You unroll the tiny scroll of parchment and briefly hold it over the flickering flame of the oil lamp, which causes a faint image of a harp to appear upon the weathered paper. The message is authentic. You quickly decode its meaning.

Nineteen and nine… You average the two numbers. Fourteen. Something’s planned for the 14 day of the month.

Sunrise and wine…Sunrise is Harper code for The Dawnybrook, an inn in Yartar. Wine: code for evening meal.

Piecing it all together, you utter softly to yourself, “A dinnertime rendezvous at The Dawnybrook in five days. And just before Shieldmeet. Interesting. No time to waste.”

You’ve not received a commission from faction leadership for several months, and as you gather your weapons and equipment, you wonder what might be afoot. You also wonder if this next assignment might be the one—at last—to earn you the rank of Brightcandle.

Shieldmeet—a great festival sponsored primarily by Yartar’s temple to the goddess Tymora—features several games of chance, skill, and bravery—from dice and darts, to drunken running, to wrestling and other physical contests. For the many who come from miles around, Shieldmeet means one thing: opportunity. For the hedonistic, it is the opportunity for revelry and self-indulgence. For the entrepreneurial and the greedy, it is the opportunity to line one’s pockets with silver and gold. For the adventure-minded, it is the opportunity to join a band of similar individuals who might go forth and make a name for themselves through acts of courage and valor.

The road is easy, and the mid-summer weather is fair as you make the journey to Yartar. Not surprisingly, you are not alone as you enter the city. The buzz of anticipation is all around you, and the streets are swollen with vendors, merchants, musicians, performers, and plenty of aspiring heroes. All the races of Faerûn are represented in the noisy throng, and you know that tomorrow, the actual day of the great festival, will be an even greater spectacle.

After wiling away a few uneventful hours, you make your way to The Dawnybrook as the sun begins to settle behind the rooftops. The inn is crowded, noisy, and stuffy, not quite the location you would’ve selected for a secret faction meeting. You make your way to the barkeeper and, making certain no one else can hear you, order a Moonshae Stout—a request that signifies who you are and why you’ve come to the Dawnybrook.

“Of course! Of course!” blurts the portly human barkeeper. “Sit yourself there”—as he points to an empty table near the door that leads to the kitchen—“and Ellyn will bring it to you posthaste!”

You sit in the designated place, and Ellyn—an animated female forest gnome—arrives a minute or two later with a platter laden with roasted potatoes, salted fish, and several boiled crabs. Before you can say a word, she vanishes and returns with two bottles of wine and five wine glasses. “You’re not the only one who’ll be ordering a Moonshae Stout this evening,” she explains.

Fifteen minutes later, you fully grasp Ellyn’s meaning because you are seated with three individuals who one by one went to the barkeeper and were directed to where you are sitting. None of the others are familiar to you, nor do they seem familiar with one another. The four of you make an interesting dinner party: two females—a hill dwarf and a half-drow, and two males—a half-elf and a human.

After the fourth member of the group is seated, Ellyn taps the back of the empty fifth chair. “He’ll be along shortly.” Motioning to the food and drink on the table, she says, “Dig in, loves. No need to wait.”

The hill dwarf gladly takes her seat at the table she's been escorted to by the barkeeper. Barely over 4 feet tall, her black hair jutting out in messy wisps from a knot piled haphazardly on her head, she hops up into a chair. Her journey from the Dalelands wasn't the longest she'd ever taken, but as it was mostly on foot she is exceedingly weary and hungry. Looking about the table she smiles warmly at her new companions. Greetings! I am Gwinlynn Karmadark, but you can call me Gwin. Continuing in a whisper, she leans her head into the group, Isn't this exciting? I mean, *I* think this is exciting. I wonder who our mystery companion is? Do you know? What about you? This is very exciting! Did I already say that? I'm sorry, I get nervous meeting new people and my tongue runs away with me. I've never been to Shieldmeet before and I'm all aflutter. Oh my goodness doesn't this food look tasty? And isn't this a lovely establishment and, oh my, what a delicious looking stout. Such wonderful service, too. I am so very curious about our mystery companion. I probably said that already. Ah well, you know what they say, curiosity killed the gnat, but I never put much stock into it. I mean, what exactly does a gnat have to be curious about in the first place????

And as quickly as the little cleric began to speak, she ceases, and pops a far-too-large piece of potato into her mouth, sighing contentedly.

