The heavy spring rains across the past tenday made your journey to Ashabenford difficult, to say the least. Though the morning's dawn saw sun peaking through the clouds for the first time in ages, it did little to ease the waterlogged chill that has plagued your body these last few days. Still, you have arrived at your destination and find yourself in Ashabenford, standing before the House of the High Councilor of Mistledale.
Ashabenford is both the largest settlement and capital of Mistledale. Yet those titles perhaps overstate it, for Ashabenford is no sprawling metropolis like Silverymoon, nor a mighty walled city like Suzail. Composed of rustic homes and collections of cottages, Ashabenford sits on the eastern side of the River Ashaba, though some of its notable buildings are found also on the west bank. The busy trade route of the Moonsea Ride passes through the center of Ashabenford, and indeed, it serves as a major stop between Cormyr to the south and the Moonsea to the north.
The House of the High Councilor itself is an impressive structure, at least in comparison to the town. It's sits on a hill atop the town, with a strong view down toward the River Ashaba. The house itself is a sturdy two-story home built of stone and timber, set amidst several clusters of trees. A pond sits off to it's right, with a stable to its left and several secondary structures behind. A stablehand has taken the reins of your mounts (those who brought them), and a stocky dwarf in a chain shirt and leather jack stands at the front door of the residence. A metal studded cudgel leans against the building beside him, yet he makes no move for it as you gather. At present he steps forward, looks across the collected lot of you, "Well, I guess you are it. I'll let the lord know ye've arrived." And turns to enter the house.
Cor smiles at the sight of Ashabenford. It's been a long road from the Moonsea, up north, and he can feel all his clothes and hair covered in dust and sand. "I can't wait to have a good bath."
But first things first. He's here to find out about the dangers in the Moonsea Ride, and to lend a hand, so he should be sorting this out first. Then he'll have time for his bath - and a good glass of wine. The dust in his throat also needs cleaning!
Asking here and there he finally manages to arrive to the High Councilor's house. It's certainly a nice place, up in the hill, with superb vistas and the river nearby. A bunch of people is already gathering by the door. Cor walks up there and... he finds someone he wasn't expecting to find after many, many years.
His voice trembles when he asks "Aela?"
Immediately after that, a dwarf guard announces he's going to fetch the councillor and enters the house, leaving the assistants out, waiting.
Mia tries her best to keep Vault, her horse, between her and Lilianne. She'd even waited to make sure the elf got there before she did. The plan works right up until the grooms take Vault to the stables, leaving Mia on the verge of panic as she sees only a few people gathered that could hide her from Lilianne.
Looking around, she notices that, save for the gnome, she's the shortest person here. Another thing to worry about. If they thought she was only a child, how could she prove she was not? Thankfully, it seems that she is not the only one facing something they wished not to when she hears the elven man ask one of the elven women's name.
There are a lot of elves. More than you'd see in Baldur's Gate at a gathering like this.
Ugh, so much rain. And mud. There are days when Rissa misses the more arid climate of High Dale. But hey, she's finally reached Ashabenford and the house of the High Councilor! The gnome dismounts and hands the reins of her beasts to the stablehand, then joins the rest of the group as they wait for the guard to get back.
My goodness, there are certainly a lot of elves here! And is that a tiefling? Rissa barely manages to suppress a squeal of excitement. Planetouched are so rare in the Dales! What an excellent opportunity to learn more about tieflings! Of course, one mustn't generalize too much, planetouched are said to be a very diverse lot, but still! Oh no. Am I staring? I hope not. The wizard turns away slightly and casts a quick spell to clean the mud off her clothes. She's tempted to introduce herself, but it looks like a couple of the elves are having a reunion of sorts. It would be rude to interrupt them.
Mia notices the gnome's attention and pulls her hood lower as she turns a little more to the side.
Why is she looking at me? She's not one of those loons that thinks anyone who's got devil blood in them needs to be burned, is she? Oh gods! What do I do? No. No. Calmly. Just be calm. No need to panic, yet.
Lilianne has tanned, near flawless skin with beautifully cute elven ears; not too long and not too short. Her black hair is curled and drapes down the back of her white outfit, creating a stark contrast. Upon her face is makeup even to accentuate her already overwhelming beauty. In her eyes is a gleam of experience and wisdom for what lies ahead. She is no dewy-eyed noble girl. She has centuries of experience and holds herself in an upright pose that communicates as much. Unlike so many others who just traveled into town, she is not in need of a bath at all.
