea where he was. Emotion rarely shown by one of his kind or their wingless cousins, flickered in his eyes alone before he noticed that the villagers where eyeing him. Or more importantly eyeing his wings.

He was use to a stare or two by those who weren’t very educated in the races of the world or those who had never journeyed the world itself, but this was more open stares then he was ever use to. Pulling his wings tighter against his body, as if that would hide a pair of giant wings on his back, but at least it brought him some comfort. All up and to the point right before a man who was armored and had a weapon, stepped out before him, especially with how close his hand was to that sword hilt.
“A visitor. Come have a drink with me at the inn and we will discuss your predicament,” the man spoke to him, as he motioned to the inn that was nearby.

Forest green eyes moved over the man before stopping to peer directly into the man’s eyes as Verridndan spoke, “That sounds like a pleasant idea, however I am not inclined to join someone in an town I do not know in an inn I have never visited before. Might you offer me your name good sir and I shall offer you mine, and maybe the name of this lovely village and the beautiful inn you wish to share a drink with me in?” a smile was upon his light colored lips as every word slid like silk from his tongue and past his lips like a calm stream through a broken damn. However, even as he spoke those words he was measuring how many steps, how fast he would have to push his wings and how quick he could draw his rapier if he needed to attack or defend against an attacker. Would it come to a drink or to bloodshed, only the gods knew as silence befell the two.

((Guess this would call for a diplomacy check maybe? Sorry it took me so long to post, work picked up big time this week.))

The smell of ale filled the air. It made Levanna’s nose wrinkle in disguise. She went to the bartender and asked for elven wine in which the bartender asked “what is that?”
Levanna was taken off guard for a minute, “It’s the drink that we elves drink. I guess you don’t get very many of us then.”
Turning in disgust Levanna scans the room again. Sitting in across room is a dwarf and a human stuck arm and arm in a arm wrestle. When suddenly the humans arm fell to the table.
“Got you again you pathetic little worm.” The dwarf says. Then before Levanna could notice the table went flying and the human went storming out the door.
The dwarf heaved the table back up and then challenged everyone in the inn that they couldn’t beat him. Levanna wasn’t stupid enough to accept the challenge, so instead she went to looking in the other corner of the room where it looked like there was a game of dice. Levanna quickly checked her purse and put it in a spot that she would defiantly know if she got it taken. Then Levanna noticed that a young lady apparently a cleric judging by the symbol on her chest was looking at her. Levanna didn’t remember a cleric being mentioned when she was meeting with the high council.
‘Looking at the halfling, Marianna smiled warmly. "It seems that you are looking for someone. Am I right?"‘
“Yes, I was sent here to help my people. By the way I’m Levanna Amaker from the woodlands whats your name and where are you from?” Levanna asks
"Do you mind if I wait with you?" Marianna asked, though she did not wait for a response. "I, too, am waiting for someone, though, I am not sure what they look like." She grinned sheepishly at the halfling. "A bit silly to be looking for someone when you don't know what you're looking for."
“Sure.” Levanna said with a grin
With a gentle, warm smile, Marianna turned the question to the halfling, "May I ask who you are looking for?"
“I’m looking for a nature man and a dragon man to help me find some sort of scroll. Oh I do hope that they know where it is cause I have no idea it was so confusing when my mommy sent me though the portal to here.” Levanna replies
"Excuse me, are any of these seats taken? It looks like the table I was sitting at is full now."
“Oh how rude! No these seats aren’t taken you may seat with us. This sweet young lady and I were just looking for some people maybe you have seen them. I’m looking for a dragon man and a nature man and she’s just looking for someone and doesn’t know who.”
(OOC: I hope this is better sorry it took so long had some problems to work out with my wife)