The Silver Blades

Members of The Silver Blades:
Amra Eveningfall	Ranger		Moon Elf from Waterdeep
Ersha Duithri		Enchanter	Sun Elf from Evermeet
	Silva		Ferret		Familiar to Ersha
Fleet Shree		Druid		Human from near the Golden Fields
	Sail		Snow Owl	Companion to Fleet
	Shreek		Winter Hawk	Companion to Fleet
Miklo Lightfoot	Rogue		Halfling from outside Longsaddle

Date is the 1st day of the 3rd Ride of the month of Tarsakh: or 21 Tarsakh

21 Tarsakh (day one for The Silver Blades)
	It was a cool afternoon, heading towards truly cold, when Fleet Shree made his way into the courtyard of the Wayward House Inn. The large wood and stone building, a full three stories tall, formed a sprawling “L” shape around a landscaped courtyard. Four tall trees were scattered about, promising shade during the short summer months ahead, and there was a wide-mouthed well set at the center. The sounds of horses at feeding time drifted from a dirt path that led around one leg of the Inn.
	With seeming casual nonchalance, the big druid made his way towards the open front doors, but his roving scrutiny missed little. From high above came the shrill cry of a hawk, and after a quick glance to see if he were being observed, Fleet answered with a lilting whistle, telling his companion, Shreek, that all was well. Fleet's other companion, Sail, a snowy owl, was already settled into the more heavily wooded area outside town, awaiting Fleet and Shreek's return. With a pause to take a last look around the courtyard, Fleet made his way up the stairs and into the Wayward House.
	The interior of the Inn lived up to the promise of the simple and solid exterior, comfortable and homey without any 'flash' or pretense. An attractive half-elf, perhaps in her early 100's, greeted Fleet as he neared the desk. “Hello, traveler! How may I help you?”
	“I would like to know your rates for a room and a good meal, Mistress..?” he answered.
	“Dame Riselda,” she replied with a slightly wider smile. “Our rates are reasonable, we pride ourselves on repeat business. Five silver pieces for a room for one night, and 2 silver pieces for a simple meal of stew and fresh bread, plus breakfast in the morning. Oh yes, and you can add several slices off a prime roast beef to that stew for only 3 silver more.”
	“That seems fair,” he replied as he fished in his pouch for the required coinage. “One night for now, and we'll see after that.”
	She accepted his payment, and after marking a large book on the desk, handed him a key with a scrap of leather tied to it, bearing the number “104”. “You'll find your room at the top of the stair, second on the left. It will be ready whenever you are. Dinner is serving now, so you can eat at your leisure. I fear we have no Bard performing yet, as it is still early, but there is a good fire laid in the large hearth to take the chill off. Enjoy your stay, sir!”
	With a polite “thank you” Fleet made his way into the common room, taking a seat in the half-filled room along one wall, where he had a clear view of the entire area and his back to the stone. The serving girl brought his meal almost as soon as he sat down, along with a chilled tankard of fresh milk, letting him know that ale was extra, but only two coppers a pint. While he ate the druid turned his attention to listening to the conversations around him, trying to sort out any interesting or pertinent rumors from the chaff.
	Meanwhile, two lovely young elves, Amra Eveningfall from Waterdeep and Ersha Duithri from far off Evermeet, were just entering the sprawling city. For Ersha, the town was not what she expected, being nearly free of the smells she usually associated with the few human cities she had visited; tanneries, smithies, offal, and unwashed bodies. Tall graceful trees grew unhindered, even in the center of the business district, and much of the architecture was easily identified as elven influenced, with graceful arches and decorated columns. To Amra, more well-traveled than her companion, the town was a cut above the norm for a mostly-human population, with an obvious effort extended to make it a place of beauty and not just of function. As they moved through the crowds of beings making their way home or to an inn or tavern, they both noticed that there was a fair mix of other races, with even the occasional Grugach moving among the throng. After getting directions to a good quality inn from a passing Moon Elf, the pair made their way to the Wayward House Inn.
	The proprietress stepped out from behind the desk when she saw them, greeting them warmly in Elven. “Welcome, welcome to the Wayward House! I am Dame Riselda. What can I do for you this fine spring day?”
	Smiling, Ersha replied in kind. “Greetings! I am Ersha Duithri, I've come from Evermeet, and we would like to stay the night.” Glancing about herself at the mixed clientele she continued. “I would be honored to be allowed to bring some entertainment and culture to this establishment.”
	Still pleasant, but with a slight edge to her lilting voice, the half-elf responded, “I believe you will find more culture here in Silverymoon than you can shake a stick at.”
	Looking slightly confused, Ersha asked, “Why would one wish to 'shake a stick' at culture?”
	Softening a bit, Riselda smiled and said, “Not literally, it's an expression that is common among the humans. It means that something is very plentiful.”
	Amra, growing impatient, and haughty in a way that only a 'higher-born' elf can be, asked politely, but pointedly in common, “About the rooms?”
	Bristling, the hostess, through a tight-lipped smile, responded. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable staying in one of the more….cultured, inns in town?”