Lilianne makes her way on her horse to the path leading to the top of the hill. Her approach is heralded by the gentle clop of hooves upon a rust-colored light steed. Upon its harness is a name, "Axpasados" embossed down the side of it. She will lead him past the others and toward the stable, where hopefully she is met by the stablehand. After a few calming words, she will leave the horse's side and will make her way to the front of the house where others are assembled, as well as a notable dwarf.
"Thank you," she responds in kind to him and then looks to the others assembled as the dwarf walks away. There is a trembling elven man who seems to have recognized someone, but as far as she feels comfortable, to Rissa (mainly), she bows her head a little and gestures the others to the side. For those interested in meeting her, her tone is melodious, soothing, and with a hint of sultry raspiness.
"Greetings to you. You are well met."
Her voice is soft, so as not to also intrude upon the moment with Corwynt and Aela. As far as Mia goes, she does not have any objections to glancing her direction from time to time, nor is there offense written on her face. Whether or not she sees the tiefling is another matter, but Lilianne is more concerned with knowing those before her.
Ahrendue stepped out of the carriage onto the driveway with a crunch of white gravel.
She looked around, momentarily caught by the elegance of the well kept grounds.
Seeing the gaggle of elven folk at the entranceway, she wondered at the coincidence, given her own invitation. She strode forward gracefully to greet them with a friendly smile.
Aelanurel is the first of the group to arrive. She makes her way to the High Councillor's house early, partly because she is simply up early and ready, partly in order to observe. The vista from the top of the hill is impressive, giving a good view of the town and the rolling fields of the dale beyond. In spite of the sodden spring weather, her journey to Ashabenford was short, easy and familiar enough. All the same, she is very glad of the heavy travel cloak wrapped around her shoulders, its minor enchantment keeping the chill in the air away. Six of us there will be, she thinks, recalling the divination she had made before answering the call. One old friend and four unknown to me. But what tales do they have to tell and what stories will we write?
Keeping the cloak's generous hood down over her head, she greets the other arrivals one by one with a simple "Well met" in a melodic tone, content to watch and size them all up. Last to arrive is the one she had foreseen - and the one she was, she had to admit to herself, a little worried about. As the blonde elf approaches, he seems to hesitate as he recognises her. This time she does take her hood down, unable to resist a little bit of showmanship, though her fine elven features are still not fully visible behind the veil she customarily wears. "Corwynt," she says with genuine warmth, "uluvathae" - may your fortune bring you joy. She steps forward lightly to him, before clasping one his hands with both of her own. She looks him up and down, before locking eyes with him. "You look well," she says. Her mouth quirks up into a smile. "You look wet."
"Uh..." Cor accepts the handshaking, not able to react. "Uluvathae" he responds.
Cor doesn't really have anything against Aelanuriel. It's just an unexpected thing. "I didn't really think she was going to be here, after last time we met." Once the initial reaction is overcome, he smiles, this time genuinely. "You know, you can't stop the rain" he shrugs. "Unless you know the proper spell, of course" he adds.
He doesn't expect her to laugh. Neither her, nor anyone hearing the joke. It's just his way of behaving when he doesn't know how to behave. Last time they saw each other they parted ways, and now several decades have passed by. He's not sure he knows the actual Aela. But it seems he'll have to find out.
That thought makes him look around and check the other assistants. "We've got quite the adventuring party here" he says, if only to soothe things a bit, though he actually has a look at the potential companions.
That thought makes him look around and check the other assistants. "We've got quite the adventuring party here" he says, if only to soothe things a bit, though he actually has a look at the potential companions.
Well, that was one of the more awkward reunions Rissa has seen in a while. Clearly the two elves have unresolved business between them. And just as clearly, it's something private, hence Corwynt's attempt to change the subject. Rissa steps forward and bows to the gathered adventurers with a flourish of her deep green cloak.
"Indeed we do! I am Eirissanelyndel Farseer, a diviner and scholar of many fields. Call me Rissa. I'm delighted to meet all of you!" She makes sure to catch Mia's eye and stress the word 'all' ever so slightly. From the tiefling's reaction, Rissa probably was staring earlier. Oops. "Does anyone have an idea of why the High Councilor called us here? There are so many possibilities."
