Squire Marlen pales, his watery eyes going wide and his wry grin falling. His mouth hangs agape a moment he starts to sputter a bit as Bogorin promises him a painful end, but shrinks back afterward, a loss for words.
With nothing more for either party to say the group turns to leave. It isn't a second after the Squire's door shuts behind you that you hear the old miser's muffled voice complaining to his henchman, clearly irate at the most recent turn of events. After collecting the pack mule the party quickly turns back South along the road to Nybor, their pockets noticably heavier.
This journey fairs much better than your last; no mage assaulting bandits harrying you on the road. After a couple of day's travel you are on the outskirts of the settlement of Nybor.
As you draw near town you see an older human, dressed in a lawman's leathers, sitting on a stump and sanding down a few pieces of wood, one leg stiff as a board, the other bent in a much more comfortable position. Carpentry tools lay about here and there. He has a modest shack and workshop behind him, both small but both in fine repair. Nearby he has a horse tied off, lazily grazing. The man scratches at his several days worth of beard and smiles as you approach, tipping his hat graciously.
"Hail, travellers, on behalf of Nybor. Can I help ye' with anything?" He asks, taking a swig from the waterskin at his hip.
Perception
geography:
Laughing. Good job, Bogorin!
Well, you certainly gave him something he's not used to. Iriesys chuckles.
Iriesys responds by tipping her own hat.
Just on the way to Nybor, checking on someone for Old Man Tauster.
The man's friendly smile wavers at Tauster's name. "It's about Jeleneth, isn't it?" He comments more than asks.
Why, yes. Have you seen her? Tauster says he hasn't. She's a friend.
"Aye, but not for a while now. Must be more'n a week at this point. She was in town visitin' her parents, though she was stayin' in a room they keep for her over at that inn and tavern- The Baron of Mutton. They bein' that boy, Barthelew, what she fancies and what fancies her whose daddy runs th' place. Word is she retired real early one night and hasn't been seen since. When she didn't show up to break her fast the next morning the boy went t' check on 'er. She weren't there. She weren't anywhere. It ain't like the girl to leave back for Tauster's in the middle o' the night, especially without sayin' her goodbyes, and if you are comin' with word that she h'ain't be seen, then skies really are dark. Poor Bart's in disarray, been tearing apart anything that's not nailed down lookin' for her. Begged my help as well. I checked her room, but the place was locked up tight and immaculate; no signs o' there bein' a struggle. Many seem to think she's just hared and will be back soon. I'd like to look for 'er, but-" he pauses to look at the emblem on his shoulder marking him as lawman, but then down ruefully to his stiff leg which he still hasn't fully risen on, "-it seems Erastil wants me to stay close to home. I don't 'ave much of a guard, and that waterin' 'ole was full that night and nobody heard a cry for help much less a peep, so it was most our thinkin' that she don't want to be found. Season as it is not a body can be spared to chase around all t' hidin' places in the countryside- like lookin' for a needle in a haystack. Bart has been trying to get a party together to search for her, or at least to ride to Galduria to check with Tauster, but at least 'e got enough sense to know that he ain't schooled enough in the ways o' nature to help matters and then we'd have two persons to find. Girl's parents and Bart at the Baron would know more. Like I said; didn't look to be no evidence of a crime so I didn't have many avenues to look down," he explains.
Bone Breaker listens as the others speak to the men they had just met.
How rude of me... Telsyn introduces himself and the rest of the party.
Thank you for the information. We at least have something to go on. We'll talk to her folks and Bart, and perhaps we can help find out where she's gone.
To her folk's house, then the Baron to talk to Bart. I guess Tauster was right to be concerned.
It would appear so.
Thanks Mr....uhhhhh... I don't know your name.
"Garyld. Garyld the carpenter, or Sheriff Garyld if it pleases you. Some also call me Garyld, ranger of the Harenshire. Though that last one is a spot ostentatious an' a bit outdated. But my friend's just call m' Garyld, and every is my friend 'til they give me reason not to consider them so no more," he responds with a small smile and another nod. "And you are very welcome, friend Telsyn. If'n you need anymore of me you can most often find me here. I stay within a minute's ride of town should there be trouble."
Well, hopefully, we'll just be calling on you to tell you she's found and safe. Thanks again for your help, Garyld.
Unless anyone has anything to add, I guess we're moving on to Jeleneth's folks.
