The Road to find out. part 1

[Galadon]

Going south on the Trade Route
Forest of Tethir
Tethyr, Continent of Faerun
10 Kythorn 1370 DR

Night fell quickly in the forest of Tethyr and the caravan guards cast wary glances into the tall, dark foliage that walled either side of the trade route. The sounds of the forest seemed to grow louder, more ominous as the darkness closed in around them. Overhead, the ancient trees met in a canopy too thick for the waning moon to penetrate, but the merchants pressed on, lighting torches and lanterns when their horses began to stumble.

The dim circle of firelight did little to push back the darkness or to ease the merchants. Their own torch-cast shadows seemed to taunt them; flickering capriciously and appearing as if they might at any moment break away and slip off into the trees. There was an eeriness to this forest that makes such things seem possible. All of the travelers had heard stories of the watchers of Tethyr, and there wasn’t a man or woman in the caravan who did not feel the unseen eyes.

Chadsen Herrick, a grizzled sell-sword who’d made the road his home for more years than Eliminster had pipes, raised a hand to rub away the tingle at the back of his neck.

“My hackles are up. I feel like a cornered wolf.” He muttered to the man who rode beside him.

His companion responded with a tense nod. Chadsen noticed that his friend – a too thin, nervous youth who at the best of times seemed as taut as a bow string - was clutching a holy symbol of Tymora, goddess of luck, in one white knuckled hand. Chadson, for once was not inclined to tease the lad for his superstitions.

“Just a few more miles,” the young man said in a slight sing song tone suggested he’d been silently repeating those very words over and over, as if the phrase were a charm that would ward off danger.

Their whispered conversation earned them dark looks from several of the other guards, even though there was no need to keep silent. The watchers already knew of the caravan and had probably followed it all the way from Mosstone, the last human settlement on the trade route that cut through the forest. If any thing, the travelers tense silence seemed only to deepen the impending cloud that hung over the caravan.

A sudden wild impulse came upon Chadsen. He was tempted to leap from his horse and dance upon the path, all the while loathing accusing and thumbing his nose at their unseen escort. He imaged the reaction such an act would elicit from the unnerved merchants and the mental image brought a wry grin to his face. He was still smiling when the arrow took him through the heart.

Chadsen’s body tilted slowly to one side and fell to the path. For a moment the men nearest him merely stared, their faces registering horrified recognition of the slender, ebony hued staff protruding from the dead man’s chest. It was the dark hued arrow of a wild elf, a bolt aptly know as “black lightning” to the humans.

The silence exploded into frenzied action following the shouted instructions of the guards, the merchants scrambled down from their wagons and, heedless of the precious cargo, overturned several of the wagons to form, a make shift shield wall. There was no time to cut the reins, and some of the draft horses went over with the wagons, falling heavily into piles of writing, kicking horseflesh. The animal’s shrieks of terror and pain mingled with the screams of dying men as the black arrows descended upon them like swooping falcons.

From behind the scant cover of the wagons, archers returned fire, but they were shooting blind into the heavy foliage and had little hope of actually finding a mark. Some of the more intrepid and less experienced of the caravan guards drew swords and crashed into the forest to take the offensive. They were sent reeling back and their hands clutching at mortals wounds

The fighting was over in minutes. Many of the men on horse back fled at the first sign of battle and a few of the merchant wagons had escaped as well, careening wildly along the path in the wale of the pouched horses. From the north came the sound of fading hoof beats, and a muffled crashed as one wagon tilted over.

When all was silent, several shadowy figures broke free of the forest and crept onto the path. They fell upon the ruined wagons, cursing and bickering as they poured through the spoils. One of them, taller and broader than most a large human clad in a dark red flowing cape, strode from the forest with a slight, limp figure slung over one shoulder. He tossed the dead elf onto the path to lie among the bodies of several of the slain merchants.

“Stord” he commanded in a deep voice. “Get some light on this mess!”

One of the forest fighters hastened to obey, fumbling until flint and steel until a spark took hold. The sudden flare of torchlight fell upon the faces of the dead.