She can't be serious. Can she?
"Bandits, probably," Mia answers before she can stop herself. "Mia. Nice-- to meet you, Rissa."
As Mia speaks softly, Lilianne looks to the ousted tiefling directly before looking back to Rissa. Mia would get the feeling like Lilianne is waiting for something from her.
"Greetings Eirissanelyndel Farseer...," After a brief pause and thought to herself, she continues, "...I believe I have a family member who once received a prophecy from a 'Farseer' many centuries ago. Perhaps it was a relation of yours? I am Lilianne Nightshade," she states just loud enough that the others who are having a private conversation can hear. Although this elf is clearly noble, she does not introduce her house or heritage for some reason. "I have met with the High Chancellor before, but as for what he has summoned us for, I did not press him and merely enjoyed his gracious company. He had voiced a wish to explain things more thoroughly today, so I patiently waited. I can give you no real insight." She gestures to Mia. "Mia here was met by me upon my arrival in town, actually, and upon hearing of this task ahead of us, volunteered in kindness to help aid us."
Registering the surprise on the sun elf's face, Aelanurel decides to give him time to get used to the situation. "Something any scholar of the Art - or indeed other magical disciplines - may aspire to. Alas," she says, releasing his hand and holding her hands out in front of her in a gesture of peace, "for all of us, one that is far beyond my abilities." Picking up on Corwynt's cue to try and change the subject, the moon elf acknowledges it. "Indeed. While it's only been a shade more than a dozen years since Shadowdale, not so long for the People, I look forward to hearing about your recent exploits. But there is plenty of time for that, let's find out who our fellow travellers are."
Turning to face the gnome, Aelanurel inclines her head in return to her bow, then does the same to Mia as the woman lurking in the shadows speaks up. "Rissa. Mia. Well met, both of you. I am Aelanurel Silvermist. Diviner and scholar sounds like a noble calling," she says to the gnome. "There are many names you could give to my pursuits but most would call me fortune teller, mystic or witch. I sense we may have more than a little overlap in our interests."
Turning back to Mia, she agrees "Bandits is definitely a possibility, though a strong band if the call is for experienced blades. My understanding of the local situation is the Riders are stretched as it is, hence the call for additional aid. And what talents do you bring to our group, Mia?" she asks gently, seeing if she can draw her out a bit.
As the greetings continue, Aelanurel nods to Lilianne in turn. ”Well met, Lilianne. It would appear the tune of the call to arms chimed well with the Tel’Quessir.” As the member of the group with the most striking appearance, the moon elf takes in her immaculate visage. Aside from her fine elven features and luxuriant hair, she appraises the outfit, which screams of position and wealth. With a seamstress’ eye, Aelanurel admires the rich material, the tailored cut and the almost invisible stitching. White is a bold choice in this weather, she thinks, but if you can afford such magnificent clothing you can presumably afford to have them cleaned or replaced. All in all she concludes, she is the very vision of the well-presented sun elf noble - and screams to everyone within a hundred miles that she is an outlander. Smiling inwardly, she does think the effort - though she concedes it probably didn’t take the beautiful woman that much effort - was probably unnecessary. Absolutely it would gain her an instant audience in most places in neighbouring Cormyr or Sembia, but in two centuries living with the practical Dalesfolk, Aelanurel has rarely met one who is overly bothered by outward appearances.
”Thank you for sharing,” she says. ”Good thinking for establishing cordial relations with the High Councillor.”
Finally she turns to the final member of the group, the girl garbed in the crimson dress of a Sunite priest. Girl is the right word, she thinks, she scarcely looks older than Loura. Clearly no novice though - she wears a full cleric’s dress, not to mention she wouldn’t be here if she were. Aelanurel notes the slightly pointed ears, a sign of half-elven heritage, as well as the obvious fact that she too is truly beautiful, marrying the best of human and elven heritage - it’s no wonder she heard Lady Firehair’s calling.
She casts around in her mind for the correct form of address - performing many rituals and ceremonies over the years has given her extensive knowledge of the many deities of Faerûn. She settles on ‘Aesthete’, a suitable title for a ranking priest. ”Well met, Lady Aesthete, may we be blessed by your presence.”