	Brightening a bit, Amra asked, “Oh! Is there an Elven inn nearby?”
	“You'll find that there is no segregation here in Silverymoon, we all TRY to get along,” she replied, glaring at Amra.
	Hurriedly interrupting the budding argument, Ersha said, “I'm sure the accommodations here will be most comfortable. Your rates, good woman?”
	With a light glint in her eye, she nodded. “Yes, we have several different rooms. For a normal room the cost is one gold per night. For our slightly finer ones, it is two gold. A bowl of stew with fresh bread is two silver, and we have some sliced roast beef that can be added to your meal for an additional three silver.”
	“Do all your customers pay such inflated prices, or are these rates special for your kindred?” Amra pressed testily.
	Frowning, Riselda crossed her arms across her bosom. “I'm not inflating anything. If our prices don't suit you, then there are plenty of other inns that will take your coin.”
	Unnoticed by nearly everyone except Fleet, a small halfling had entered the inn during the heated exchange between the elves, and with a cheerful smile he tugged on Amra's purple cloak. “You shouldn't be rude to the nice lady,” he spoke in clear, but slightly accented elven. “She's only trying to help you, and she's being nice, even though you're not.”
	Though she wanted to be angry with the small fellow, his open, smiling countenance and seeming naivety took the sting out of his words, and with a sigh, Amra handed two gold pieces to the innkeeper. “One of your better rooms, if you will, and dinner also,” she added, handing over several silver pieces as well. Ersha nodded at the halfling with a smile, and passed several coins to Riselda also. “Just a simple room for me, Dame, but the food smells wonderful, and I would try your beef.”
	“Thank you, ladies,” the innkeeper said as she pocketed the money and retrieved two keys from the wall. Handing a key to Ersha, she said, “103 for you, my lady, next level up, second door on the right. And 213 for you” she passed the other key to Amra. “Third floor, all the way at the end of the hallway.” With a nod towards the rapidly filling common room, she continued. “Dinner is being served in there, if you would like to take a seat?”
	Ersha moved off into the large room, pausing to look for a suitable table. Enough people had filtered in as dinner approached that there were few tables with more than one seat available. Finally, she spotted an empty bench at a long table near the back wall, and headed in that direction. Sliding onto the bench across from Fleet, she introduced herself and settled in to wait for her companion. Amra, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, stayed near the entryway, obviously intending to listen to the exchange between the innkeeper and the young halfling.
	Turning to the small fellow who had so casually diffused the situation between the elves, Riselda smiled and asked, “And what can I do for you, small Sir?”
	The being in question, one Miklo Lightfoot, smiled broadly at her and responded, “I asked a Hin I met near the gates where the best place in town was for five square meals a day, and he told me to come here, so I guess I would like to rent a room and have supper.”
	Stroking her chin, she said, “Well, I don't know about FIVE squares a day, but our kitchen is serving from dawn to midnight, so I'm sure you'll be able to fill any empty spots whenever you feel the need.” With a glance at the glowering elf nearby, she leaned down next to Miklo and whispered quietly in his ear, “It's five silver per night, and two silver for a bowl of stew with bread. Normally roast beef slices cost an extra three silver, but for tonight you can have them for one, my young friend.”
	Thinking for a moment, Miklo whispered back, “For that three silver could I just have an extra bowl of stew?”
	Straightening, she said, “I think we can manage that.”
	“Great!” He exclaimed as he handed her a shining gold piece. Having received his change and the key to room 106, Miklo thanked his hostess and turned towards the common room.
	In a voice pitched loud enough to be certain Riselda overheard, Amra asked him in high court elven, “Would you care to join us?”
	“I would be honored!” the small fellow said. “I've seen lots of elves, but you and your friend are the prettiest ever!”
	Unable to stay agitated around such open enthusiasm, Amra finally smiled, thanked him for the compliment and led the way to where Fleet and Ersha were conversing near the hearth. Fleet, obviously answering a query as to where he had journeyed from, was saying, “...originally from a few miles southeast of the Kryptgarden Forest, but most recently I have been traveling the Silver Marches, expanding my knowledge of the ways of the druids. And you, Lady Ersha?”
	Shifting slightly on the bench to make room for Amra while Miklo sat down next to Fleet, she replied, “I've come recently from Evermeet, passing through Waterdeep where I met and have since been accompanied by Amra.”
	You've come a fair distance yourself!” The druid stood up and bowed slightly to the new arrivals. “Fleet Shree, at your service my Lady … Sir.”
	Introductions continued until they had all met and they settled in to await the serving girl, as Fleet, after placing a few pieces of meat on a scrap of cloth, finished his stew and milk. Ersha continued, “I am a student of the magic arts, and Amra has kindly consented to be my guide and protector as I journey through these lands. I hope to leave behind a bit of the High Culture of Evermeet in these wild reaches.”