One of which was an angular elven face painted in elaborate patters of green and browns. A gaping wound slashed across the dead elf’s throat and chest tracing a deep angle line that started behind one ear and angled slash across his ribs. It had long since bled dry.

The dark cloaked leader frowned and glanced at the fallen men that surrounded the elf. His eyes settled on a young man whose hand had been pinned to his side by an arrow, apparently while he was in the act of reaching for his sword. Tangled among the ruined fingers was a leather thong from which hung the symbol of Tymora. Oddly enough the arrow had struck the metal disk, skidding along its length and leaving a deep score before sinking into softer flesh, A silent sermon the killer observed with a bit or dark humor, an the capricious nature of lady luck.

“That one.” He said with a smile as he pointed to the youth whose luck has run out.

“Take his sword and reopen the elf’s wound, make it look as if he killed the elf in hand to hand combat. If necessary splash a bit of the lad’s blood around to make the kill look reasonably fresh. There’s a caravan due to pass through tomorrow."

As his assistant reached for the sword the wounded fighters eyes flickered open, and his hand closed around the grip of a wicked knife. Startled, the attacker fell back a step back startled.

A archer standing by the leader reached for the bow on his shoulder. Smoothly, swiftly, he sent an arrow hurling into the young man chest, this time no lucky medallion deflected the arrow, the youth fell back, instantly dead.

The leader however did not look at all pleaded by the quick response. He tore the arrow free and brandished it under the archers nose.

“And what the nine bloody hells do you call this?”

The archer shrugged his face apprehensive as the noted the browned shaft and elaborate blue and white fletching that marked it as any arrow of his making.

“Musta run outta of elf arrows.” He muttered

“Blast you.” the leader swore in a low voice, “if you weren’t the best archer this side of Zhentil Keep, I’d push this arrow into your left ear and pull it out the right. Search them.”

He ordered in louder tones, swirling towards the looters and holding the bloody arrow aloft so all could see the arrow.

“Make sure there are not more mistake like this one. All these men died at the hands of wild elves."

[Galadon]

City of Waterdeep
Sword Coast, Faerun
11 Kythorn 1370 DR

To the casual observer, Blackstaff tower appeared to be little more than an enormous, tapered cylinder of black granite, a tower some fifty feet tall and surrounded by a curtain wall nearly half that height. Stark and simple, the keep locked fanciful that were so beloved by the wealthy and powerful citizens of Waterdeep. No watchful gargoyles animated statues stood guard. No cryptic ruins matted the smooth black surface of walls or tower.

Yet everyone who knew of the arch mage Khelben “Blackstaff” Arunsun- and in water deep, indeed in all the northlands, there were a few who did not- regarded the simple keep with a measure of pride and awe. Here, rumor suggested lay the true power behind the city of splendors, here was a gateway to magical wonders beyond the magnitude of most mortals. It is a rare thing when bardic tales fail to exaggerate the measures of might, and whom the speculation of tavern gossips lags timidly behind the truth. Blackstaff tower was one such exception.

In a chamber in the uppermost level, Khelben’s consort, the arch mage Laeral Arunsun Silverhand, stood before a mirror, a tall oval of silvered glass surrounded by an elaborately carved and gilded frame. Fully six feet tall and slender as a birch tree, Laeral possessed a strange fey beauty that hinted of faerie blood. Slivery hair cascaded to her hips and large green eyes-the deep, silver-green hue peculiar to woodland ponds-searched the mirrors frame with an intensity that seemed oddly out of place on a face so exquisite. She ran her fingers along the carved and gilded wood, seeking the ever shifting magic that few could perceive, and fewer still could master. When satisfied that she had found the elusive trigger, Laeral spoke a strange phrase and then stepped into the mirror.

She emerged in a deep, forested glade. A few butterflies fed upon the flowers that dotted the meadow grasses, and the ancient oaks that surrounded the glade was robed in the lush green of early summer. It was such a scene as might be found in the forest of many lands, except for an aura of eldritch energy as pervasive as sunlight. Laeral breathed in deeply, as if she could take in the magic and the soul deep joy that scented the air if Evermeet, the inland home of the elves.

