After their meeting concluded and those assembled dispersed to their chambers, or other duties, Viconia made her way swiftly to her chambers within the keep. She was eager to be away from the distrustful gazes of Nors and Eltan’s pet wizard, and especially keen to be rid of the Ranger’s piercing eyes. She wondered if he had perfected such a look, or if it were something that came naturally to a man such as he. Either way, it was unnerving in its intensity and it recalled in her memories of the High Priestesses of Llolth, especially the Matron Mothers, back in Menzoberranzan.
With a merry jaunt, the elven ranger, known to most only as Dew, entered the townstead of Tallow just as the sun-kissed the western horizon, sending fountains of citrus and strawberry across the sky. Clothed from head to toe in tight fitted, emerald attire one would customarily associate with her ilk, she made a drastic contrast to the townsfolk who yet trundled down the town’s main, and only, avenue, clothed as they were in drab shades of grey, brown, or burgundy. Despite this distinction, she was met with naught but hearty greetings at her passing, marking the familiarity with which the town held her, and she them, for she returned each hail with an equally exuberant one of her own.
Lystra awoke in the predawn hours to the ominous rumbling of thunder and the tapping of rain upon the window of her modest accommodations at the Friendly Arm Inn. Sitting up, she allowed the blanket to fall from her naked breasts, stretching her stiff muscles and cursing her body so unused to sleeping with a mattress beneath her.
Guiding their mounts at a plodding pace, Lystra and her companions traveled in silence northward along the Coastway. All three were sullen and miserable, the constant rain sapping them of any cheer or drive.
Night had fully engulfed the land when the Percin caravan hauled itself into the small roadside dell Rendrick had ear-marked for their first night’s camp. The ranger, Keira, and Tiberius led the way into the sheltered space, guarded on all sides by high outcroppings of stone and roofed by the canopies of great oaks that had taken root there. All three were exhausted, their fronts covered in mud, evidence of their recent labors of dislodging the latest wagon wheel.
Like a thread fed expertly through the head of a needle, Jherek stole through the backstreets of Baldur’s Gate. His course taking him ever nearer to the city’s slums, and his ultimate destination that night.
uiding Shadowflight off the streets of Baldur’s Gate, Lystra urged her mare down a side alley beside the Elfsong Tavern. Her course led her to a small yard at the Inn’s back where a four-horse stable stood against the far wall. It was rare that all of the stalls were taken in the Elfsong’s stable as most who patronized the establishment were denizens of the city and so had no need to stable their mounts there. Currently, she saw, only one other horse resided there and her eyes narrowed at the sight of it, not due to any action by the horse itself but more so because she could guess whose horse it was. If what Jaryn had told her on the road was true, she knew that the black beast in the stable could be none other than the horse of the Harper Master Jherek for the Elfsong was a favored haunt of his while he was in the city.
At long last, after over a mile of rugged grasslands traversed at a quick pace, Rendrick and Tiberius made it to the relative safety of the eaves of Cloakwood. Over the course of their escape, Tiberius had regained much of his faculties and now sported a hastily wrapped bandage about his brow to help stem the steady flow of blood that dripped from his head wound.
Despite the continual foul weather, Lystra had to admit that her ride east along the Tradeway was almost pleasant given the unexpected company of Kivan. Though the majority of her travels were on her own, which was how she preferred it in the wilds, there was just something about riding with another on the open road that made the experience all the more enjoyable.