	“An honorable endeavor, I'm sure,” Fleet nodded. The serving girl stopped at the table, took orders for ale and elven wine, and with a wink at Miklo assured him that Riselda had let her know about the extra helping of stew. Since it appeared there would be a bit of a wait for food and drink with the tavern area now so crowded, Fleet suggested that they should perhaps circulate about the room to get a feel for what the local news might be. The elves declined, but Miklo all but dashed to the bar where he soon learned from a farmer all there was to know about the decidedly crappy crop yield last season. Fleet overheard some much more pertinent information; a mercenary group known as the Company of the Iron Hand, led by one Oubold Manyarrows, was about to head for the north, where trouble seemed to be brewing, though no one seemed to know just what that trouble was.
	Still awaiting dinner, but with their first round of drinks consumed, the group of tentative friends looked up as an albino man in a hooded blue robe walked in, and after a conversation with the barkeep, moved to the hearth and tacked up a large scroll. Curious, the four moved to read the missive, but were a step behind a huge barbarian Uthgardt warrior, who rather effectively blocked all view of the scroll as he leaned closer to the parchment, squinting and mouthing out each word slowly to himself.
	Fleet touched the big warrior lightly on the arm and asked, “Excuse me sir, but could you possibly step just a bit to the side so others can read the scroll as well?”
	“Others read scroll when Thorgrim done reading! Any not like that meet Thorgrim's warhammer!” the huge man exclaimed, patting the head of the weapon in question slung at his side.
	Trying to be polite, Ersha offered to read the scroll to the Uthgardt, but the hulking fighter misinterpreted the gesture, rapidly becoming more agitated and angry. Amra, trying to bypass any interaction with the huge man, lifted Miklo as high as she could, hoping he would be able to read the scroll with the added height, but to no avail. When Thorgrim turned back to his painfully slow perusal of the parchment, Ersha slipped quietly into the shadows, and when no one was looking made several quick gestures as she chanted softly. Moving back up to the now confused-looking fighter, she smiled at him. With a nod he stepped slightly to the side, and said, “Would nice elf read scroll to Thorgrim?” She slipped up next to him and, rising on tiptoe, kissed him on the cheek, causing him to blush furiously.
	Speaking clearly, she read, “WANTED! Stalwart young heroes to undertake a Mission of Some Importance. Any interested parties should report to Amalthia the Green Seer. Pay to be negotiated.” With another smile at Thorgrim, she rejoined the others as they moved back to their table to await their food. Fleet, having finished his meal and a round of ale with his new friends, gathered up the meat he had saved for Shreek and Sail and excused himself. As he worked his way across the room to the stair well, he kept an eye on his new friends, a feeling of foreboding making him uneasy, and he paused on the bottom stair to watch.
	From a table across the room where a half dozen other Uthgardt warriors were sitting, a young clansman shouted loudly, “Make friends with elves now, Thorgrim? Gonna go live in tree next?”
His companions, mostly drunk, roared with laughter at his shouts.
	With a bright red blush spreading across his face, Thorgrim turned to Ersha and spoke. “They think elves soft. I show them truth.” He strode across the room to confront the young fighter, whose rude comment to a commander was a serious breach of Uthgardt 'etiquette', such as it is. Not recognizing his superior's anger, and spurred on by the laughing reaction among his confederates, the youngster yelled more insults as Thorgrim, growing angrier with every step, approached. When he was about 20 feet from Ersha, however, his steps began to slow, and he shook his head in confusion.
	Noticing that the Uthgardt was recovering from her spell, Ersha quietly whispered to Amra and Miklo, “I think it would be a very good idea if we were not so….visible for the next few minutes.” They moved towards the stairs, and though he protested that he had not yet had his supper, Miklo allowed himself to be propelled along. Thorgrim, now with a look of anger on his face, began to move towards the retreating trio, but Ersha slipped past the waiting Fleet and led them all quickly up the stairs. They paused on the landing of the second floor, and after only a moment's discussion decided that they would travel as a foursome to meet the Seer in the morning, and perhaps take on the mission together, provided they accepted it.
	Fleet suggested they should retire, but the elves and the halfling, not having gotten to eat yet, planned to return to the common room after a short wait. Fleet, only half joking, said “Now that we're all friends, please try not to get your heads bashed in, it will make it very difficult to travel together.” He then strode down the hall to his assigned room, and with the door closed and locked, threw open the window and whistled for his feathered friends. In only a moment, the small sleek hawk settled on the druid's outstretched arm, taking several of the treats offered to him. With a soft chirp, Shreek launched back out into the growing darkness and settled on a nearby rooftop. In a few minutes, there was a soft 'whoosh' of owl wings as Sail appeared to check on 'his' druid also. A few treats and whispered words later and the owl disappeared into the night, headed back to the deeper woods where he would be more comfortable.