Corwynt's comment breaks the tension just enough to relax the group of you that have assembled. You are left with several minutes to exchanges words before the dwarf reopens the door and nods to you. "He'll see ye now." Turning back, he gestures inward while holding the door open for each of you. As you enter the house, you're met by a building that suits a humble ruler of the Dales well. It is both sturdily built and welcoming, with neither a utilitarian nor ostentatious feel. The furnishings and decorations are both well kept and well worn. To the left side of the foyer there are more than a dozen pegs at various heights, no doubt for travelers to leave any weather worn gear. Coming off the foyer there is a staircase going up, a long hallway heading back on the ground floor, and a small receiving room off to the right.
Once you have all moved within, the dwarf steps past toward the hallway, then turns back expectantly, seemingly waiting for you to discard any wet cloaks or other personal effects. After such has been done, he leads you out of the foyer then briefly down the hallway before turning left. He opens a door which reveals a comfortably appointed sitting room with a large hearth and several couches and chairs set before it. At the far side of the chamber, leaning over an open desk is a man in his late 40s whose brown hair has got mostly to gray, and his belt line has softened with age. He wears a well-crafted green and gold leather jerkin with the heraldry of Mistledale, complimented by an tan shirt and black pants beneath. A dagger rests in a sheath on his hip, with a long, black rod slipped through his belt beside it. The man sips from a ceramic mug briefly before looking up to your entering party.
Stepping around the desk, a smile crosses the lips of the man. "Well, it would seem you have each answered the summons we sent forth. For that, I thank you. I am Haresk Malorn, purveyor of fine goods, voice of the Council of Six, and a simple Mistran at heart. Now, to the trouble that besets us - the open stretches of Mistledale have often had their trouble, which is why we have maintained the Riders as a standing force. Bandits, raiders, even goblins and orcs, these troubles they are skilled to attend to. But in the past two months, we have had two caravans that have been attacked in a strange manner, and three more that have gone missing, with nary a trace to be followed. These anomalies have left our most skilled eyes unable to trace the source of this danger. We are in need of individuals of a peculiar nature, willing to hunt the unknown, with the skill to see that which cannot be seen. Are you up for the challenge?"
* Haresk Malorn has served as the High Councilor on the Council of Six since 1358 (14 years ago).
* He is a successful merchant, the owner of Haresk's Hardware Emporium, a sizeable general store that has been in the Malorn family for generations.
* Haresk is well liked by the people of Mistledale, and his position on the Council is an elected seat.
* As High Councilor, Malorn serves as the head of the Riders of Mistledale, though he himself is not a warrior, and is loathe to take up arms himself.
* Malorn's merchant work includes not only his business in Mistledale; he has grown to sponsor caravans that traverse the Moonsea Ride.
Rissa brightens at High Councilor Malorn's description of his problem. Rather than being daunted at the prospect of tracking down caravans that vanished into thin air, she is obviously excited. "If you want to find that which cannot be found, you've come to the right gnome! This sounds like an excellent job for a diviner. Eirissanelyndel Farseer, at your service. Call me Rissa." She bows to the High Councilor with an even more dramatic flourish of her cloak than she gave to the rest of the party.
"It seems so. In truth, I'm surprised," she replies to Aelanurel. It immediately endears these here to her of her kin.
The others would see that Lilianne carries a folded-up parasol matching her outfit with a white interior and a black lace trim along its edges. It is of a smaller size, but may very well block out light rain as long as it is not too overpowering. Such an outfit wouldn't last long amid the rains here, but for a ranger, knowing the weather is easy, and she has come from a warm inn arranged by the Chancellor to a warm house. This outfit is purely for show and is to respect the station of the man they meet. As it is, she has no wet clothing to shed and will stand slightly off to the side while others doff their gear. When everyone has finished, she will gently set her perfectly dry parasol down or hang it as is appropriate and will follow the dwarf.
"Greetings Chancellor. It is so fine to see you again. It is very easy for caravans to get lost or turned around in the wilds, but on the Moonsea Ride...that should not be possible. Banditry...well...in most cases they are not the brightest of individuals, and not much more so than goblins or orcs. To leave no traces for your men to find...that is strange indeed. As I communicated to you already, both my House and I are behind you and wish to aid you and these here. Is there a location that you would like us to focus on? Could you give us more details of the past caravans that went missing?"
She is far improved in health, appearance, and status from the last time he had seen her. Before, she looked more the ranger, and now, the noble.