In the center of the clearing stood an elven lady as tall as Laeral herself and clad in a silken gown of dove gray, the elven color of mourning, The elf’s vividly blue eyes had seen the birth aid death of several centuries, yet her face was youthful and the flaming luster of her red–gold hair was undimmed by time, A silver circlet rested on the elf woman’s brow, but it was her regal bearing and the aura of power surrounding her that proclaimed her lady of Evermeet, queen of all elves.

“Greeting, Laeral elf-friend, “Queen Amlaruil in a voice like music, like wind.

Laeral sank into a deep curtsey; the queen bid her rise. Having dispensed with the formalities, the two women indulged in a burst of laughter, and then exchanged a sisterly embrace. Holding hands like school girls, they seated themselves on a fallen log and set to gossiping as it they were carefree maidens, rather than two of the most powerful women in all of Toril. But all to soon the conversation turned to matter that demanded their attention.

“What news brings you to Evermeet this time with such urgency?” The queen asked.

“Its the Harpers again,” Laeral said in a dry tone. Amlaruil’s sign came from a deep and ancient pain.

“It appears that some elves from the forest of Tethyr are attacking farms and caravans.”

“Why?” asked the queen

“How many reason would you like me to name?” Laeral replied.

“As you know, in a time not long past, all the elves who made their home in the land of Tethyr, including, those who dwell in the forest of Tethyr suffered greatly at the hands of human rulers. To all appearances the destruction of Tethyr’s royal family brought an end to this persecution it is possible however that the elves are retaliating for past wrongs. Since the land of Tethyr remains lawless and chaotic, it is also likely that human settlements, trade routes, and trapping are pressing the elves, and the elves are fighting back.

“As is only natural, what interest do the Harpers have in this?”

“They want to promote some sort of settlement, a compromise that will end the turmoil and address at least in part-the concerns of both side.”

“Ah yes.” Queen Amlaruil paused for a grim smile.

“We made such as arrangement in the forest of Cormanthor, many years ago. How well was that agreement kept, my friend, and for how long? Today how many elves live among those trees?

The question was not meant for answering. Laeral acknowledged the queen’s assessment of the matter with a nod.

“I have argued that very point with several of the master Harpers, but the decline of the elven people is not an issue the Harpers have traditionally addressed.”

“So much for their vaunted concern with maintaining the balance, “The queen said.

“What is balance, to those lives are not as long as yours or mine? Laeral pointed out.

“The Harpers concern is genuine, but the span of their vision is decidedly shorted. They are more worried about the disruption of trade and the possibility of increasing the civil unrest in Tethyr?”

“Can’t you make them under stand what there compromise mean to the elven people?” Asked the queen.

Given a few centuries, yes, Laeral replied grimly.

Khelben understands, after a fashion, but his concerns focuses upon the affairs of Waterdeep and he truly believes that compromise is the best solution, not only for his cities trade interest, but for the elves themselves. He sees it as their best chance of survival.

The humans of Tethyr are not tolerant of other races as they were ten or twenty years ago. It would not tale much provocation to turn them against elves. There are for too many ambitions s men in Tethyr, looking for a rallying cause to aid their rise to power. I can easily
envision the destruction of the elves becoming such a cause.

You know what happened under the royal family. Given the general lawlessness of the land, it could be far worse this time.

The queen stared at the meadow for a moment. “Then there is only retreat, murmured the elven queen. She sat silent for several moments, as if letting the decision take root, then she nodded decisively.

“Yes, the Sy tel’Quessir must retreat,” she decreed using the elvish word forest folk. “I will send an ambassador at once to offer them a haven in Evermeet’s ancient words.”

“And if they will not come?” Asked Laeral.

The queen had thought of that as well. “They then like so many of the people, will fade from the land.” She said with quiet resignation.