	Miklo and the elves returned to the main room below, and quietly moved back to their table without attracting the notice of the still arguing warriors. Seated once more in the now-crowded room it wasn't long until steaming bowls of fragrant stew were placed before them, and they shared quiet tales of the road while they ate. Miklo, finally a truly happy halfling after two full bowls and the girls' leavings besides, suggested that they make another round of the room to see if they could learn anything helpful before retiring for the evening. Just as they were about to circulate, Riselda stepped up onto the raised platform in the corner of the room, and announced, “Your attention, Gentle Beings! Please welcome to the Wayward House a rare treat, a performance by the traveling troupe led by Shanrella Trueblood!” As a lithe, blond elf stepped onto the stage, Ersha noticed the serving wench give him a saucy wink, which he returned in kind. The exchange gave her just enough of a glimpse at his true self to realize that he is no “trueblood” at all, in fact, she judged him to be no more than a half-blood. Her opinion of him dropped even further when they began to perform, the sound an odd, almost discordant fusion of the hearty 'bodiness' of human music and the light delicacy of elven tunes. The crowd obviously enjoyed the sound though, clapping and stamping their feet in time, but the none of the companions are anywhere nearly as enthused.
	Leaning close to Amra, Ersha asks, “Is THIS what passes for music among the other races?”
	A look of disgust clearly written on her face, the Moon Elf responds, “Hardly! This sound is odd, even for humans, or orcs.”
	Though not happy with the entertainment, the three sit through the performer's first set, then, being careful to avoid Thorgrim's group, they pass casually through the room, listening for any useful information. Most of the gossip is now centered on the strange mission being advertised by the mysterious Seer, but a few more important tidbits emerge. It seems that there is something strange going on all about the realms. Priests, and notably one Yatuk Szvem, have been having disturbing dreams about a man in black armor and bathed in a strange green light. Despite having paid scant attention in her history classes, which she found horribly boring, Ersha recognized this recurring dream as a sure sign that the dread god Bane may be about to return.
	Miklo found a table of fellow halflings who eagerly shared with him the news that a network of tunnels had been recently discovered beneath the ruins of a castle not too far to the north. Called “The Halls Under Shadow” for some unknown reason, they are rumored to be filled with monsters, most notably Outsiders and Undead. The Hin had also heard that the first group of mercenary adventurers who actually made it out alive had emerged with as much treasure as they could pack on themselves and their horses, though they had adamantly refused to return to the castle for more. The treasure had been so extensive that, despite the danger, there had been no shortage of new groups heading in, though as yet none of those had emerged. One of the first group, reportedly now a rich but gibbering lunatic, even claimed there was a half-elf/half-demon creature leading the monstrous hordes, though few in the realms would have recognized the description of a mythal.
	The elves and the young halfling made their way out of the common area and up to their rooms before the performers began their next set, having no desire to hear more of the so-called music. With a pleasant goodnight, they agreed to meet at breakfast and each went their separate ways.

Tarsakh 22 (day two for The Silver Blades)
	Rising well before dawn, Miklo reached the common room only to find it empty the next morning. Following his sensitive nose, he quickly found the large kitchen, where his open and friendly personality won him some cold meat slices from the night before, which he nibbled on back in the main room while waiting for the hot food to be prepared. Fleet soon joined the small fellow, and by the time fresh eggs, bread and porridge are being served Amra arrived as well. The elf and the halfling fill the druid in on all the things they learned the evening before, including the less than stellar performance by Shanrella not-so Trueblood.
	Nearly an hour passed before Ersha joined them, but she finished her meal quickly, and they were soon on their way to the abode of Amalthia, following the simple directions Riselda gave them. As they neared their destination, the group is amazed to see a tremendous arching bridge, with open latticework, flying buttresses and soaring towers of what looks like spun glass, obviously the work of High Elven magic. Finally they arrived at their destination, a huge sprawling blueleaf tree, with a house not so much built onto the tree as grown into it.
	Climbing the winding staircase, Fleet rounded a corner to find himself face to face with a rainbow-winged miniature dragon with a bright, ruby hued body. Amra pushed past Fleet and ordered the little dragon to take them to Amalthia.
	His voice dripping with sarcasm, the dragon replied, “She knows you're here, duh! She's a SE-ER! Ya get it?”
	Fleet tried to be more diplomatic, “Would you be so kind as to convey our greetings to Amalthia, then?”
	“You want her greeted, greet her yourself!” The creature snapped, eyes seeming to spin with agitation.
	“Lead on then, dragon,” Amra prompted.
	“Isn't in my job description,” he responds, landing on the railing near the group.
	Growing impatient and quite a bit angry, Amra hisses through clenched teeth, “Your master posted….”
	“HEY!” the dragon interrupts. “I'm a Fairy Dragon, I'm not anybody's PET! I'm a companion, you know? Her best friend, confidant, Aide de Camp.”
	Miklo pushes past Amra, and, whether from inspiration or innocence, tells the creature, “You're beautiful! What's your name?”
	“Phausildor, the Fairy Dragon. What's yours, shrimp?”
	Ignoring the insult the halfling replies, “Miklo Lightfoot.” Rummaging in his pouch, he asks Phausildor, “Would you like a mint?”
	“Mints! Mints! Those are my favorite!!!” The little dragon purrs like a kitten as he sails the short distance from the railing to Miklo's shoulder, wrapping his long tail loosely around the halfling's neck. Pointing up the stairs with the spade-shaped tip, he says, “Lead on, friend Miklo. Amalthia is that way.”