Mia greets the others with a soft, "hello." When Lilianne draws attention to her, and then Aelanural asks her what talents she brings, she glances about looking for a place to hide or a distraction, but there's nothing to be done, and, while sorely tempted, she reasons that burning one of her spells to vanish would not be wise.
"Blade and bow," she answers, her voice shaky, but not yet to the point of stammering. "Sneaking and scouting."
I wish Lilianne hadn't said anything. Why did she lie? She knows I'm just after the coin.
Thankfully, the dwarven guard leads them inside before anyone can follow up with more questions for her. Unfortunately, he also asks that they take off any wet cloaks. Mia's cloak isn't soaked through, but has clearly been out in the rain. Her hands rise up to the clasp, then fall a few inches. It happens twice, then a third time before she takes off the cloak and hangs it on the rack. Her white hair is a mess, an even bigger one than the last time Lilianne say it. She follows the others up the stairs, her face beet-red.
When they meet Lord Malorn, Mia recalls what she had gleaned from listening to the townsfolk over the past couple of days. While he seems nice enough, she can't help but wonder how many of those missing caravans were his. For a moment she stands at the precipice of a yawning chasm filled with her own paranoia. She shakes the thoughts aside. Not everyone is prone to byzantine plotting and labyrinthine schemes
"Patterns," she asks. "D-did the caravans belong to one person? Did they carry something in common?"
As the group follows the dwarf's instruction to enter and crowds into the entrance hall, Aelanurel looks around what is likely the finest house in town. She sheds her practical looking all-weather cloak, a deep shade of pine green, and her pack, hanging them on one of the pegs that are clearly designed for just that purpose. Stepping aside to give herself sufficient space, she bows her head directly forward, letting her long dark hair fall over her face before throwing it back, the numerous silver adornments in it taking a little time to settle after the sudden movement. Adjusting her veil slightly, she then runs a hand down the front of her long gown to smooth it, satisfied that she is presentable enough, before heading into the meeting.
She doesn't know the High Councillor well, having never really interacted with him beyond the occasional visit to the family business. His appearance is reassuringly familiar, however, and Aelanurel knows that he is widely respected by most of Mistledale. Even among some of Elven Crossing's more eccentric denizens, criticisms tend to be grumblings and praise grudging, rather than anything substantial.
As the polished charm of Lilianne and the enthusiasm of Rissa seem to have taken the lead in the conversation, Aelanurel is more than content to listen and learn. She's aware of the attacks, of course, though only through third-hand gossip and ale-infused rumour. Caravan raids are unfortunately not so uncommon, but wholesale disappearances, that's another matter entirely and, she suspects, considerably harder to achieve. With that piece of information revealed she understands the desire for magic users and adventurers - 'individuals of a peculiar nature' - to look into the matter. She awaits further details and responses to the clarifying questions, looking to build up a picture of what happened, at least as far as is known.
So the man here is interested personally in the matter. Corwynt thinks he can see where Mia's questions are headed, but he's not sure he shares the feeling, though of course he's been surprised more than enough to always save an egg for the least likely basket.
While he waits for Haresk's answer, he can't help showing a smile while he thinks the man is in charge exactly for as long as Cor hasn't known from Aela. "Destiny plays with strange cards."
”Well met, Lady Aesthete, may we be blessed by your presence.”
Ahren’s attention was abruptly pulled back from gawking at the very interesting collection of people that had gathered by invitation.
”Oh, no no no! I am no priestess; I am barely an Acolyte!” She said, her face turning beet red.”Please, just call me Ahren.”
...Are you up for the challenge?
Clearing her throat nervously, Ahren spoke up.
"The Church of Sune agrees and offers her hand in aid." She said formally.
”Oh, no no no! I am no priestess; I am barely an Acolyte!” She said, her face turning beet red.
”Please, just call me Ahren.”
”Do not do yourself a disservice, Ahren,” chides Aelanurel softly. ”You wear the robes of a full member of the clergy and your church would not have sent a mere acolyte in response to this call for aid.” She smiles at the girl, not wanting to cause her embarrassment but to gently nudge her towards valuing herself. ”You are worthy of being here as much as any of the rest of us.”
A modest Sunite, she thinks, now that would have been a challenge to foresee. She seems young so perhaps she has little experience outside the temple. I’ll keep an eye on her.