The human's entrance to the table is unusual, to say the least. Three people, waiting for a fourth, notice a small-ish scarab beetle perched on the back of one of the chairs. It doesn't move or explore its surroundings, it doesn't look for food. Before anyone can swat it away or try to hit it, there's a dull popping noise and in its place is a tanned human man with an easy smile, long dark hair, and many complex, geometric tattoos. He's not bedraggled, but he's not at all well-kept.

Dressed in a comfortable cloak and well-worn traveling clothes, he leans forward, hands out, palms down. "So sorry to alarm you, force of habit. I'm Mola. I've never done this sort of thing before -- usually I'm in the woods or on the water when this happens, and usually it's just me. How are you all? Some city they have here, don't they?" His smile is moving all around his face as his now-human eyes take in the table, his new companions, and the tavern.

To Gwin, he says, "nice to meet you, Gwin. It is definitely exciting. I'm glad I didn't turn into a gnat, because I am very curious!"

Kiyara looks at the everyone at the table, tries to follow the dwarf cleric’s comments, waiting for an opening to return her greeting. As soon as she finds one, the same to you Gwin and greetings to you (at the other two individuals). I am Kiyara Roxx. You can call me Kiyara. You see before you a young half-drow with silver short hair, lean, average height at 5’8", dusky skin and piercing grey-blue eyes taking in every detail. Yes, I agree with you, not sure what a gnat has to do with curiosity.
All the same, Kiyara is curious and apprehensive, pouring some wine into her glass and setting the bottle in the middle of the table, wondering where this new (much awaited) commission will take her. The Shieldmeet sounds like an interesting event - my first time as well.

The quiet young half-elf at the table looks like he doesn't belong there. He is too young, too shy, and too under-equipped to be sitting there. After everyone has made their introductions, a second half-elf taps the young man on the shoulder. "That'll do, Hentley," he says. The younger man scampers off with a shiny silver coin in hand as the older one, brimming with swagger and definitely equipped for a mission, takes his seat.

"Tell me if you've heard this one before," he says. "A druid, a cleric, and a warlock walk into a tavern and sit down with a total stranger..." He lets the joke trail off as he looks at the others staring back at him at the table. "So, we're the expendable ones, eh?"

The uncomfortable looks cause the half-elf to roll his eyes. "Oh come on. This bunch is greener than a bushel of apples," he says and points at each of his comrades in turn, starting with Kiyara. "First time at Shieldmeet. Avoids the cities...but called to a city. And probably told a dozen people she is a Harper on the way here." He holds up his hands in mock defense towards Gwin. "Sorry, you're a chatty one!"

He lets his point sink in as he steals a potato from Gwin's plate, adding injury to insult. "Nobody likes to see themselves as expendable, me included. I'm Rixton, by the way," he says, then breathlessly continues on his line of reasoning. "If this were an easy mission, they wouldn't need four of us. If it was an especially important mission, they would have called in our betters. So it is dangerous...risky...and yet we are the best they are willing to throw at the problem." He gives a wicked smile. "It should be fun!"

Half of Mola's face grins deeply while Rixton's patter runs around the table, entranced. His eyes still bounce to the room's entrances and exits, and to certain people around the room, seemingly without any real direction. After Rixton says the mission should be fun, he shakes his head with a broader grin and an exhale, turning to Kiyara. "He's going to be a hoot, isn't he! I love it when people talk, especially snarkily, through fourth walls."

Turning back to Rixton, he extends his hand. "Nice to meet you. Most things are expendable. Maybe like that fellow, Hentley? Who was sitting here in your place. What was his story?"

Rixton stares at Mola's hand in puzzlement for a moment and then seems figure things out and hastily shakes the offered hand.

"It's always a good idea to foster contacts with the locals. Hentley is a stable hand and potentially useful, as many of the underclass are. In this case, for saving my seat." The rogue looks around impatiently. "I expected to be the last one here, honestly. I was quite tardy."

Gwin smiles with natural good-nature at Rixton and says in a far more serious tone than used previously, If I am expendable then so be it. The greatest honor I can bring to my god is to die serving others. As she utters these words, her hand passes over the amulet around her neck, a graven image of a man with bloody bandages over his eyes upon it.

Lifting up her plate in the direction of the half-elf, Please help yourself. There is plenty for everyone. You know what they say, a potato in the hand is worth two in the tush. What's mine is yours...within reason. And with these words she once again falls silent, an almost imperceptible flicker of shrewdness in her eyes.

Mola's mouth frowns but his eyes smile at Gwin. "No, I hadn't heard people say that. I guess I need to spend more time with more interesting people..."

He begins to drink and eat, slowly and deliberately.