	The other three stand in silence for a moment watching the halfling and purring dragon move up the stairs, then with a shared sigh and chuckle, they follow the pair, coming at last to a large arched doorway. Passing through into a grand foyer, Phausildor pointed out a large table that he “supervised” the positioning of. Miklo and the dragon launched into a long conversation regarding the merits of the placement, with Miklo agreeing with Phausi, as he now calls the creature, that the table would have been horribly out of synch with the rest of the room had it been left a foot to the right where Amalthia wanted it. As they listen to the complicated exchange, none of the others are quite sure whether Miklo means everything he is saying to the Fairy Dragon or if he's just stroking the creature's ego, but whatever he is doing the dragon seems quite willing to help them now, flying off deeper into the house once the table discussion has ended.
	In a few minutes, a tall, graceful elven woman in a diaphanous green gown sweeps into the room. “Welcome to my home,” she says, smiling. “I am Amalthia, The Green Seer, though I'm sure you're aware of that.” The rest of the introductions are quickly made, and upon learning that Ersha hails from Evermeet, the Seer asks, “How goes life in Evermeet? I spent my youth there, so long ago it seems sometimes.”
	“It goes as it ever goes in Evermeet,” Ersha responds with a formal bow.
	“We're here about the note you posted in the Wayward House,” Fleet says. “We may be interested.”
	“Ah, then I must ask you to follow me to a more secure location,” Amalthia replies. “This way please.” The Seer leads the way through an open doorway, and as they cross the threshold there is a strange, lurching sensation, and their next step lands in a spacious garden, obviously at the top of the huge blueleaf tree. Gesturing to several seats growing up out of the floor, Amalthia invites them all to be seated while she takes a moment to check her privacy wards. As they settle into the chairs, the wood adjusts itself to each person, making them comfortable and even lifting Miklo a short ways up, placing him at eye level with the others.
	“It's so nice to feel truly elven comforts!” Amra exclaims.
	Amalthia smiles at her, “There is a certain charm to the ways of the humans also, child.” Amra blushes heavily, but before she can respond Amalthia turns to Fleet. “So, your surname is Shree, eh? Are you at all related to one Darkeye Shree?”
	“Yes!” Fleet leans forward and smiles, the first bit of animation to his stony visage his new friends have ever seen lighting his face. “He was my father. I had my early training as a druid from him, and then completed my apprenticeship with Elhan.”
	“Ahhh,” Amalthia smiles and closes her eyes, nodding slowly. “Yes, the Elder Druid Elhan. I have not seen him in years. We must speak of certain … things … at a later date, Fleet.” Turning her attention to the entire group, her smile vanishes and a stern tone enters her voice. “As to the mission. A former apprentice of mine has ventured out into the world to make his own way. He keeps track of the goings-on in the Silver Marches for me, and sends word regularly. However, I have heard nothing from him since before last year's first snow. At first I was not overly worried, assuming that when the cold broke this spring he would contact me, but there has still been no word from him. I am getting very concerned for his safety, and would like to know if he is alright.”
	Fleet spoke up, “Pardon me, but wouldn't that sort of information rightly be within a seer's domain?”
	Sighing deeply, she says, “Yes, but not when the subject is another mage. He has protection from being spied upon, and even I cannot penetrate his barriers, or worse yet, find him if he has passed from this life.”
	“What was his last know location?” Ersha asks.
	“He has been growing steadily more powerful, and has built a tower for himself four or five days ride north of the Nether Mountains. Ilmarthen has never before been this long in between contacts.” Looking down at her hands, then back up at each one individually, she finally asks, “Well, are you interested in helping me?”
	Fleet, having grown accustomed to bartering in his travels, speaks up before the others can agree, “That all depends on what you are offering for this mission. To this point there has been no mention of payment.”
	“I am willing to pay 100 gold per person, plus credit at the market to purchase a reasonable amount of supplies.”
	Fleet sits back and turns slightly, draping one arm casually over the seat back. “I wouldn't be comfortable undertaking such a long mission for less than, oh, say, 150 gold each.”
	“It's a straightforward job, no real hazards that I can foresee, just find out if he's alright and return to me with his news. One hundred gold is more than fair for that simple a task.” Far from appearing angry or upset at Fleet's haggling, Amalthia appears to be enjoying the banter.
	“125 then,” he tries once more.
	“I think not. 100. Take it or leave it, there will certainly be other adventurers interested in the job.”
	Ersha, wanting to be certain that other possible contingencies would be covered, asks, “What if he's not there? Do you want us to track him down and discover what happened to him?”
	Amalthia frowns slightly, “Hmmmm, I guess I never considered the possibility that he would not be at or near his tower.” She spends a moment thinking, then nods sharply. “Yes, deliver the message that I am concerned about him. Go to his tower and tell him to contact me, or find him if he's not there. Should you have to travel beyond his tower, but fail to locate him I will add 25 gold per person upon your return. If you do find him then I will pay an additional five gold per day that you must travel beyond his tower. In any event, unless you have a solid trail to follow, return to me after 4 tendays with whatever news you have.”
	“And what if we have to deal with major problems to locate him?” Ersha enquires.