Dreadan nods at the sheriff after his introduction. "I remember your name from Cooper; he said you were a good man and could be trusted. We turned in a highwayman to Tauster. The bandits were run by a man that was after wizards for some reason, but he did not live through the first night after his capture unfortunately. The prisoner we turned over said they took a few magic users but did not know what happened to them afterwards. I figured as sheriff you should know." The large half-orc shrugs his shoulders and follows the others.
"Hail and well met Garyld! Nice tae shee a crafer, after the Dwarven 'eart that be. Well, not tae worry, we'll be findin' the wee lassh right quick we will, or me name ain't Bogorin the Brave! Why, I kin tell ye 'bout thish one time, at..." but that point the slightly slurring Dwarf realizes that his companions have moved on her, with a wave, he hurries to catch up.
To those of his companions paying attention, the slight slur and certainly unusual friendliness seem to be clear indicators that, as they were trudging along the dry and dusty road, the old Dwarf has been sipping from his flask that doesn't contain water. Other than those two suspicions signs though, he shows no other indications of being inebriated.
I'm inclined to suspect that Jeleneth may have met up with some people like we met. I just hope she survived them.
He looks back at Bogorin. We're over here, Bogorin!
"I know! I gotsh eyes, don' I??" the Dwarf rejoins as he catches up. But the grumbling seems more habitual than anything else for his scowl is less, scowl-y and his good mood seems undiminished.
Then, as he reaches them he stops and says with an almost smile "So, which one o ye asked where this Jellynith's folks be livin' then?" He really does seem to be assuming that somehow did ask where they live, even though, logically, he would have heard it if they had.
Garyld gives another smile and nod to each of you in turn, pausing first after Dreadan speaks. "Aye, that Cooper's a good man; and he's got the heart and soul of one much younger than meself...body too, by no few number of years. We don't seem many bandits in the Harenshire these days, but it is good that you told me- I'll be passin' word along to ol' Carmen and make sure I warn the farmer's to be keepin' eyes wide. Hopefully things won't turn worse than isolated attacks." Once Bogorin starts to move away. "Any time you want to share a few mugs and have a few tales to tell, friend dwarf- I don't have far to go these days-" another rueful glance at his lame leg- "And you've a much more pleasant demeanor than Nybor's resident dwarf."
Bogorin's thought sinks in for a moment as you make your way into the small town. Though not a major settlement, it has its own general store, taverns, an inn, and even a smith, which isn't surprising since Nybor is known for being home to the miners that work in the hills and crags to the North West. Heading a bit further the next person you run into to ask directions of, as it happens, is an old dwarf. Old. Old by dwarven standards.
He is a heavily wrinkled thing, with a full white beard, and a bald dome. His oversized nose is hooked from years of being broken and healed up, and he has a walking stick beside him, though currently unused, and just as gnarled as he is. The elderly dwarf seems to be fishing in a shallow stream of crystal clear water, though his line bears no bait and there are no visable fish in the current. Asking him for directions is a little amusing- the dwarf seems to be half drunk and perpetually sour. He answers your questions with grunts, nods, pinted fingers, and the occasional one-word answer. He does seem a bit bemused to see another dwarf about though.
The old dwarf that you met is well known. Though his true name is a mystery (as is much of his story), most have just taken to calling him "Ol' Grizzler." Once a miner in his younger days, he has been in town for several human generations. It is unclear why he stays as he never seems to be happy. He passes his time by fishing (never caught a thing), yelling at children on the lawn of his shack, and generally keeping negative stereo-types about dwarves alive. "O'course he's got a sack of gold hidden under his floorboards- 'e's a dwarf, ain't 'e!?"
Eventually you pry enough information out of his to find out where Jeleneth's parent's live, though it seems that lately they've spent most of the daylight hours at the Baron of Mutton, worrying and hoping their girl will show up.
Well, then, maybe we should go straight to the Baron of Mutton first?
Bogorin also seems to be quite bemused himself to see another Dwarf, not something he had been expecting at all and not something that had happened for sometime. Also already half into his cups though, he is feeling friendly and is quite happy to meet one of his kinsmen (as all Dwarves are. Also, Note, Bogorin is the kind of Dwarf who gets mean and surly when he's Not drinking, not the other way around)
Ignoring the others for the moment Bogorin speaks his own tongue for the first time in what seems like ages In Dwarvish "Greetings grandfather, may your drink be strong and your pockets be deep. I've been walking for what feels like days now trying to keep up with all of these stretched out tree huggers and what nots. Do you mind if I join you and sit for a spell to rest these tired old legs?"
