"If I may suggest, we leave right after sunrise tomorrow", Joreld spoke. "That would give the rest of the day to shop for supplies, get some sleep, then head out at Morninglord's Light. We could all gather outside the Lathander's Light before we head into the wilds."
"We know he took the Tethyamar Trail down south and stopped through the three villages here.” The priest points to a trio of places marked Anathar’s Dell, Nettle and Upper Nettle.
A soft grunt from Pick. Anathar's Dell is.... the closest thing he has to a static "home" of sorts. His niece lives there. Some of his belongings are there, the ones too bulky to travel with. He had wondered if the trail would take them there, but it seems that Glan went there and left already-- no new information to be gained by a visit.
He follows the progress of the veiled woman's finger along the map. "We go north side of Dagger, to Springs. Hope to intercept signs of passage. I ask animals on way. Maybe get lucky, or maybe we reach Springs first and ask if he was there. If he did not reach Springs, we try south of Dagger."
Pick nods approvingly at the Red Armor's suggestion of when to leave. He is indifferent to the talk of the gods, but daylight is better for travel, certainly. He also brightens at the mention of Red Armor's horse. There will be THREE people of interest along, then. Of course, more than that with all the other horses they will be bringing....
"Ready in morning," he confirms. He starts edging for the door, eyes looking to the others briefly to see if there is any more that needs saying or if he can go and make his own preparations.
He follows the progress of the veiled woman's finger along the map. "We go north side of Dagger, to Springs. Hope to intercept signs of passage. I ask animals on way. Maybe get lucky, or maybe we reach Springs first and ask if he was there. If he did not reach Springs, we try south of Dagger."
Finding no fault in the plan, Samara nods, ”Good ideas. Go round Green Orb to Springs.”
She adds, ”I meet all by south gate, dawntime.” Being in the town center during a time of prayers, when many locals would be gathering, was something she planned to avoid.
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Ialia attempts to hide her grave disappointment that she will not share a saddle with Joreld.
But it's written all over her face. With her skin palette there's no hiding flushed cheeks. She turns away to spare further embarrassment.
"Have arrangements been made for us for the night? If not I'll inquire at the local Inn. I don't know about the rest of you - the finger foods were tasty but a proper meal is the next order of business. Anyone want to join me for dinner?"
Having saved a fair amount of gold for the journey, Ialia can afford to dine and stay at Dagger Falls finest house. Hopefully it has one. She'll look to have her clothing cleaned of road filth and battle grime and to replace any bloodied swaths. Her boots need to be polished and she'll require a warm bath. Luxury accommodations preferred and she hits up Cariamma for recommendations as the group departs.
"I shall join you. After my supplies are secured", Joreld adds.
”Of course we can, Samara,” Cariamma smiles.
”It sounds like you have the makings of a plan: you have a potential route in mind and will leave soon after first light. We will arrange horses for you - let’s keep that quiet from Erngaudle for now - and now is your opportunity to purchase supplies. And I’m more than happy to suggest accommodation options. We could probably put you up in the barracks if you really wanted,” she looks to Tunfer for confirmation - he nods - ”but personally I imagine you’d be much more comfortable at the Teshford Arms. It’s not the Ashabenford Arms,” she says, referring to the inn widely regarded as the most luxurious in the Dales, ”but Olavia has stepped things up in the last couple of years now she’s got a bit of competition and isn’t just relying on it always being full of Zhent merchants.”
”That is a good point about harnessing magic to help with the search, Pick,” she adds. ”We have been trying, though without success.”
”Indeed,” Tunfer agrees. ”It would be fair to say that you have not seen the best of Rissa this afternoon, but she is actually gifted in the illusion and divination spheres of magic. And no, I don’t think the irony of failing to foresee the disastrous consequences of her actions will have escaped anybody.”
The gnome shifts uncomfortably on the chair under the priest’s stern gaze before taking this as her cue to speak. ”I’ve been trying to locate Glanwyn by finding his necklace,” she says, casually casting a spell that creates a large scale image of three stylised waves attached to a simple thin leather cord. ”Ordinarily he would be too far away but I’ve been trying to modify it to work over longer distances. I don’t think it’s working, though something could also be blocking the magic. Or I suppose he could be deliberately blocking my attempts to contact him but I can’t think why he would.” Rissa looks thoughtful for a second before shaking her head. Her face is easy to read: clearly she is unable to conceive of a scenario where someone may not wish to speak to an excitable and highly talkative gnome.