	“I cannot set a pay rate on what we do not know will happen. Though scrying Ilmarthen never works, I can usually see events that are related to him. For some reason I can see nothing when I turn my attention towards his tower, and that bothers me greatly. I will promise this much, when you return we will review what you have had to do to complete the mission, and I will pay you fairly for your efforts. Do you need a few moments to discuss this among yourselves?” She looks from one to another of the friends.
	The four exchange a quick glance, and all give a nod of assent. Fleet says slowly, “No, Lady Amalthia, I think we're in agreement. We'll take your offer, and because of your reputation we will assume that you will treat us fairly upon our return.” The big druid stands and offers her his hand, which she clasps firmly.
	“How soon can you leave?” Amalthia asks as she beckons Phausildor to her side. The small dragon alights gently on her lap, listens as she whispers to him, then flies off and disappears through the portal doorway.
	“It should only take us a few hours to be ready to travel,” Fleet says as he sits back down. “I cannot speak for the others, but I know my gear is packed, and I would only need to purchase a steed, as I have traveled thus far on foot.”
	“I have a mule!” Miklo pipes up eagerly. “I have to pack, but I bet I can be done really fast.”
	Amra and Ersha exchange a glance, then Amra says, “We need supplies for the trail, but we too are packed and ready, though we also will needs good mounts.”
	“Excellent!” Amalthia exclaims as Phausildor flies back into the garden, a small pouch clutched in his talons. Dropping it into the Seer's hands, he soars back over to his perch on Miklo's shoulder, begging for just one more mint.
	Amalthia extends the purse to Fleet. “You will find 200 gold in this. I will have the remainder of your pay when you return, hopefully with good news about Ilmarthen. See Jakandiir in the market, and tell him I said to charge what you need to my account. He'll be aware of your coming before you get there, and he should be able to supply all you may need, though you will have to purchase horses for yourselves.
	“You will have to travel to Auvindale. Once there you will find a rough track leading to his tower, any of the residents there should be able to direct you to it. Find my friend Ilmarthen, discover what has happened to him, and return as soon as you might with the news.” For the first time Amalthia looks worried. “Though I cannot See, I have a very bad feeling about this. Please, be careful out there.”
	Having gotten directions to Jakandiir's establishment, the four new friends return to the Wayward Inn to collect their gear and Miklo's little paint mule. After picking up supplies from Jakandiir they get directions from him to a reputable horse trader. The friends are not happy to find that there is a decided shortage of good horses available, with only two fit for any kind of prolonged effort in the entire string the dealer has to offer. After a bit of discussion, they purchase a tall black stallion with four white stockings and a sturdy bay gelding with long, clean legs. The dealer happily throws in a small roan pony mare for Miklo, since she has been nothing short of an escape artist since he took her in trade, having to be tracked down nearly every morning. The elves, both being slight of build will ride double on the stallion, while Fleet takes the big gelding for himself. After purchasing tack, they load as much as possible on Miklo's little mule, Trouble, including most of the halfling's gear in an overstuffed backpack, his small tent, and a good portion of their rations.
	Heading out onto the north road, Fleet's two aerial companions swiftly join them, with Shreek returning to the skies high overhead, keeping a watchful eye. Normally Trouble can be difficult to hurry along, but with Miklo's new riding pony Stacia, which is elven for Star, in front of him Trouble seems to actually enjoy following her down the roadway. As they move northwards gray clouds begin to form overhead, and though the day is still quite pleasantly warm, a chilly breeze begins to blow. As a heavy overcast rolls in it becomes apparent that a storm is coming, and before noon a light drizzle begins to fall. Cresting one of the many slightly rolling hills they are passing through, they see a stand of trees away to the west.
	Suddenly, a howl splits the heavy air, catching everyone's attention. The first howl is answered by another, then yet another, and with a piercing whistle Shreek drops from the sky to land on Fleet's shoulder, chirping urgently at the druid. A moment later a running wolf tops the hill directly in front of them. Two more come into view a moment later, and within seconds ten hard-running canine figures are swiftly closing the distance between themselves and the group.
	Sending Shreek back into the air along with Sail, Fleet yells, “Make for the trees!” and spurs the bay gelding into a gallop. The black stallion sprints past Fleet with the girls urging him on, but it is apparent in only a few strides that the ponies will not be able to keep up and will soon be overrun. Over Miklo's heartrending protests, Fleet snags Miklo's pack from Trouble's pack saddle and cuts the mule's lead. Instantly, the painted mule sprints off at nearly right angles to the company, and the wolf pack splits, with five of them closing the gap on the hard-running equine. Grabbing Miklo out of Stacia's saddle, Fleet sets the halfling behind him on his gelding, and they quickly resume their flight for the cover of the trees. For a short while, unburdened by a rider, Stacia manages to stay with the horses, but before long she begins to drop back. From a distance, the panicked braying of the pony mule is suddenly cut off, and only a few moments later Stacia's screams of terror as she is pulled down by the remaining wolves is similarly cut short. Fleet's firm grip on Miklo is all the keeps the nearly hysterical, sobbing Hin on top of the horse, and no one in the company is unaffected by his grief at losing Trouble.