Within a few minutes, the final member of the dinner party arrives: a tall, athletic middle-aged human with a rather harsh-looking face, long dark hair, and brown eyes. His name is Hadrus Mar. Each of you has had faction dealings with him in the past, and you know him to be direct and honest. He wields great influence within the Harpers—influence that he has earned with his strength of character and wise leadership.

He greets each of you by name and says, "Good seeing you again. It truly is.”

He then, as you expected he would, goes straight to the point. “Unusual, isn’t it? We, who are accustomed to anonymity and secrecy, are gathered in a busy place in a crowded city. But there is a purpose in it, I assure you, and I must ask that you trust those of us who have put this plan in place.”

Hadrus pauses to take a sip of wine. He continues, making eye contact with each of you as he does so. “As you’re likely aware, when Shieldmeet ends, you can always expect a few newly-formed bands of adventurers to set forth from Yartar with visions of grandeur. These bands are almost always thrown together in haphazard fashion, and their plans of valor are almost always hatched when their heads are soaked with too much strong drink. Unsurprisingly, they accomplish nothing of note, and they are disbanded within a fortnight.”

He takes another drink and leans in a bit. “The four of you, beginning tomorrow, must carry on as if YOU are one of these eager, optimistic adventuring groups. I wish for you to be noticed, to show a bit of brashness and hubris…”—he gives Rixton a knowing look—“…to make certain, in short, that Yartar knows of you by sundown tomorrow. They must know of you and know where you’re headed.”

Hadrus sees the questioning expressions on your face but continues before you can ask. “Two members of our organization have been taken captive by the Tribe of the Hand, and the circumstances are highly suspicious, if not bizarre. Ferrian and Finnegas Pike—and here’s the riddle--in conjunction with some Uthgardts of the Tree Ghost Tribe, ambushed a dozen orcs from the Tribe of the Hand. This happened nine days ago, northeast of Calling Horns.”

Each of you has heard of the Tribe of the Hand, a highly organized group of orcs that carve out a successful living in the hostile world of the Evermoors. Also known to you is the Tree Ghost Tribe—a tribe of Uthgardt barbarians who reside within the High Forest. You’ve never encountered them, but you hear the same two words whenever someone describes them: reclusive and bloodthirsty. You know nothing about the Pike brothers, but to learn they are Harpers and were in any way operating in unison with Tree Ghosts is puzzling indeed.  

“So, just what are we asking of you?” says Hadrus. “To travel eastward on the Evermoor Way the day after Shieldmeet, having made it clear to all of Yartar that you intend to find the missing Ferrian and Finnegas. Why such an open and public departure? Because we believe you will draw out an enemy…whoever or whatever has caused or forced the Pike brothers to do something so rash and so contrary to our operation in this region. We’ve learned that hours before Ferrian and Finnegas vanished from Yartar, they were involved in some sort of midnight skirmish outside the city walls. They left behind two dead bandits hidden in the reeds on the edge of the Dessarin."

He swallows a mouthful of salted fish and washes it down with some more wine before finishing the tale. “I assure you the Pikes are two of the finest faction members I have ever known. Something is terribly amiss. Rescuing them by force seems unlikely. Bargaining for their lives, however, is a possibility. The Tribe of the Hand is shrewd enough to understand they hold a powerful bargaining chip. Equally important—or maybe more important—is determining the catalyst for all of this. What questions do you have for me? Let us talk and be thorough.”

(A map of the region may be helpful at this point)

By the countenance on Gwin's face, it's clear she is troubled by this news. Turning to Hadrus, she reaches her hand out and places it on his, It is good to see you again, old friend. I am grieved to hear of what's befallen our fellow members and am glad to be of service in any way I can. As I'm sure my companions must have questions, I will limit mine. Where are the dead bandits now? Still in the reeds? I would like to examine them if I could. And what will we be leveraging for bargaining with these abominable orcs?

Hadrus offers a brief but warm smile to Gwin and replies, "The bandits were granted a dignified end; they now lie in an unmarked grave in the cemetery not far from the place of their demise. From what I know, and I believe it to be accurate, they succumbed to the wounds caused by Ferrian's and Finnegas's blades. The Captain of the Shields of Yartar filed the official report on this matter; if any of you inquire about this, please remember that you do so not as a Harper but, rather, as a curious adventurer."

He pours a second glass of wine before answering Gwin's last question. "It is hard to know for certain what Mizg'rak, Chief of The Hand, might demand. He is only slightly more predictable than the wind. I do know this: he prizes anything that will give him an edge in battle. The prosperity of his tribe has made him and his followers a target for the other orc tribes in the Evermoors. As The Hand increases in greatness so too does its foes." 