As he speaks the old dwarf also hands over his flask to the even older dwarf.
Well, then, maybe we should go straight to the Baron of Mutton first?
Sounds good to me.
The old dwarf's scowl softens a bit as he nods and scootches to one side on the small wooden deck that reaches a few feet over the refreshing stream and pats beside him with a heavy thump of his calloused palm, then reaching to accept the offered flask. He sniffs it and then takes a deep swig.
"Aye."
The elderly dwarf then proceeds to string more words together than you've heard him speak in total to this point, though most of it in thick, rough langauge of the stone-folk.
The white-beard draws back his pole- little more than a hook and line attatched to a sanded branch and casts it again into the empty waters.
He turns and raises a bushy eyebrow, showng a shallow, pale line vertically down his face and across one eye. That same eye is milky white and unfocused, unlike his other one, which despite his obviously age was slate grey and sharp as any hawks. It seems that between him and Garyld it was easier to find folks in the Harenshire who at some point faced hardship and injury than those who had not.
Bogorin sits down and smiles at being called 'lad', and surprisingly it is not such a hideous sight, his grin. He seems somehow softer, and even younger, than his companions have yet seen him before. He takes back the flash and takes another swing and then sets in down on the bench between them.
Turning to look back over his shoulder briefly he waves his hand in a shooing gesture and says "A'right, off with ye lot then. I'm gonna sit and chat fer a bit wit' me new friend Grizzler 'ere. I'll catch up with ye at the Baron soon."
Then he turns back and answers the elder dwarf
"Aye, I know it's a strange sight, haven't quite got used to it myself yet to tell you the truth. Have only been with them a few days but they don't seem to be a bad lot for all their not being of the people. Even the green-skin ain't so bad. Can handle himself in a fight he can, and seems to be pretty darn level headed for someone with orc-blood in him. I keep a close eye on him though, all the same. For blood runs true as they say, and you never can tell."
He sighs, picks up the flask, looks at it for a moment then with a forwn sets it back down.
"As for me? Well, much as it shames me to admit, I lost myself in the drink I did, for a mighty long time. But one day not too long ago, I woke up on the ground, underneath some table in some bar somewhere and realized that I was going to die like that if I didn't change my ways. And that ain't no way for a dwarf to die, I don't have to tell you. So I dug out my old equipment, was surprised to find it still fit and that I hadn't forgot how to swing a hammer. I then set about to find some work and this group here just happened to be the others who answered the call. I know I ain't got quite the muscle or stamina as I did in my prime, and I know I've forgotten more than I remember. But I can learn again. And if I'm to die, it'll be on my feet, with my weapon on in my hand and my enemy at my feet, dead before I am."
Bogorin does not sound or seem angry or upset as he says this, in fact he speaks as one who has calmly, but determinedly decided upon his own fate. He looks at the flask again, frowns, picks it up, takes a big swing, sighs and finishes with [b]"I ain't quite ready to give up the drink yet, don't know as I ever will be, but I also ain't gonna let it run my life no more. But anyway, enough about you. What keeps you here in this part Grizzler? You're the first Dwarf around these parts I've seen in I don't remember when. Why have you stuck around?"
Alright then, Boggy. Seeya later.
Yeah, come find us when you're ready.
To the group, To the Baron, then.
Dreadan shrugs and shakes his head as he follows the others.
"Nybor was little more than a minin' camp at that time, a damp little squat where dreams went to die. I watched 'er grow to what she is today. I had a hand in forgin' 'er too. Lord Parlfrey- not the sprat what sits in the keep now, but his father's father's father's father- saw this land be untamed and lawless. There were as many bandits as miners and twice that number in lizard-men. I never quite knew what attracted that man to these parts, but he carved out what is known as the Harenshire today. It be by our sweat and blood it be done. 'im 'n' me, that wife 'o his, a fair lass with a bow, Bartleby-that coward got 'imself and the priest killed..." He rambles to silence as he reminesces, picking up his story after a long pause.