“As for the harpers, believe me when I say that sometimes the best way of controlling their enthusiasm is to work along with them.” The mage added in a dry tone that suggested personal experience with this tactic. “Of one thing you can count on the harpers will act with or with our blessing.”

“What do you suggest?’

“Send an Ambassador to the forest elves stronghold to bear your invitation. If the forest eleven community forest elves refuse to retreat to Evermeet, they will at least have an advocate. That is more than they might get otherwise. Harpers will sent someone but it would be better if we choose the agent instead of the Harpers.

Amlaruil studied her friend. The hesitancy in Laeral’s silver-green eyes suggested that there was more to this matter. Things of which the mage could not easily speak. Seldom was Laeral reticent about anything. Fore boding tightened Amlaruil throat but she waited with eleven patience for the woman to find her own way in time.

“Let’s us say that I would agree to such a plan.” The queen suggested calmly. “have you an elven agent among the agents among the harpers?” a forest elf, one known to the community in question?

“No.” Laeral admitted.

“Then I do not see how your plan could succeeded most Sy-tel’quessir are insular-suspicions of all elves from outside their tribe. The people of Tethyr have not sworn allegiance to me, and so they might not receive an ambassador for the island. Pressed as they are, they would likely kill any non-elf who ventured for near there hidden strongholds. No, it seems to me your harpers would have little hope of survival and even less chance for success.

Laeral did not answer at once. Nor did the queen press her. The silence was filled by the sounds of the elven forest.

“There is an elf” Laeral said slowly, in Zazzespur a port city of Tethyr. A moon elf that has helped the elven people in Chondalath long ago, But she has certain opinions the displeased you.

The queen face was suddenly worry,

“Yes” Laeral said softly. Confirming the queen’s unspoken conclusion. She took Amlaruil’s tightly clasped hands between both of her own. “You know of whom I speak of a moon elf with a second chance and a gift from you. She has proven herself in the past.

“You truly believe that this moon elf, that she is the best person for the task? That through her effort the lives of the forest people might be spared?”

Laeral nodded.

“Then so shall it be. “Queen Amlaruil rose, speaking the words in the manner of a royal pronouncement.

“Evermeets ambassador to the forest of Tethyr will be Jastra Galanodel.”

[Galadon]

Later that evening
The High Forest, east of Waterdeep
11 Kythorn 1370 DR

A full moon shown brightly upon the forest, the warm breeze made a rustling sound in the trees. A human male of 32 years walked calmly through the High Forest wearing leathers colored in green, yellow, and dark brown. His soft leather boots made no sound as he walked. His backpack lightly filled so not to cumbersome.

He was in no hurry to get to his destination walking slowing and enjoying the night. He knew not many traveled this far into the High forest at night and animals were not dangers to him. Before him was a clearing, he stepped in the clearing without a second thought and walked to the center. Along the edge of the clearing were 10-foot tall and 4 feet wide slabs of stone buried on the end so they pointed to the sky. A four foot gap separated each stone, in front of each stone were people of different races, all seated on logs.

An elderly human male, wearing brown robes, sat in front of one of these stones. A younger man wearing leathers stood behind him to the right. There was no fire present because the moon lit the area well enough.

The elderly man nodded. “Galadon druid of the Emerald Enclave, I bid thee well met.”

“Well met Korval Grand Druid of the First Circle. Well met honored druids and Rangers.”

Galadon bowed to the Grand Druid and spending his arms and turning in a circle to include all in attendance. He stood facing the Grand Druid upon ending the greeting.

The Grand druid nodded. “Certain people with visions, not myself, but many others both present and past believe events to happen in a year or two. We must perform certain tasks in preparation of a great imbalance that will occur because of these visions. We have asked your father for help in preparation of the coming trouble. He told us of your abilities not only of a druid but also of your wanderer abilities and social talents in dealing with others of non-drudic background. This talent far exceeds many of us. To tolerate others that do not believe in the balance as we do, there constant rambling.”

Galadon smiled “Effective talent until their constants rambling begins, then a cloud burst comes to mind.”

Quite laughter came from around the circle.