	After a long slow ride through the heavy growth under the trees, they finally emerge from the woods. Riding to the top of a rise, they spot the road not too far distant to the east, and are soon traveling north once more. No sooner do they reach the roadway, than the gathering storm breaks in its full fury, but luckily Amra spots a cave opening with a narrow path leading to it, and they quickly take shelter from the winds and rain. While they wait, Miklo tells the others all about the painted mule he had raised, and they learn quite a bit more about the halfling's family, upbringing, and multiple pets than they ever really wanted to know. By the time he winds down though, it is obvious that talking about Trouble has eased his pain.
	Nearly an hour after finding the cave, the storm finally passes, and with half their animals and equipment gone, they resume their trek. Before they get very far though, another heavy storm blows in, and with no cover to be had this time, they are forced to endure the lashing rains and high winds. This storm breaks at last also, and the company, now thoroughly soaked and miserable, make their way along the road.
	Just before sunset, they top a rise to see a small hamlet behind palisade walls in the valley below them. Three larger buildings within a cluster of perhaps a dozen homes are huddled together around a central well. Fleet, unsure of the welcome his companions may receive inside the town, sends Shreek and Sail into a heavy patch of woods nearby, telling them to hunt and rest and watch for them in the morning. Passing through the gate set into the thick wooden walls, they see a few dwarves, quite a number of humans, and a single gnome. Questioning a passerby for the nearest inn, the answer is far from encouraging.
	“Only place 'round here that you could even half-assed call an 'inn', and that would be Lucky Highfellow's tavern.” Pausing to hauk and spit, the man continues, “He's got a couple'a beds upstairs, if that's what chew wants to call 'em.”
	Amra tosses the man a silver piece and thanks him for his trouble, and they make their way to what looks like an oversized log cabin, with an open door from which waft the sounds of laughter and the clink of glasses, along with a smell that can only be described as a stench. With no stable apparent they loosen the cinches on the tired horses, replacing their bridles with stout halters and, after tying them within reach of a large filled trough give them each a scoop of grain from their heavily depleted supplies.
	Passing through the doorway, the smell intensifies, and they have a quickly whispered debate over the merits of camping in the wilderness with the wolves and without tents versus braving the filth of the tavern. The tavern wins, barely, but mostly because it is warm and dry. Through the smoky haze the friends can see that the bar is populated mainly by humans, apparently trappers or miners with a few armed men scattered among them. Behind the slab of wood set on sawhorses that passes for the bar stands a grizzled and tough looking halfling, with three scars crossing his decidedly unattractive face. The way each line of scar tissue passes near his throat leaves little doubt as to where the name 'Lucky' came from.
	Miklo greets the fellow in halfling, but the gruff proprietor is not impressed, and after only a few halfhearted attempts at haggling, they settle on one silver apiece for a sleeping mat upstairs, and another silver for a meal.  Looking about the place, Fleet and Amra decline the food, assuming that dry trail rations will be tastier, and probably safer, too, and ascend the rickety stairs to the upper floor. Miklo and Ersha order a bowl of what can only loosely be called stew, mostly water with a few stringy pieces of unidentifiable meat and bits of onion and cabbage. After only a few bites Ersha retires also, and even Miklo gives up on the tasteless concoction before eating even half of his portion. Too tired and depressed to even work the room for rumors, he heads to the large single room on the upper level.
	In true elven fashion, Amra has stripped to bare skin, and is hanging her things from any little nail or spike she can find to let them dry. Ersha quickly follows suit, much to the awe and wonder of little Miklo, who has never seen anything even close to what is being so casually displayed right in front of him. Diving into the soiled bedding on the floor mat, he quickly pulls the covers up over his eyes, but his curiosity gets the better of him, and he can't help peeking at Amra as she prepares for sleep.
	Noticing his wide-eyed stare, she comments, “Ah yes, I forget that not everyone is used to being honest and open. Like what you see there Miklo?”
	Ducking under the covers once more, his muffled voice squeaks out, “You're so awfully pretty, Amra. I didn't mean to stare, it's just…..just…..I mean…..I've never...”
	“Go to sleep,” She tells him firmly. “You're eyes'll pop out of your head, and we'll have to spend days trying to find a cleric to put them back.” Smiling, she slips between the dirty covers on her own pallet, risking the vermin that surely reside there for the sake of being warm for a while.
	Ersha, trying to come up with a solution to the problem of drying her clothing, decides to try a short burst of lightning, hoping the electrical charge will evaporate the water. Thankfully, she releases only a small portion of the spells' full potency, and the flash of blue scorches a very small hole through her cloak before she manages to drop the spell.
	Fleet, who was trying to sleep near where the elf had been standing, quickly removes himself and his gear to the far side of the loft and lays back down, keeping an eye on her in case she should attempt anything else. Giving up for the moment, she lies down as well, and despite the filth and stench, all four are soon soundly asleep.