"Anyway, they was all human, 'cept for me. When we crossed paths as his lot cut through young Nybor he told me I were too able for the mines. They worked in the name o' Erastil-'e was one o' them paladins, ye' know?-and wanted me to join their bunch. Offered more coin and excitement so I grabbed me pick and me hammer and joined in. He's the reason I never was heavy into the firewater, so I can't say that I share ye'r pain, Parlfrey wouldn't have none of 'is men be abusin' the drink. So I found a new addiction-" Grizzler waves the fishing pole with a brief gesture before continuing- "We braved all sorts 'o danger together, lizardfolk, undead, necromancers, what have you, we even found the fabled Gleamin' Glade; a whole host o' darkwood, again lost now, in a forest North and East of here. O'course that's where things all went South. Bartleby decided he wanted all that for 'imself, wretched thief and stabbed the holy man in the back without warnin'. Turned on me next-" his hand traces the scar along his eye.
"Long story short, we slew 'im. But not moments later did the dead rise up against up- them two rose as wicked monsters from that cursed soil, with older remains clawing out after them. They fought us tooth'n'nail, forced us out and back. We lost 'is girl too then; we don't know when she got separated on the retreat, but we heard a scream 'n' knew it was all over. Parlfrey and I parted after that. He built his keep, remarried, I went back to the mines for a time- all o' our hard earned treasure had been lost in the marsh so I was poorer than the day I left Janderhoff years a'fore- and the rest is quite literally history. I always wanted to get Parlfrey's wife's necklace back for the Harenshire's first Count, but he's long dead now too so it matters little anyway. Arelus deserves better than to spend eternity as a weicked beastie too, but ev'ry time I get to thinkin' about buyin' some rusted armor over at Rastifer's and barrelin' into the swamp my old bones get weak."
Ol' Grizzler stares hard at you just then, deathly serious and sincere. "Take heart, lad, adventurin' isn't for those that will mourn a loss and count y'erself among the lucky if that loss is just the life of a friend. There are things far more valuble than what glitters what can be cast aside," his face softens. "But listen to me give a long winded answer to a simple question...Until Arelus is put to rest, or until I join 'im, I'll not leave. And I'm too old or scared to be doin' anything but fishin' and shakin' my fist at human children all day."
Arriving at the Baron of Mutton you find it to be a spacious inn and tavern in good repair, with a tended yard and even glass in the windows; much nicer than the other tavern you passed on your way into town (the Silver Crown) which looked as though it catered to little Nybor's less savory residents. A bell hanging above the saloon-style swinging doors chimes as you enter, alerting most of those inside to your presence, which is few at this time.
The inn itself appears to be as close to immaculately clean as you will likely ever find in an out of the way mining town, though the furniture has all been recently moved or tipped over. At the bar sits a gray-haired, hunched-over, old man with one hand on a foaming mug and another on an almost comically oversized hearing-horn. He couldn't be any younger than eighty and was more than likely a decade or two past that. Behind the oak counter is a much younger man with similar features, possibly a grandson, numbly wiping things down. At one of the few standing tables sits a trio of people; a worldly looking middle-aged man, a plump woman on his arm who appears to be his wife, and a younger man who could be the twin of the one tending the bar. Tears stain his cheeks and his chin rests wearily in his palm. A handful of empty flagons litter the tabletop. The man beside him has his hand on the weeping man's shoulder, consoling him. The couple appears to be fretful and sad as well, but are containing themselves with a grim determination.
Bone Breaker looks at the trio at the table for a moment before waiting for the others to say something.
Perception:
Dreadan walks into the inn and looks around before anoucing himself to the man behind the bar. "Inn keep, we need a table for us and one more to come in later." He glances at the table of weeping humans and slightly shakes his head.
Telsyn approaches the barkeeper. Hello, sir. We're looking for the parents of my friend Jeleneth. I was told we might find them here. Are they around?
"Eh?" The old man at the bar inquires dumbly, hoisting his large hearing cone to his ear and craning toward Dreadan as he speaks. The bartender blinks and shakes his head for a moment, startled, as if he didn't notice the bell marking your entry.
"O-oh! Of course. Just-" he starts, trotting otut quickly from behind the bar, his speech being cut off by another confused "Eh?" from the geezer. The young barkeep grips the cone and states loudly into it, almost yelling, "They-want-a-table, Grandad!" He forces a smile at your party apologetically as he heaves a heavy table back into place and gathers and a handful of chairs.