The Grand Druid smiled briefly. “Your journey will begin in the city of Tethyr called Zazesspur. There you will find your friend Jastra Galanodel; she may be of some help. Reports tell of her working an establishment called the Hanging gardens. Jastra grew tried of our teachings so we allowed her to think she escaped us. She is safe and, finding herself on her own. At least she believes she is doing this on here own. One of her major complaints about staying here with us after her adjustment.

I understand you did not agree with the adjustment? Asked the Grand Druid.

“I did not because her actions were not done in anger but to help friends in defensive. The results were more from ignorance not an intentional or entirely her fault. Though I understand why the adjustment was needed until she can learn how to control the abilities she posses, she must not know she has them.” Said Galadon

The Grand Druid nodded.

“After eight months we feel the need for you to watch over her, that she does not remember certain abilities, at least for the present. About the first of your quests.

There are tensions between elves and humans in Tethyr. This is a recent development Wild elves are accused of attacking Humans. Solving this problem and the wild elves could help in your next Quest.”

The Grand Druid handed a scroll and a small pouch to a man standing next to him, he walked out to Galadon and gave him both items, then returned to the Grand Druid side. Galadon quickly read the scroll. After he was finished, he rolled up the scroll.

I find that winning a riddle contest would be easier than finding a wild elf to cooperate with someone outside of their tribe.”

Those attending laughed and nodded there heads.

“Druids are taking sides in a conflict?” Asked Galadon.

“Gathering allies for future imbalance.” Smiled the Grand druid. “We have myths and tales passed down but no real information on how to find the location of the site or the items in question on the scroll. That is why the wild elves could be useful, and Jastra could be helpful with the wild elves.

Galadon nodded. “I can see that. It might help Jastra in some way to understand certain things about her. But the items in question would be 5000 years old.”

The Grand Druid nodded. “I have been told the items are ageless. Time does not affect them. The pouch is to aid you, a few rings and gems. We also believe Jastra has an important role in the near future.”

The Grand Druid rose. “Now is time for prayer of Silvanus, would you care to join me?”

“It will be my honor.” Replied Galadon.

The next morning, about an hour before sunrise Galadon woke and put on his backpack he prepared the night before. Retrieving the Woodland staff, he was given last night, after they were done worshipping Silvanus. He was about to leave when a voice he recognized came from behind him.

“I never been to Tethyr, I would think you are in need of someone you can trust.”

Galadon smiled “I thought you didn’t like going that far south.” turning around. He stood there for a few monuments looking at the Pegasus walking toward him.

“I would be most happy if you came with me.” Said Galadon.

“Do me one favor, keep people from petting me. It’s demeaning for one of my statue.”

Galadon jumped on the back of the Pegasus. “I’ll do my best.”

[Galadon]

District
Port city of Zazesspur
Tethyr
12 Kythorn 1370 DR

A slender figure dressed in dark clothes wearing gloves and a mask, moved quickly and silently in the window of a wealthy residence and to a tapestry hanging on the opposite wall.

Slipping behind the tapestry the rogue removes one glove and feels along the middle portion of the wall until she found a change in the mortar near the center, just a little off center to the left. Hoping the information she received was correct she put her right foot in an indentation and pushed. The stone moved slightly her right hand stretched out just above her chest.

She could barley reach the stone switch with her right hand since it was made for a human male. Finding the stone, she pushed in and twisted to her left, thinking she stretched her arms out so far they would ever be the same again. Nothing happened she turned the stone right, a second later a click and the stone in front of her chest open.

Dropping her arms for a second, she look a for trap on the inside the hidden space. Nothing found, she took the two small sacks out of the secret compartment and tucked it in her backpack. Then she removed three scrolls. And put it in the back pack. She would look at the items later after she was outside.

She was about to leave when a door opened and she heard voices. She at least she was behind the tapestry, which would hide her, unless they looked behind it. A moment later, the tapestry started to roll up at the bottom slowly

“darn” she thought “So close, but I’m not caught yet.” she remained still while the tapestry rose the room was lit by a single lamp by the door, causing plenty of shadows. The two men talked while waiting for the tapestry to finish rising to the required height. They moved to the center, one man looked shocked the other was about to say something went the rogue cast flash, to daze them long enough to reach the window.