Tarsakh 23 (day three for The Silver Blades)
	By morning, Miklo and Fleet's clothing has dried completely from the heat of their bodies, but Amra and Ersha find that their things are still uncomfortably damp and cold. Ersha thumbs through her spell book and finally finds a way to remove the water from their clothes. After casting a mending spell on the hole in her cloak, both elves are soon fully attired and ready to go, and the four make their way down into the deserted common room. Lucky appears through a side door and they get good directions to Auvindale from the halfling, who bids them a safe journey, adding “And a dollop of my luck, you're going to need it,” before disappearing back out the side. With another scoop of grain and a thorough grooming the horses are soon saddled and ready to go. After collecting Shreek and Sail they take to the road once more, and are soon traveling steadily north into the Nether Mountains.
	With the sun working its way ever lower in the sky, they realize that they are not going to find a village or inn this night, and they begin to watch for a defensible spot to pitch camp in. Finding an open area backed by a sheer wall of stone, they set up camp and care for the horses, tying them close to the stone where they can be protected more easily. After a cold meal of jerky and fresh water, Amra positions herself with her back to the now-banked fire for first watch while the other try to get some sleep. They are not down for very long when the elven ranger wakes them, having heard a strange shuffling in the underbrush.
	Without time for armor, they grab their weapons and move to backup Amra, with Miklo stepping into the darker shadow of a large tree to her right. As the sounds come closer, Amra can at last make out what appears to be a pair of orcs, and Fleet hears one speak, a strange derivative of the orcish word for 'stop'. The dim light from the fire is enough for the elves to see that the creatures are very large, a full 6' of green-skinned muscle topped by wicked tusked snouts and glowing red eyes. Both are carrying huge battle axes, held ready in one hand. Something about the pair is just not quite right, and as they hesitate at the edge of the small clearing, Fleet tries to speak to them in orcish. “Hold! Who are you?”
	At Fleet's words the two orcs charge forward, and Amra immediately fires her bow, just misses the bobbing and dodging attackers. A beat behind Amra's shot Ersha casts a magic missile, and scores a solid hit, but the creature doesn't even seem to notice that it's been hurt. From his hiding place, Miklo fires his crossbow and sinks a bolt deep into the chest of the one Ersha just hit, and though it obviously staggers the orc it continues charging at the others. Fleet, unable to see in the dark as well as the others, misses his shot, but Ersha and Miklo both score again, dropping the lead orc right at Fleet's feet. Amra manages to shoot the next one, slowing it slightly before it closes with Fleet, who picks up the fallen orc's axe and attacks. He cuts it deeply in its chest, and almost manages to avoid the return swing of the creature's axe, taking a long but shallow cut across his ribs. Amra all but dances in close to it, stabbing towards the orc's face with her sword, but her blade is parried and she takes a hard hit from the flat of the axe, staggering back a step out of reach. With Fleet and Amra both having backed away from the orc, Ersha and Miklo both fire simultaneously, dropping the second creature next to the first, and at last the fight is over save for the delivery of a coup de grace on each orc.
	Fleet calls on the powers granted to him by Mielikki and heals himself and Amra. A thorough search of the bodies garners the two battle axes, 125 gold pieces, a bright ball of yarn and a strange little wooden doll. Tossing one axe aside, the druid puts the other with his gear, as his goddess is fond of her followers using almost any weapon and the huge axe is quite powerful. Together they drag the already stinking bodies away from the camp, and return to the clearing to get what sleep they can. Perhaps anything else that would have considered the friends a tempting target that night was given pause after noticing the huge bodies in the brush, and nothing else approached the rest of the night.

Tarsakh 24 & 25 (days four and five for The Silver Blades)
	Traveling steadily northwards between the twin ranges of the Nether Mountains, the next two days slide past almost monotonously. Not only do they see no other people on the roadway, Fleet's companions don't even spot any wild things for the quartet to worry about.
	Early in the evening of their fourth day out of Silverymoon, they crest a hill to see Auvindale spread out below them. It is a stark contrast to the beautiful eleven city they left behind, the buildings being almost entirely built from stone. The population is mixed, but there are definitely more dwarves among the crowds than any of the other races. Stopping a human woman as she passes, Fleet asks her for directions to a good inn.
	Smiling openly, the stout woman replies, “An inn you be looking for? The Silver Lode is the only one in town. It be on the other side o' the village square, you can no miss it. Might I ask what yer business here be?”
	“We've come to deliver a message to Ilmarthen,” Fleet answers. “We were told he has a tower north of here.”
	“Ah yes, the tower, it be there,” she says as she points to the north. “Just follow the trace, and ye'll no miss that either, though ye'd best watch out for the crazy dog-thingies runnin' round in the hills attackin' folks.” With a pleasant 'good day to ye' and a nod of her head she continues on her way, and the adventurers head on towards the center of town.
	Hardly a thriving center of commerce, Auvindale sports only three business besides the inn. A smith is just banking his forge in his shop for the night, while across the way the keeper of the general store can be seen locking up for the night. A few yards farther on, under a sign advertising herbs for sale, a strange looking dark-skinned man leans against the open door smoking a short pipe.