"Sorry 'bout Grandad- he owns the place, but hasn't run it in years; he's blind as a bat and half deaf to boot," the final statement was punctuated by another well timed "Eh?". His shoulders sag a bit. "And my apologies about the state of things- everytime I get this place in shape my brother sees fit to toss it again lookin' for some clue as to what happened to his wayward girl." He speaks with hints of both sympathy and annoyance. "The poor thing," he quickly ammends as the middle-aged couple glance up at him. "Andern," he says, indicating himself, then pointing over to the other young man, "And that'd be Bart." He turns to regard Telsyn as he asks of Jelenth's parents.
The other's in the room all glance his way as well.
"Eh?" Breaks the tense, silent seconds. Andern sighs at his grandads repeated outburst, but motions toward the couple. "Then you'd be in luck, that'd be them there. Holdin' 'emselves together better than my brother, at least. Can I get you any drinks?"
Dreadn nods at Andern and takes a seat, hanging his shield over the back of his chair. "Ale for me, and tell the father we have been sent to check on his daughter."
An ale for me as well, thanks.
To the rest of the group:
Well, should we go over?
Well, should we go over?
You're the charming one. You do the talking. I'll go along.
I don't know if I'd call myself "charming", per se. Maybe flirtatious, but that doesn't really help us here.
Well, just be yourself, and let them know we're here to help. I knew Jeleneth, if only casually. Break the ice, and I'll try to be helpful.
Maybe I should sit here. I have found that I sometimes intimidate humans."
Well, I guess it's up to me, then.
Iriesys walks up slowly to the table of the crying parents and wrecked pseudo-boyfriend.
"Excuse me, you're the parents of Jeleneth, correct? My companions and I have been sent to check on her, and would like to know if there's anything we can do to help."
:)
Bogorian listens politely and with genuine interest to the old dwarf, respect for his elders ingrained into the very fiber of his being. As Grizzler spins his tale, Bogorin finds himself nodding in many places, easily able to relate to many experiences of the Dwarven miner living so far and so long away from his hold and people. As well Bogorin can especially relate to the tales of adventure and betrayal and a most sour look crosses Bogorin's face as his own bitter memories surface once again. He unconsciously moves to take a swig of his flask, stops with it halfway to his mouth, looks at it, curses, and sets it back down, undrunk.
As the ancient dwarf finishes his tale, Boggo simply nods again, looking at the water and quiet for a while as he thinks on all he has heard. Finally he looks back up at Grizzler and giving him a sincere look in the eye as he says in Dwarven "Many thanks to you grandfather for sharing your tale. I hope that one day soon you can enlist a bard to record your tale for posterity. Such wisdom and experience as you have to share should not be lost to the Kin."
Bogorin turns his head to the side, hawks and spits and again stares straight ahead at the calm water, a sour twist to his lips as he says "I sure aint no stranger to betrayal myself. I won't bore you with my sorry tale right now, but I will say that I wish I'd have picked up fishing as my addiction instead of this demon" he says, looking down in a rare moment of hate and anger towards his usually beloved drink. His strong, stubby fingers grasp the flask tightly and for a sweet moment he seriously considers throwing it into the river. But the moment passes and he doesn't.
He looks back at Grizzler, respect and admiration clear in his eyes as he says "So you've had a direct hand in the creation of the entire Harenshire eh? That's quite the accomplishment my friend! It's a shame and an insult though that ye haven't been properly reward for all you've given of yourself."
He thinks a moment more then says "Grizzler, I would find it a great honour to be able to find that necklace for you, and escort you to return it to the ancestors of your friend, if you'd like. I can't promise that my companions will agree to such a thing, but they seem a pretty eager group, up for just about anything. Plus, if there's still evil as you say lurking in the Gleamin' Glade it should be purged before more fall to it's curse. If you'll allow me, I would be pround to march and fight there in your stead. What say you? Is this something you would want?" and he waits for the reply, almost childlike in his eagerness for approval for his dwarven elder.
The elder dwarf pauses and strokes a hand through his full, grey-white bread, lost in thought for a moment, before letting his face fall eyes, glazing over as he stares at the rippling stream.
”I’d like that a lot, though, young’n. Puttin’ the bones o’ me friends rightfully at rest is long overdue and it would do me soul well to see it happen a’fore I pass. But...I know not if it be right to ask ye to take on such a task. Those things what rose in the glade, they’re worse than just the shamblin’ dead, though there was a fair share o’ the lesser creatures as well. There was a malevolence about the gleam in there eyes, an intelligence behind it. The chill in the air was palpable, and they rent souls with a touch. These be foul denizens what haunt my dreams to this day, lad. We were capable enough warriors, but we was caught by surprise and already wounded by the traitor amongst our ranks...”