She dashed for the window hearing the door open again human male walked in carrying a tray with glasses on it. He immediately threw the tray at the direction of the window at the same time “Thief’

She dodged the tray easily She was about to turn and say some witty parting comment, then she saw shuriens flying at her from another man entering the room. Taking to the floor and tumbling to the window, she leaped though the window and felt sharp pains in her front right shoulder. Reaching up with her left hand she pulled out the shurinkins and dropped them.

You cannot jump out of a forth floor window and survive by tumbling. And casting feather fall would be more difficult with her injury now. However, she had little choice. The pain made concentrating harder but hitting the ground was far more unpleasant. Casting feather fall in time to survive the landing, but it jarred her shoulder sending pain shooting through her body.

The female rogue forced herself to run, knowing spell casting would be too difficult as time went on. She ran until reaching the next intersection and from behind the building to see if anyone was following. There was a single figure running in her direction.

She tried to cast Haste but it didn’t work, so she ran along the street as fast as she could. After a few streets, she stopped to catch her breath, getting dizzy and her shoulder began to burn.

“Lovely I’m poisoned; if I don’t get back to my room soon I’m dead.”

Staying close to the wall, she looked around to corner and did not see anyone following. Turning to run she felt something hit her stomach then her head. Falling to the ground, she tried to tumble but she was sloe and the attacker was fast. A hand grabbed her and she flew and a wall. She crumbled to the ground dazed with pain.

“Time for another tactic.”

She saw feet move closer to her. Holding up her left hand

“Please don’t hit me, I give up”

“Your other hand, raise it.”

“It is injured” she began to raise the right arm slowly, she stumble forward placing her left hand on the ground to keep her balance. Raising her right she gripped a small bag from her waist squeezing the bag so it burst open in her hand she moved slowly to stand

The man moved closer to her and grabbed her mask.

“Let see who you are before my boss has fun killing you.”

He pulls her mask off her head and looks confused. “What are you” seeing darkness surround her head

"You’ll never know.” Jastra holds her breath closes her eyes and
throws the contents of the bag in to the man face just before he said something. Then hitting him in the stomach to make him breathe in the thieves’ power. The powder flies in the man's face making him cough and gag. He stumble back she grabs his head and slams in it into the closest wall.

running to the next street, so close but the poison is making her dizzier she falls to the ground. She tries to crawl. Back to the room in the Hanging Gardens.

Someone was grabbing her, she is too weak to resist and blacks out. Waking up she was lying down in a room some of her clothes was covering her face. Someone was pulling her dark suit off. She couldn’t believe it they already had her blouse off most of the way. “No way they can do this to me. She thought.

She grabbed the mans hands and tried to fight. Then a familiar voice from her past.

“Jastra I have seen you with no clothes plenty of times healing you.” Stop struggling and let me finish healing you.’

“Galadon”

He leaned back uncovering her face. Jastra looked surprised at a smiling friend.

“What are you doing here, besides saving my life again?” Asked Jastra

“There are a couple of quests to accomplish; since it will take an extended period of time I would like a talented and friendly sorceress to join me.”

Jastra smiled, “That would be great.”

A knock on the door and it opened quickly. A middle aged heavy set man come in with a worried look on his face. Jastra tried to find something quick to cover her chest, her blouse was stuck under her. Galadon leaded over her and covered her chest with the sleeve of his cloak. The man stooped and looked at Galadon’s sleeve covering something he didn’t want covered by the look on his face.

Looking back at Jastra. "Did you get it?”

Jastra pointed to the backpack, the man quickly moved to the pack and opened it and the sack took out the three rolled parchments, unrolling them and looking at each quickly. He smiled side. “Excellent”

“I expect you to keep your word on what we agreed.” Said Jastra.

“Yes, but you will here to remind me.” said the man.