”I’ve also been trying to harness the power of various crystals. Similar to using a crystal ball. The principles are sound but I don’t think I’ve made too much progress with it. Lord Morn was asking me about it as he wanted–” She cuts off abruptly, changing tack as a thought strikes her. ”Oh! Lord Morn! Have we heard from him? How is the baby?! Is she cute? I bet she is, babies usually are - I think they design them that way so people want to look after them. I bet she looks like Silver as well–”
Cariamma coughs politely, trying to keep a look of slight disapproval of her face. ”I rather think that you have wandered from the topic at hand, and I’m not sure we should be discussing state matters publically either.”
Perhaps unexpectedly Tunfer laughs, a deep barking sound. ”Actually I think Rissa may have a point. It’s not exactly a secret that Lord Morn is away visiting his sister. The location is, of course, guarded very carefully. This is a big moment for the Dale and the people are invested in this so maybe we should celebrate it.” He glances over at Joreld. ”The Obarskyrs made a big show of parading the infant Azoun V around the country a couple of years back. Perhaps we should consider something similar.”
”Perhaps,” Cariamma agrees, ”but we should save this for the next council meeting. Though without Glan and Lord Morn, and with Ariton and Nildeera absent, we are pretty much all present currently,” she adds drily.
Tunfer’s eyebrows raise slightly, though he doesn’t contradict Cariamma’s observation. ”Ariton is on patrol and Nildeera will be wherever she needs to be. We’ll be ok,” he says reassuringly.
”But yes, we have strayed from the matter. I think our business here is concluded?” he asks the group.
Getting through this conversation is like ‘winnowing grains of wheat from a lot of chaff’, the sorceress concludes. She had little experience with agriculture but it was a curious local idiom she was exploring. No sooner had she spied a seed of wheat (divination methods) than a torrent of chaff was thrown on top of it: babies, Morn’s whereabouts, political machinations, and people she didn’t know. Topped with the language difficulties, it was bewildering… but navigable.
”But yes, we have strayed from the matter. I think our business here is concluded?” he asks the group.
What was being asked was clear. What was being offered in exchange was not. ”What is award?”
He glances at Samara, Pick and Joreld, then back to Ialia. “Let’s head to the Teshford Arms. Dinner sounds like a mighty fine idea,” he drawls, his voice calm and easy. “A man can’t live on tartlets alone, after all. I reckon the rest of us could use a proper meal ‘fore we settle in for the night.”
With a quick gesture to Lunaris, perched nearby, Calen adds, “And don’t you worry about the owl, she’s had her share for the night. Now it’s our turn.”
"I stayed at the Ashabenford Arms en route while traveling the river route upstream. It is as luxurious as you say." Ialia smiles at the recollection; her handsome personal bath attendant had been... extremely thorough.
"Interestingly, the talk of Ashabenford was the escalating tensions with the Drow. Anyway, the Teshford Arms it is."
Ialia nods when Samara inquires about payment.
He glances at Samara, Pick and Joreld, then back to Ialia. “Let’s head to the Teshford Arms. Dinner sounds like a mighty fine idea,” he drawls, his voice calm and easy.
"Makes sense", Joreld added. "We can store our gear in our rooms, then get our supplies."
As the paladin walks next to the white-haired magic user, Joreld leans down and whispers in her ear.
"Maybe this Teshford Arms will have two deluxe adjoining rooms we could sleep in."
"I'd settle for nothing less," Ialia responds boldly.
Trying to move this proceeding to a close, Ialia reinforces Samara's question with one of her own. She addresses Cariamma and Tunfer. "Thank you both for providing mounts and supplies. And for the recommendation of the Teshford Arms. If we can settle the small matter of our compensation once we've found Glanwyn, I believe we'll have everything we need."
Pick is already edging for the door. The question of compensation is apparently as unimportant to him as the matter of the wand he has abandoned on the table.