He mulls the situation over, obviously agonizing over the decision, before finally pounding a fist into his palm with grim determination.
”If y’er friends agree to it, I’d be proud to have a able dwarf such as yourself battle in my stead. It has been so long since I’ve seen another of the stone-folk that I cannot pass up this opportunity to spare the souls o’ me friends. But I cannot ask ye’ to do outa’ of your honor. It is a danger that deserves a proper reward. My companions and had our share of magic, and some o’ it has bound to survived; I’m no warrior anymore, and I don’t need no reminders o’ what that life were like- so what ye find would be yours. ‘n there be the darkwood o’ the Gleaming Glade there too, if you be a craftsman, I recommend you take yourself a piece as well. Whenever you be ready, come ‘n see me, ‘n I draw ye a map to the best ‘o me recollection.”
sweet!
The plump woman forces a determined smile as Iriesys approaches and offers aid, but is obvious from her eyes that her heart just isn't into it. She has the forlorn look of a woman who knows not whether she should grieve.
"That we are; Jeleneth's our little girl," she responds with a slow series of nods. "You're a sweet one to be offering to help, but I'm not sure what there is to do. She's disappeared without a trace, her room untouched. No fight nor noise. Some thinks she just up and ran away, as if the pressure of mage-training was too much for her, but she loved learning magic, and was pretty darn good at it too. Even if she didn't want to be taught anymore she would've told old Tauster, would've told us, Bart as well. Where-ever she is, everything she owned has been left behind; even her spellbook, and from what I know of wizards, it isn't like them to let one of those precious things leave their side- like a farmer with his hound."
The disselved young man bolts up, as if your presence just registered to him.
"You'll help? Truly? I knew someone cared!" He exclaims, drawing narrowed glares and scowls from the apprentice's parents. "Here; I'll show you to her room- maybe you can find a clue in there that we overlooked. Something must've happened to her! I just know it. She needs to be found before something terrible happens!" A light slap to the back of his head from the older woman beside him calms him quickly as he rubs the sore spot.
"Don't be doin' that now, Bart. My daughter's a capable mage and more than able to protect herself. Where-ever she be she's alive and kicking, you can bet on that," the lady's voice wavers a bit as if she is trying to convince herself that Jeleneth is truly fine. "But we would appreciate any help you could give in finding her."
The plump woman forces a determined smile as Iriesys approaches and offers aid, but is obvious from her eyes that her heart just isn't into it. She has the forlorn look of a woman who knows not whether she should grieve.
"That we are; Jeleneth's our little girl," she responds with a slow series of nods. "You're a sweet one to be offering to help, but I'm not sure what there is to do. She's disappeared without a trace, her room untouched. No fight nor noise. Some thinks she just up and ran away, as if the pressure of mage-training was too much for her, but she loved learning magic, and was pretty darn good at it too. Even if she didn't want to be taught anymore she would've told old Tauster, would've told us, Bart as well. Where-ever she is, everything she owned has been left behind; even her spellbook, and from what I know of wizards, it isn't like them to let one of those precious things leave their side- like a farmer with his hound."
The disselved young man bolts up, as if your presence just registered to him.
"You'll help? Truly? I knew someone cared!" He exclaims, drawing narrowed glares and scowls from the apprentice's parents. "Here; I'll show you to her room- maybe you can find a clue in there that we overlooked. Something must've happened to her! I just know it. She needs to be found before something terrible happens!" A light slap to the back of his head from the older woman beside him calms him quickly as he rubs the sore spot.
"Don't be doin' that now, Bart. My daughter's a capable mage and more than able to protect herself. Where-ever she be she's alive and kicking, you can bet on that," the lady's voice wavers a bit as if she is trying to convince herself that Jeleneth is truly fine. "But we would appreciate any help you could give in finding her."
"Even though it seems like it may not be of much help, it would probably be best if we look in her room after all. If we can find something that you haven't found, then we may be able to get her back in just a day or two. You're right though, she's a good mage, and if we can get to her, we can most certainly get her back. If we do find any leads, it would be preferential, not just to us, but to her as well, if we brought the spellbook she left behind with us."
There may be some clue among her notes and things. She'll need her book if she's been using her magic. Let's have a look. Telsyn agrees.