“This is a friend of mine. I will be leaving to help him for a long time.”

Very well. The man turned and left the room.

Galadon leaned back. You dance with silks and can be tone of the most provocative females I know. But you are concerned about being seen half-naked.

“I’m one of the few women he hasn’t seen naked or anything interesting for that fact. I don’t intend on letting him stare at anything. I may dance with silks and wear very little sometimes. But I am always wearing something where it counts. You are one of the very few who I feel comfortable lying here like this." Said Jastra.

It comes from healing you. Stay here and rest so your body can recover from you injuries. I will come for you in the morning

Jastra smiled as Galadon walked out of the room.

[Galadon]

The Breaching Whale tavern
Docks of Zazesspur
12 Kythorn 1370 DR

The night was warm for early summer and the salty tang of sweat and the sea hug heavy in the tavern. Word had it that a certain Moonshae captain, a former pirate who liked to keep a hand in his original trade, had docked in the port of Zazesspur, The day before. He had a special foundess for valuable documents both genuine and contrived and possessed knowledge of elven ways that outstripped the understanding of most human had. Rumor has it that his ship, Mist Walker, was one of the only a handful of human ships ever permitted to make port on the elven island of Evermeet. If anyone could provide her with the needed information and perhaps suggest a strategy that would gain her acceptance into the forest community, it would be this captain. Even if he is human.

As usual, the Breaching Whale was crowded with hard drinking sailors out for a bottomless mug and a bit of fun. It was fairly typical as dockside taverns went, exceptional only for the dozen or so bedchambers over the taproom, which boasted deep feather beds and pristine linens, not to mention a heavily armed guard at each door. Those who knew well the ports of the sword coast came to the Breaching whale for a clean room and a safe nights sleep. Luxuries in any city, a routine in Zazesspur.

Jastra had no trouble finding captain Carreigh Macumail out of the crowd. His mass of curly fair hair, his long and neatly braded whiskers, the bright blue and green weave of his trade mark kilt, the extra lace trimmed ruffles at his throat and cuffs of his white shirt – all these things set himself apart from most of the Beached Whale rough-clad clientele.

He was also by far the largest man in the room. More than three hundred pounds sat easily on a frame that stood just a hand span short of seven feet. Seated on a couple of chairs one massive arm draped over the back of a third chair and his feet propped up on a forth. Macumail sipped at a mug of ale as he happily exchanged war stories with a pair of Netanther pirates.

As Jastra made her way across the crowed tavern, she noticed which heads huddled together over whispered plots, which fighters kept their hands close to their weapons. She declined a couple offers of entertainment proffered by tavern customers and bar hand. By way of greeting, Jastra kicked the chair out from under Macumail’s foot. The captain was standing dagger in hand ready for action in a guard position with a speed that seemed incompatible with his vast size. When his dangerously narrowed gaze settled on Jastra his face registered first astonishment then pleasure.

“Well met Moon Whisper.”

He turned to the pirates. “It has truly been a pleasure lads. Permit me to settle the evening’s bill as a way of thanking you for the stories.”

The two men took the hint and found another table. Jastra choose a vacated seat that enabled her to keep her back to the wall. As captain Macumail summoned a bar maid and order vine, she turned the chair around and straddled it, her arms folded over the low runged back. This posture was comfortable, and it provided her with a handy and non-lethal weapon to use in the event of a tavern brawl. No seasoned adventure avoided their share of those, and Jastra had leaned to swing a chair as handily as she wielded her rapier.

“So tell me?’ She said to keep matters rolling along.

Captain Macumail winked and reached in for the flat leather pouch he wore strapped over one shoulder. He tossed a small pouch on the table and held up a page of parchment.

“I’ve some fascinating reading for you have a look at this, if you will.” It’s addressed to you.”