Haresk leans against the high back of a chair as he considers your questions. Taking each in turn, he begins to nod. "Good, this is good. Already you seek out the unknown puzzle pieces. Now, let me see..." as his words drift off, he moves back behind the desk and begins thumbing through a stack of papers. From it he produces two pages, which he lays before himself. Taking a sip of his beverage, he begins:
"As I mentioned, there were two caravans that were attacked, with all the crew either murdered or missing, and the wagons raided, but left where they fell. The first was found on the Moonsea Ride, just north of Peldan's Helm, as it was heading to Ashabenford. The owner, a private merchant named Olaf Vertran, was at the head of his caravan, but his body was not found among the dead. The second was found on Rauthauvyr's Road, between the Standing Stone and Essembra. It was coming south from Hillsfar and made it to Ashabenford before turning back toward Blackfeather Bridge and the settlements south. Strangely Rendo Ulslev, a merchant of the Ironspoke Coster in Hillsfar, and his staff were all accounted for, but there was not a single sign of their guards."
Haresk pauses for a moment as he takes a drink before lifting up the second page. He grimaces then scrunches his nose into a perplexed look.
"In addition to the two that were attacked, Three other caravans went missing, leaving not a trace. Two went missing between Tilver's Gap and here. Both of them run loops, so to speak, between the Dalelands, Sembia, and Cormyr. They were both financed by the Graymantle Trade Consortium, based out of Ordulin. Both caravans would've run down to their base, before heading out - one further down through Sembia and into Cormyr, the other across the southern Dales. The last one was heading north to Hillsfar and the Moonsea beyond. It was last seen taking a lunch at the Standing Stone, but never spotted after. I have little information about that group, as they'd never come this way before, and made only the briefest stop here in Ashabenford."
His drink and the papers still in his hands, Haresk walks back around his desk and moves towards you, but pauses to lean against the hearth. " It is possible these are unrelated. In the last couple months there have been other attacks, but they have been of a more normal variety. Bandits, goblins, a horse was even snatched by a griffin. But these all are different. Four of the five had occurred by the time we put out the notice. The last was 4 days ago."
Mia frowns. It sounds as if the there isn't much beyond the complete annihilation or disappearance of the caravans connecting them.
I wish I knew the area better. The only place that might be worth looking at is the Standing Stone, whatever that is.
"The Standing Stone, uh?" Corwynt is visibly excited at the possibility of visiting such a significant monument. "It's a name he's mentioned several times, and yeah... it must be about in the middle of the area he has talked about."
"It is obvious to me that whatever is behind this is intelligent and I agree that these events are connected. Knocking off one caravan is hard won. Knocking off more is impressive. It is also clear to me that they have escalated as their skills have developed. The first, being sloppy, leaving traces behind, the second, attempting to make people vanish without a trace. And now, whole caravans gone. No doubt there is magic at hand, and quite possibly memory magic if I were to guess. We shall see though."
"The first caravan happened in the west."
"The second, to the east.
"The third and fourth, to the southwest.
"The last, to the east."
"Our areas of note are in particular, near the Standing Stone to some degree, and in the Thunderpeak mountains to the southwest."
She looks to the Councillor.
"These events were in order of occurrence? This would mean they are a roving band. Possibly based either out of the west, here, or in the east by the Standing Stone." She then quickly explains so others don't get the wrong idea, "Granted, I'm not saying any of this with certainty, I am just formulating out loud..."
Listening hard to take everything in, Aelanurel nods as the High Councillor starts to ink in some of the details to the sketch he had drawn. She concurs with his and Lilianne's assessment that the events are connected and speaks for the first time in the meeting. "No, there is wisdom in your speculation," she says, acknowledging the elf noblewoman. "Certainly they must be mobile but if there is a pattern it has not yet revealed itself to me. Perhaps it is like when we gaze up at the night sky - stars may appear alone until we connect them into constellations. We should plot these places on a map to see if anything is disclosed by it."
She turns to Haresk, fixing him with her gaze. "I don't suppose Tymora has blessed us with the presence of any of the injured parties? That feels unlikely for residents of Hillsfar and Ordulin when the attacks were a while ago but it would seem neglectful not to inquire." Pausing for a second, so as not to fire off a volley of questions, it is now Aelanurel's turn to ruminate aloud. "And is there any connection between these caravans? There seems little on the face of it but perhaps if we scratch beneath the surface. Who in town would know about these trading costers?"