Coin is a complicated thing that he has found false more often than not. He has vague memories of smiling people offering him gold and platinum and jewels in their outstretched hands, and his taking it, and it turning in his hands to burning coals and stinging wasps, to the immense mirth of the smiling tricksters. Lookit! An earth-son who doesn't know real gold from false! What a fool...!
Gold was valuable, though. That much, he remembered was true. His clan, his people, had sought gold ore and silver, emeralds and other gemstones...
That was THERE. It's silly here. A golden flower is worth more, to the right buyer, and favors are more valuable than either. Do you understand?
He had nodded, staring down at his reddened hands. Favors. Debts. That, he could understand.
Now he is back in the place where people think gold is important, but it is still treacherous to him. He carries coins that he has found on the bodies of bandits and others, but their value often escapes him. Gold is worth more than silver which is worth more than copper, even though burnished copper shines more like gold than the silver does, and even though he likes its warm fire-hue more than he does pale silver. The coins have faces of chiefs and kings on them, often, but they are human leaders and he can't be bothered to remember or learn their names. Almost every time he has traded coins for goods, he learns later that he has been cheated.
Kharva had sighed deeply the last time she had learned of his most recent 'purchase.' Uncle, she had said, pinching her nose, and looking again at the iron pot he had traded with a merchant for. Uncle, this is only iron. You paid ten golden lions for this?? It's not even worth one!
The pot could be used to cook meat and vegetables when he was out of the towns. The gold coins could not be used for anything except in towns. The pot was worth more than the coins, which he tried to explain to his niece, but she had shaken her head and muttered something about imagine, a dwarf who didn't know the value of gold...
At her suggestion he left the coins that he found with her, and told her if he wanted things, and on his visits he picked them up. Mostly what he asked for was coffee. It was a workable arrangement, only he hadn't been to see his niece in a bit, and since then he had found the wizard armor stick, and more coins, which sat among his belongings like impractically and inconveniently sized rocks.
What does it matter to him, the payment for this task? Morn's people will owe him a favor, as will Glan. That is better than coins, at least to Pick's thinking.
Another thing he cannot understand is trading coins for a bed in a room, or for the dishes they make at the Teshford Arms. It costs nothing to sleep under the stars, and he has this wyvern meat to cook, so....
They will meet in the morning. It is good enough. Pick slinks out of the room with his own arrangements to make.
”A fair question,” Tunfer agrees. ”I was wondering when we would get to that. Bluntly, we probably can’t offer as much gold as you would like. I could appeal to your charitable side but we asked for help and just service deserves to be weighed against fair reward. We have, however, managed to acquire no small number of magical possessions, chiefly as a result of retaking the town. Mostly they are enchanted arms and armour but there are other things besides.” He shoots Rissa a warning look as the gnome’s eyes light up at the mention of magical trinkets to play with. ”You would be welcome to choose your reward from what we have available, within reason.”
As the rest of the group makes their way out, Samara hangs back to speak about whatever is on her mind, Pick grunts a farewell, leaving the remaining trio to make their way to the Teshford Arms.
It’s a large roadhouse right on the outskirts of town so the location at least is good, even if the accommodation hasn’t always been. Of course when the place was constantly full of Zhent soldiers there was no need to do much beyond the bare minimum because trade was good and few Dalesfolk cared to make the lives of their oppressors any more comfortable than strictly necessary. Since then a downturn in trade has meant the owner has had to spend some of the easy coin she had banked in order to deliver a better quality of service and attract patrons. The work you can see being done on the roof is testament to the inn being a work in progress still but the whole place has had a lick of paint and it is at least no longer the draughty barn it once was.
Entering, you come into a large open dining room of low-beamed ceilings and a rustic charm that feels quintessentially of the Dales. The furniture largely looks to be solid, albeit it has probably seen better days and the atmosphere is welcoming enough, if not quite what one would term cosy. The place isn’t heaving but at least half the tables are occupied and it seems to chime with how Cariamma described it.
A plump middle-aged woman with brown hair mostly shot through with grey greets you. ”Well met, travellers, and welcome to the Teshford Arms. Are ye wanting rooms for the night or just dinner?”
The red warrior steps forward. "For the night. Two of your finest rooms for myself and Miss Ialia here. Do you have ajoining rooms?"