Jastra picked up the small pouch and opened the contents in her palm. Four pearls, two white and two black. She put the pearls back and put the pouch in a fold in her sash. Jastra picked up the parchment and read it. “Retreat to the island home…
The deep forest of Evermeet…
Welcome to … Jastra muttered

At length she her eyes to Macumails face. “This is from Amlaruil of Evermeet. An official missive and commission naming me as her ambassador”

“Aye, that it is.” He agreed. “I took it from her hand myself, Laerial Silverhand was there to. Said the captain.

Why send me?” asked Jastra.

Jastra thought to herself, {{I died once helping elves, the royal elves didn’t show any gradititude for what I did to help. Just paid someone to bring me back to life. Now all of a sudden, this cold, aloof, ungrateful queen decided to grant me the honor of a royal mission. One that was most likely impossible and possibly one could be killed in.}}

In truth, Jastra didn’t believe the elven queen was deliberately contriving her death. But she could not think what the reasoning behind this commission might be, and not knowing plus the feeling she was being used and she just didn't like the queen, all this made her angry. The thought of being used made her more angry. Jastra reached for the royal commission, slowly she crumbled up the parchment into a tight wad and dropped it into her half-empty wine goblet.

“I trust you will be so kind as to relay my answer to the queen.”

“That is your final word?” Macumail asked, dismay written across his face.

The Moon elf leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. “Actually, I have a few more thought on the matter. Repeat them or not as you choose.”

She then proceeded to describe what the queen could do with her offer, at length, in precise detail, and vividly enough to draw the color from the captains face. For a few moments the sea caption looked at Jastra, his barrel chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh.

“Well, it’s been said there’s no wind so strong but that it can’t change direction.“ He observed

“Mist Walker will be in port for a ten-day, should you decide you want to take the offer.”

“I wouldn’t lay odds on it.” Jastra rose to her feet. She tossed a pair of coins on the table and then stalked out.

The captain gaze to the wine soaked parchment; he regarded the ruined document with regret the sighed again and took a couple of duplicates copies from his bag. Upon Laerial’s advice, the elven queen had had five copies of Jastra’s commission made. Macumail sincerely hoped that five copies would be enough.

[Stryder]

Monk temple
Kara tur

The early afternoon sun felt good as he slowly moved the rake in circles in the sand garden. A human male of 32 years light skinned, stood out from the population of Kara-tur. Long black hair with beard and moustache lead medium build. He concentrated on creating what appear to be overlapping circles in the sand. He enjoys the quite meditative feel of the sand garden.

A long journey, since arriving here five years ago, an angry man of 24 years. Not evil man, just angry for no reason at all he discovered. People started to wonder if he was turning evil. That is when he felt that everything was slipping out of control and he left everything and everybody behind and traveled far away.

Here to a temple in Kara-tur. The temple was not his first choice but the powers brought him here. At least that’s Master Yoshi told him. Here through the guidance of Master Yoshi he learned to come to confront the things that bothered him so. And finally, He learned to be at peace with himself, even if the world is still a violent place.

Vicneriros of Alaghon that is what he called himself. Alaghon being the capital of Turmish he thought it added an air of royalty to him. The only one he was fooling was himself. Since being here at the temple he learned quickly and made great strides to improve as a person. Now he wished to be known as Stryder to remind him to never stop learning and improving.

He sensed someone approaching he set the rake against the wall and turned to his visitor.

“Tame hirusugi tatsujin.” (Good afternoon master)

[narrator]

Master Yoshi looked at the sand garden. “You favor the circle in various forms. They seem to be overlapping.”

[Stryder]

“The over lapping areas of my life.”

[narrator]

“And the circle that is not complete. You feel you are not complete yet?” asked Yoshi.

[Stryder]

“No I do not; I am patient to wait until I am.”

[narrator]

“It is time.” Said Yoshi

[Stryder]

Stryder looked a bit confused. “I never considered time as a circle... "

[narrator]

“Time for you to leave. You are wanted.” Said Yoshi. He held up a rolled parchment.

[Stryder]

Stryder unrolled the parchment and read quickly, rolling it up again. “Galadon.” All that Stryder said.

[narrator]

“The druid you told me about from the Emerald Enclave?” Asked Yoshi.