For the moment saving her ekdum kar kara (OOC meaning - smart-ass; oh yeah, I am creating my own Drow slang) comments for Rixton for another day. 

Kiyara acknowledges Hadrus and returns the greeting.  She is genuinely glad to meet her old friend. Pulling some food onto her plate, she asks Hadrus, It's been nine days, you say? How do we know if the Pikes are still alive? Has there been any contact from The Hand? Any  ransom note? Making our mission known to the world..Now that is easily achievable. She smiles and picks up another potato, then remembers Gwin’s comment about ‘two in the tush’ , puts it back and goes for the fish instead. Thinking out loud, as she often does, Does Mizg’rak think the Pikes will be able to give his group an edge in battles?? Or do we have something to offer of equal value in exchange?

"I suppose it is safe to say we have met, or must we stage that as well?" Rixton says, the wheels already turning behind his grey eyes. "Do you want the Pikes back if they are dead? I think the rest we can manage...one way or another."

Hadrus turns his focus to Kiyara. "We don't know for certain they are alive, but we do know they did not fall in battle. They were led away from the site of the ambush, captives of The Hand. And, no, we've received no correspondence from the orc tribe. Nothing."

"No, Rixton, no need to stage that. Nor any need to return the bodies of Ferrian or Finnegas. If death has taken them, then may they be placed at rest." He looks  upon Gwin as he utters those last words. 

Rixton nods. "I think I have a sense of the parameters," he says. He looks to his comrades in turn. "Shall we meet at the next tavern over tomorrow afternoon then?"

The smile on the rogue's face belies fiendish things to come.

Mola's been listening to the wave of questions, and playing with the rim of his wineglass, biding his time. When there is a quiet moment, he looks up at Hadrus.

"I'm curious about a couple things. Were Ferrian and Finnegas acting under any kind of direction when they decided to target the Hand? Or was this more of a freelancing kind of thing... the sort of thing you've talked to me about before. You said the ambush was rash and contrary to our purposes, but what of their evident interest in them? Was that at least approved?"

He takes a deep breath, eyes down at the table. "I'm also trying to sort out the players here. The Pikes, and the Uthgardts, ambushed a dozen orcs. [OOC: I hope I'm reading this correct.] Then the brothers got taken captive. Were the Uthgardts also taken? Who saw them taken away after the ambush? And it might be helpful to talk to the Tree Ghost Tribe, as dangerous as they are. Shedding more light about what the Pikes were doing would be helpful as we figure out the plan before heading to the Hand."

After others have spoken more, he pipes up again. "We'll also have to figure out before we leave town how we want to watch for this... other enemy. Do we know any friends of the Pikes in town we might talk to?"

"Definitely not, Mola," replies Hadrus. "They'd been given no instructions whatsoever, and the Harpers have invested very little time into keeping watch over The Hand. Mizg'rak and his followers rarely cause trouble for the nearby civilized outposts. Ferrian and Finnegas had no authorization whatsoever to do such a thing. I cannot fathom what prompted their actions. I cannot."

As he speaks, Hadrus stuffs a large pipe with some tobacco. "Three barbarians were slain; one, seemingly, the leader of the raid, escaped. Our knowledge of this matter seems to be a tremendous stroke of luck. Let me explain."

Hadrus shifts in his chair, lights the pipe, and sends a column of smoke upward. "We have a faction member in Calling Horns; Renna is her name. To the customers of the Calling Horns Inn, she's a young lady who serves food and drink. To us, however, she's the eyes and ears in that little town on the Evermoor Way. Ten days ago, two men spent an evening at the inn, and Renna caught a glimpse of a Harper pin on one of the men's shirts. Her curiosity was piqued, but, of course, she exercised discretion and avoided any interaction with the men that might reveal who she is or who they might be. When they left in the morning's early hours, she followed them--not in her human form, of course. Ordinarily, I would be furious with a faction member who took it upon herself to spy on another faction member, but, in this situation, I couldn't be more grateful. She followed Ferrian and Finnegas an hour or so into the Evermoors, watched them interact with four members of the Tree Ghost tribe, and, then, thirty minutes later attack that group of orcs. Bewildered and troubled by what she saw, she rushed to Yartar, arriving here six days ago. Had she not noticed the pin...had she not followed the Pikes...we'd know nothing of this. As I said, we're quite fortunate."

(OOC: forms.... would Mola know Renna or know of her?)

Rixton is already standing to leave when Hadrus begins his story. The half-elf pauses with his hands on the table, listening intently until the tale is finished. "Are you certain it is luck, Hadrus? You know I am no fan of coincidence. That is three Harpers now who you have described as acting without orders. Are there others?"