0.0
The sorceress finds Tunfer’s comment about gold amusing. Money was the least valuable thing he could offer. Magic, on the other hand, that was useful. But perhaps not nearly as valuable as an obligation from Lord Morn. In any case, the offer was better than coins that weigh too much and soaked up heat too easily. As the Bedine saying went, In the desert, no one drinks silver. ”Fair offer. Deal.”
As Pick slides toward the door, the spell-weaver takes his wand from the table and loads it into sheath strapped to her forearm, concealed beneath her layers of clothing.
With the others gone, Samara looks to Cariamma, places a hand on her ribs, and says, ”Will you to heal, please? Thank you.”
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The red warrior steps forward. "For the night. Two of your finest rooms for myself and Miss Ialia here. Do you have adjoining rooms?"
Ialia swallowed hard. She would need to be at least a little careful around Lord Huntsilver, as he could very clearly charm the pants off of any damsel he chose. Well now, that was the point of it, right? But by the gaze of Sharess, this paladin could work it! Ialia swooned; she wasn't sure what she was hungry for.
Basil hissed in her ear. "Did that wyvern clobber you senseless?"
"What?" Ialia replied in the Common tongue.
The bat bit her ear a little harder than it needed to, drawing a sliver of blood. "Is this one of those times where I'm supposed to 'find somewhere else to be?'"
Ialia recoiled at the pricking of her ear, as opposed to other places. "Ow, Basil!"
The witch was aware that she was making a scene. She attempted to turn away from the party and swat at her familiar but the confounding flying rodent buried itself in her hair. She turned back, pretending to be combing her fingers through it absently, smiling at Joreld and Calen as if nothing was amiss.
"Ahh, yes, that's right. Adjoining suites, very good. And a drawn bath. Warm, preferably. Thank you, Joreld, for making arrangements. Now, to dinner and drinks!"
Ialia tries to disguise her embarrassment and contempt for Basil at the moment.
Calen enters the Teshford Arms and takes in the familiar rustic charm of the place. It’s not fancy, but it has a kind of worn-in comfort that suits him just fine. As he watches Lunaris take off, likely to find a quiet place to roost outside for the night, he hears the innkeeper’s greeting.
“Well met, ma’am,” he replies with a polite tip of his hat. “Just dinner for now, but we’ll likely be needing rooms after that, I don't mind what kind of room ya give me, long as it has a bed,” He glances back at the two, catching Ialia’s barely contained excitement over the adjoining rooms with Joreld.
As Pick heads out to camp by the horses, Calen turns his attention to Samara. He’s noticed the sorcereress has been carrying Pick’s wand, and there’s a subtle weariness in her eyes despite her strength in battle.
“Looks like you’ve got Pick’s wand there,” he says, offering a faint smile. “If you’re needin’ a bit of healing, I can take care of that for you. No sense carryin’ around extra bruises if we don’t have to.”
He gestures toward one of the empty tables, pulling out a cigar and lighting it at the table while he waits for a bar maid, “How ‘bout we grab a bite while we’re at it? Talk a little more. Might be more to this place than what we’ve seen so far.”
”Oh Samara, yes of course,” Cariamma says. ”Come, let’s find somewhere more suitable,” and she leads the other woman to a small room with a bed and medical supplies that has clearly been used for treatments before. Locking the door, she indicates that Samara should lie down. ”Is this ok?” she asks before examining the wound, unsure if it’s pride, privacy or something else that is only now causing her to speak up.
* * * * *
”That’s two suites then,” the woman smiles in response to Joreld’s request. ”I’m sure we can sort that out for ye. Will ye be wanting a bath now or later so I can get water drawn in your chamber, milady?” she asks Ialia, a bundle of courtesy in the face of the pair’s charm and good looks.
To Calen she says, ”All of our rooms come with proper beds, but they’re cheaper if’n ye’re wanting to share. Only the suites have tubs in the rooms, mind. The main bath house is out back by the stables. Which reminds me, do ye have any horses? I’ll get Zzantilar on it if so. And I’m Olavia,” she says, puffing herself up slightly pompously, ”proprietor here, so if there’s anything ye’re needing then just let me know. Have ye come far?" she asks.