Rissa whips out a leather-bound journal and a slim wooden box from her backpack. She heads over to a low coffee table, about the right height for a gnome sitting on the floor, and opens the box to retrieve a gnome-sized quill pen and a brass traveling inkwell. "Give me a moment or two to write all of this down. Don't worry, I always write in Gnome, and not many bigfolk bother learning our language." The wizard pulls a pillow off the couch to serve as a seat and begins writing in tiny, neat letters.
"There we go! No need to rely on memories, which tend to change over time." She taps the end of the quill on her chin, thinking. "Who would we contact to find cargo manifests for these caravans? Obviously someone wanted what they were carrying. If we can determine what, exactly, the assailants wanted, that might be a clue as to who they are."
When Rissa pulls out the writing implements and the journal, Mia tracks them like a well bred and trained hunting hound. Her eyes glitter as she studies the items.
That is fancy. I wonder if I can found out who made those items.
Mia listens, even as her eyes follow the gnome to where she sits to write. For the moment, she doesn't see a need to talk, and hopes that she'll be able to slip into the background.
The Standing Stone is a large, imposing stone obelisk that was erected on 0 DR to serve as a symbol of unity between the elves of Cormanthyr and the humans of the Dalelands in celebration of their alliance that grew out of the agreement known as the Dales Compact. It also marked the beginning of the use of Dale reckoning calendar. It is located within the forest of Cormanthor, at the junction between Rauthauvyr's Road and the Moonsea Ride, and sits at roughly the center of the Dalelands.
The councilor listens as the newly formed party begins to discuss details. As Lilianne lays out the pattern, he snaps his lips and moves quickly back to his desk where he searches through the papers. After brief moment, he returns to the center of the group and lays down a small map on the table in front of Rissa. "My apologies, I almost forgot - we have notated on this map the whereabouts of the two attacks, and the three locations the missing caravans were last seen. In my explanation before, I grouped them by situation - attacked or missing. I have also numbered them here in the order of occurance. I hope this is helpful."
Turning to Aelanurel, he shakes his head. "No, I am afraid not. A rider was sent north to the Ironspoke Coster in Hillsfar when their caravan was found attacked to inform them of the situation. Similarly, when the first caravan of the Graymantle Consortium failed to arrive 'on time' - they run a very consistent schedule - I sent word via the River Ashaba to a representative in Highmoon. Both groups seek the return of their personnel and goods, and have offered to help fund your endeavor should it prove successful."
Pausing for a moment he chuckles slightly, "as for who would know about such things - well, Ashabenford sits on a major trade route, so anyone might know something. As for detailed knowledge, I suppose that would be me. I am the owner of Haresk's Hardware and Trade Emporium here in town. I leave the daily running of it to my cousin Egar, but still help with more broad details. Beyond myself or my kin, there are a few other good sources to consider: Jarwain Larksong, an importer of rare and exotic goods; the Black Eagle Coster which does business up and down the Moonsea Ride; and lastly, the Ashabenford Arms and the White Hart Inn, where caravans could stay for a night."
Looking down at Rissa, "The only place a detailed manifest of a caravan's cargo would exist is on the caravan itself. True, most caravans focus on a selection of goods, but as they travel, they buy and sell to keep their offerings up and profit strong from one locale to the next. The Graymantle caravans, coming out of Cormyr, would have carried a wide array of products from Cormyr, Sembia, and the other lands they trade with across the Sea of Fallen Stars. The Ironspoke caravan if I recall was heavy with iron goods, as well as Hillsfar's well known velvet. Beyond that, I am sure they both bore assorted trade goods and food."
Lilianne recalls where the Standing Stone is, seeing how she passed it on the way here, but regarding the tale of it, she is clueless.
"Yes, the Councillor here is a servant of the people and one of them. Quite impressive," she comments concerning his occupation.
Pointing to the map she shrugs, "Well...this changes everything. It looks more likely that they are traversing up and down the Moonsea Ride back and forth in a twisted loop. Hmm, do you have any projected caravans heading westward soon? Because if so, and the pattern holds, the next one will go missing in the west; a number 6. Then 7 should be attacked in the east, if indeed there is a pattern."
She looks up from the map and pulls back to stand tall and graceful once more.