The Bedine is momentarily puzzled by the question. ”Yes, room is good. Thanks.” She leaves her head and face coverings on but removes her cloak before untying her robe to expose the partially healed wyvern wound. From ribs to hip, her side is deep purple from the blow. As instructed, she lies down on the bed with a hiss of pain. ”No poison, just…” She uses her hand and arm to make a stinger striking motion.
”That’s two suites then,” the woman smiles in response to Joreld’s request. ”I’m sure we can sort that out for ye. Will ye be wanting a bath now or later so I can get water drawn in your chamber, milady?” she asks Ialia, a bundle of courtesy in the face of the pair’s charm and good looks.
”All of our rooms come with proper beds, but they’re cheaper if’n ye’re wanting to share. Only the suites have tubs in the rooms, mind. The main bath house is out back by the stables. Which reminds me, do ye have any horses? I’ll get Zzantilar on it if so. And I’m Olavia,” she says, puffing herself up slightly pompously, ”proprietor here, so if there’s anything ye’re needing then just let me know. Have ye come far?" she asks.
"Madam Olavia, we are leaving tomorrow morning just after sunrise. I'd like to pay for the two suites now, to avoid the rush back here to pay", the red warrior explained.
Pick's first order of business is to cook the wyvern meat. The pot is useful, see, Kharva??? He leaves the town's walls to find a quiet place outside, and to find fresh herbs.
Spring onions. Fiddlehead ferns. Wild leeks. All of these can be found growing in the Dales in spring-time, as well as many more. When he has a goodly handful of herbs, the dwarf finds a spot by running water and builds a fire, a whispered word providing the first spark. A tripod of branches suffices to hold the pot over the flames.
Salt would be good, he muses. He doesn't have any with him just now: another purchase he relies on his niece to acquire for him. Salt can be found in the wild, among certain rocks, but he does not know the area around Dagger Falls itself well enough to have a place in mind and hunting for one could take hours. This will do.
He washes his hands in the stream as the rudimentary stew boils away. On reflection, he muses, it would be good to rinse off the rest of him as well. His armor (another prize from bandits) and the rest of his clothes come off, and Pick enters the chilly waters of a stream fed by springtime snow melt, teeth gritted a bit against the cold.
Hot springs would also be nice, but there are none nearby that he knows of. There is wild soapwort growing on the banks of this stream, though, and he tears off a handful of leaves and crushes them in his rough palms. The resulting sap creates a sort of lather with the water.
It admittedly takes Pick much longer to attend to a bath and to a meal than it does for those at the Teshford Arms. But the time involved does not bother him.
After his rinse, he sits on a sun-warmed rock teasing out tangles from his thick, wild hair. The scent of the stew makes his stomach growl: onions and seared meat, mellowed by the time it has simmered. Scent-- the wilds are full of smells, more pleasant than those in the towns. Flowers, pine, clean water. He breathes deeply of the air, knowing that tomorrow he will need to travel with the others-- the white hair woman especially smells of perfumes, too strong to his tastes.
Scents.... Pick frowns as something occurs to him, and mutters a single word in Sylvan that would have made Dellabrynna either laugh or scold him, depending.
An hour later he is back at the garrison, somewhat to his annoyance as he goes in search of Cariamma. Fortunately the guards know him from the earlier meeting and are able to give him directions to the Eldathan.
"Thank you, Joreld."
Ialia turns her attention to the Innkeeper. "Normally I'd request the bath right away but I haven't had a proper meal since Shadowdale, and I wouldn't brag about it."
She sets a gold piece on the desk beside the Innkeeper. "If you'll show me to my room I'd like to get settled before supper. Gentlemen, I will see you shortly in the dining hall."
Upon arriving at the room she checks to make sure it is as described, relative to the connected suite. Not fully trusting the other clientele (party members excluded), she casts Detect Magic into the room and spends half a minute focusing.
Satisfied, she opens the window and throws Basil out of it. Then she washes and changes into her dancer's garb, affixing her sapphire brooch, earrings, necklaces, and bracelets and brushing out her hair. Then she touches up her makeup before locking her possessions in the chest and finally exiting the room twenty minutes after arrival. She strives for fashionable lateness but not disrespectful tardiness.
Returning to the dining hall, she seeks out her companions and a clean place to sit.
After paying the fee for both suites, Joreld went to his suite to puts down his backpack on the large bed. The paladin began to remove his red dragonscale armor, placing it neatly on a nearby chair. The Lathanderite then changed into his courtier outfit, ultimately deciding to wear his corresponding jewelry with it: to make a good impression. A few minutes with his grooming kit, and Lord Joreld Huntsilver left his suite to have dinner with his fellow rescuers.
"I understand," Cariamma says at Samara's action. "I'm sorry but this will almost certainly hurt when I touch it," she continues. "Nothing about your movement suggests anything is broken but I want to make sure that there isn't anything going on beneath the surface." With gentle hands, she checks the purple bruise. Satisfied that there is nothing worse than the swelling, Cariamma spreads the fingers out on her left hand and touches her holy symbol with her right, praying to Eldath and letting herself become a conduit for the nourishing magic that pours forth from her to the Bedine woman. The bruise changes colour rapidly and fades until the area is essentially the same olive complexion as the rest of Samara's skin. "How's that?" she asks.
* * * * *
Pick is escorted to a small chamber where Cariamma, a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders to stave off the early evening chill, greets the dwarf with a smile in spite of the tiredness that lines her face. "Pick. Well met. You caught me just in time, I was heading home soon. How can I help?"
* * * * *
"Yes of course," your hostess replies. "That will be four gold pieces for each of the suites, and either two gold for a private room or five silver for a shared one," she says to Calen. "Will ye be wanting breakfast before you hit the road?" she asks. Payment concluded, Olavia sends scurrying staff to show you to your rooms and ensure that your needs are sufficiently met.
Freshened and changed, Joreld and Ialia rejoin Calen in the dining room. A fresh-faced serving girl with dirty-blonde hair moves over to your table to take your order. "Good evening. Would you like dinner or just drinks? The special is roast chicken and vegetables tonight, or we can provide bread, meat and cheese if you prefer something cold. May I suggest a glass of the mint wine, it's famed throughout the Dale."
"I'm sorry but this will almost certainly hurt when I touch it,"
The sorceress nods, indicating that the healer should proceed. ”Pain is right… tells ‘I am live’.”
"How's that?"
Samara takes a deep breath experimentally, anticipating the pain. She smiles when it doesn’t hurt, ”Is verra good! Thanks.” She gets off the bed and dresses. ”Other question. In town, is merchant of books? Like… hm… smart books? Like… words book - dish’naries?”
Pick is escorted to a small chamber where Cariamma, a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders to stave off the early evening chill, greets the dwarf with a smile in spite of the tiredness that lines her face. "Pick. Well met. You caught me just in time, I was heading home soon. How can I help?"
Pick grunts at the priestess in lieu of a greeting. He does not mince words but says: "You have anything of Glanwyn's? Clothes? Things with smell."
The dwarf shifts his weight foot to foot. "Time passes, smell is weaker, but maybe. Worth the try."
He does not say aloud: I know the two of you are close and you would be the likeliest person to have a personal garment of his. He figures that is self-evident.
"Yes of course," your hostess replies. "That will be four gold pieces for each of the suites, and either two gold for a private room or five silver for a shared one," she says to Calen. "Will ye be wanting breakfast before you hit the road?" she asks. Payment concluded, Olavia sends scurrying staff to show you to your rooms and ensure that your needs are sufficiently met.
Lord Huntsilver pays the matron the 8gp. "I likely will not want breakast, but I am curious: do you sell fresh trail rations? I am looking to acquire ten, please?"
Freshened and changed, Joreld and Ialia rejoin Calen in the dining room. A fresh-faced serving girl with dirty-blonde hair moves over to your table to take your order. "Good evening. Would you like dinner or just drinks? The special is roast chicken and vegetables tonight, or we can provide bread, meat and cheese if you prefer something cold. May I suggest a glass of the mint wine, it's famed throughout the Dale."...
Joreld meets Ialia as they both reach the dinning hall. "You look delicious", the paladin purrs quietly at the white-haired spellcaster.
Dressed in his courtly finery, Joreld catches everyone's eye, nodding politely to those who meet his gaze. Once seated at the table, the lathanderite humbly greets the Selûnite inquisitor. "Well met, Master Derethor."