"What can you tell us about the character of Mr. Olaf Vertran. You stated that he was not among the dead. This can mean he is either dead somewhere else, held captive, or party to these acts. Who would know him best to know if his character would be counter to being involved?"
Looking briefly out the window closest, she also asks, "And what is the current infestation level of griffins? Will they likely be a problem?"
Aelanurel moves over next to Rissa to look at the helpfully provided map, setting out exactly what she was hoping for. Viewed like this it's much easier to see that the attacks have all been more or less up and down the Moonsea Ride. She looks up to the High Councillor again. "From the original missive you mention that the Riders have been patrolling the road and I would expect more often than normal given the attacks. I'm no soldier but do they ride in a set pattern? Were they nearby during any of the attacks or is it possible that someone watching their movements could time them for when there is little chance they would be present?"
She ponders the positions a bit further: the attackers have covered a broad expanse of Mistedale, from one end to the other. Therefore they must be highly mobile and presumably aren't travelling along the main road. Moving through the forest would require a good level of woodcraft and, while Aelanurel personally finds the idea distasteful, it would be a brave group to navigate the elven burial grounds known as the Vale of Lost Voices to the south. Though she doesn't give voice to the thought yet, she is coming to the conclusion that the attackers probably have access to some kind of magical travel.
Turning to Lilianne she asks "If there is a pattern, can we realistically predict or pre-empt an attack? It's such a wide swathe of terrain it seems unlikely. That means we're always at least a step behind. For now our options once we have spoken to more of Ashabenford's finest seem to either be try the site most recent attack as it was only a few days ago or to head to the Standing Stone."
To the group as a whole, with many of them not native to the Dalelands, she explains the significance of the obelisk and the Dales Compact. "It is the heart of Cormanthor," she says, "both literally and symbolically, even if it is perhaps more relevant historically than it is today."
"What's here," Mia asks, pointing at the spot labeled Abbey of the Golden Sheaf. "Looks like the middle of where all this is happening."
As the white-haired woman comes over to the map, Aelanurel realises that she is fully a foot taller than her, though her slender frame has a wiry quality that backs up her claim as a fighter. Peering to see the spot she is gesturing at, she replies, "The abbey is a temple dedicated to Chauntea, the Grain Goddess."
Corwynt scratches his chin. "Well, I don't expect the clergy if Chauntea to assault the caravans, but they might have certainly seen something." He's a bit disappointed that their focus is drifting away from Standing Stone but, with some luck, they'll have the chance to travel at least close to such a fascinating place during their investigations.
"Oh," Mia says as it's pointed out that the Abbey is not likely to be the place they will find their culprits. Her right hand grabs her left arm just below the shoulder as she looks away.
No good. No good going there. If they aren't involved they may think me suspect.
"East to the Standing Stones or west posing as a small caravan," she asks, hoping to divert the conversation away from talk of goddesses and their followers.
"Ooh, if there is a caravan ready to travel the Moonsea Ride soon, we could join them and try to lure out the attackers! Wouldn't be the first time I've posed as a harmless traveling scholar." Although last time ended... badly. Zhents don't usually come this far south, though. Right? "It's always easier to find an enemy when they come to you."
Cor thinks of it for a second before adding Rissa's idea could be a good one. "We have to add in, though, the possibility of achieving nothing - some caravans have been assaulted, but many more have not."
There's nothing stopping them from luring the bandits and asking in the abbey, in any case.
Trying to understand the maps and other crosschatter, Ahren wondered aloud...
"Could we, say, get a couple of wagons together and pretend to be a caravan. And, maybe, draw the attackers to us?" She said tentatively.
Mia slips back as the others begin to talk about their next step. Rissa seems to be a smart one, and maybe Ahrendue's question would be better heard than hers. It was at least louder than hers had been. It could work, but without knowing what the caravans were carrying, how could they make themselves an irresistible target? They needed information. They could try gathering it in the city or in the surrounding towns, but what if they tipped off their prey?
"Corwynt has a point, " she says out loud. "Some find safe passage, and we don't know enough about the others to know what would make us the best bait. That leaves the Standing Stones."
Reaching an agreement as to where to be headed could take some time, but that's just logical given very few of the group know the others.
And the ones who do have left a lot of time pass by.
"So, votes for Standing Stone?" Cor leaves his arm low - as much as he'd love to visit the monument, he believes the abbey is a better starting place. But let's see what the others think!