Once the waitress explains the specials, Joreld speaks up. "This will be on one bill", the noble said, pointing to himself. "Let's see. I will have the roast chicken and vegetables. Some bread for the table. And I shall try a glass of the mint wine, with an additional glass of water." Joreld looks to the other at the table, eager to hear their orders and stories.
Ialia can't help but blush again at Joreld's approach. Having spent too much time in her young life dealing with vampires, his word choice almost makes her laugh, but his meaning is plain and the attraction is mutual.
"I'll wager that tongue can do a lot more than talk," she replies.
Once seated, she acknowledges the waitress with a smile. Deciding they're about the same age, Ialia feels a little smug for having been blessed with extraordinary abilities which have taken her to this point in life. That her birth mother, Magreth, had chosen one of the wealthiest men in Saerloon as the sire for her daughter was extreme good fortune. She made a mental note to tip this young woman very well, assuming the service and food lived up to the greeting.
"Drinks and the Special for me, thank you. And I'll try your mint wine as well."
After her first sips of wine she contemplates her handsome companions; she's decided Calen's rugged charm and trail-hardened good looks are nearly a match for the younger paladin, and perhaps he is an interesting conversationalist. She aims to find out.
"How well do you know the Daggerdale, Calen?"
Calen shifted in his seat, the weight of Ialia's question hanging in the air. He gave her a steady look, careful not to let too much show. "Daggerdale," he began, his voice carrying that familiar southern drawl, "Ain't exactly the friendliest patch o' land. Rugged, like the folk who call it home. You got goblins crawlin' outta every crack in the mountains, Zhentarim still causin' a stir, and all sorts o' things lurkin' in the dark. It’s more'n just a fight for land—it’s a fight for breathin' room."
Calen's fingers paused their rhythmic tapping, his eyes drifting toward the door where Lunaris was outside, likely perched somewhere high and watchful. His drawl softened slightly as he continued, "Lunaris, she’s the reason I’m here. That owl’s got a sense 'bout things, always guidin' me where I need to be. She don’t say much, but Selûne speaks through her. The Moonmaiden—she sees things clear as night, knows where her light’s needed. And right now?" His eyes flickered back to Ialia, then Joreld. "She’s pointed me here. There’s somethin' wrong in Daggerdale, sure as shootin'. Folks here need help, or Selûne wouldn’t have guided us this way."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and serious. "Maybe it’s the Zhentarim, maybe it’s somethin’ worse, but I can feel it. The air's heavy, like a storm brewin'. Can’t shake the feelin’ that somethin’ big is comin'. And I reckon it’s up to us to find out what."
"With hope, we can find Glanwyn alive and well. I try to focus on one mission at a time. But from what I've seen Daggerfalls isn't too bad. They do have a Lathanderite temple at least. But yes, we may be here a while", Joreld says as he lays his napkin over his lap.
Ialia focuses on Calen. The weight of his words rest heavy on her shoulders, and she can feel in her heart that he's right.
"I feel it too. It's not only here. I fled from my home because war seemed impossible to avoid and I wanted no part of it, but since the day I left there's been this sense of despair all around. I thought I was getting away from it, finding an adventure for myself far away from my problems, but I've come to realize that they aren't my problems; it's everywhere, like Faerûn itself is coming undone."
The young witch breathes in sharply and exhales in an audible sigh. To have said what has been on her mind this long trip feels cathartic, but the words do not lift the burden.
"I wonder if I should have stayed. Could I have done some good? Is my family in danger, and could I have helped them? But the River Road to Ashabenford, the trouble with the Drow, the monstrous incursions at Shadowdale, and the dark broken road through the valley, with each hamlet seeming worse for wear despite the Zhentarim having been expelled. Even behind these formidable walls there is chaos - the storm inside the fortress..."
Ialia leans in closer to the men and speaks softly. "I don't believe a group of adventurers was summoned to find one lost man. Rather, we're to find what Glanwyn was seeking, some greater knowledge of the darkness and the cause of..." her voice trails off. Ialia has not the words to finish her thought.
She looks to Joreld and offers a sad smile. The mood, so recently charged with anticipation, has changed dramatically. Her eyes betray her, and a tear rolls down her cheek.
She raises her glass. "To new friends."
Joreld listened as Ialia unleashed her worries. Nodding affirmatively, the paladin raised his glass to hers and Calen. "To new friends."