A letter has reached you, closed with wax pressed with the ornate seal of a Knight of Solamnia.

What are you waiting for? Open it!

Though Ispin was advanced in age for a human, the news still wrenches your heart. Where were you, when this letter reached you? You will need to leave soon if you are to reach Vogler in time. Quickly attend to any business you may have where you are, and hit the road.

Sitting in his informal office, the secluded back booth of the Steady Beacon tavern in the city of Kalaman, just having finished up a well-tasting dinner of catch of the day from Kalaman Bay, the white-haired pale half-elf slowly sipped a glass of Nightlund white wine as he studied the letter before him on the table. What could the Knights of Solamnia possibly want with him? Did they know about his affiliation with the Mages of High Sorcery? There was one simple way to find out. Finishing his glass he proceded to carefully break the seal and open the letter to read it's contents. 

Ispin, that was a name he hadn't heard in many years now. The memories welled forth in a steady stream and the half-elf sat in silence for a long while remembering how the good-hearted human once had turned the half-elf's life around back in Tarsis. He would have traveled all across Ansalon to attend the funeral of his old friend but fortunately Vogler was not far, not far at all. If he only knew the man had lived so close. After taking a long walk along the harbor, thinking back on the times with Ispin, the pale half-elf returned to the Steady Beacon to rest, an early night as he intended to leave the next morning. Business in the city simply had to be put on hold, not that he had been busy lately as a free contractor to deal with what the law would not. That name Becklin Uth Viharin, the pale half-elf seemed to recall an old adventuring friend Ispin mentioned, and there was a dwarf too he recalled.

The next morning the white-haired half-elf got up early, had a light breakfast before getting his gear and leaving the city of Kalaman, traveling west to the village of Vogler. Little did he know the adventures and new friendships that awaited him there.

Daryan Seltiyel

Wilberforce walks into a tavern in Kalaman. He looks around and walks up to the bar. The old Kender is a frequent visitor to this tavern and gets a knowing glance and even a friendly nod from some of the other patrons; this friendliness doesn't stop everyone from clutching their money a little closer or securing other valuables. Wilberforce spots an old human male in the corner and calls out "How's the leg doing Bert?". Bert replies with a friendly wave "Much better thanks Wilberforce. I can even bend it a little now". Wilberforce looks pleased by this news and replies "Great, keep up with the ointment and doing the stretches I showed you". Bert flips Wilberforce a single silver piece. At only 3 feet tall, Wilberforce has to jump to catch it midair. Despite the old scars crossing his small body he catches the silver easily, he puts the coin and a small bag on the bar. "Ollie, I've got your herbs and a coin. A hot meal and a mug of your finest if you please". A middle aged human woman steps out of the kitchen and walks up to the bar. "About time you old codger, I'm nearly out of parsley and what would happen to my cooking then. What's the excuse this time, had to sneak past a tribe of goblins?". Wilberforce looks surprised and says "How did you know?". Olive just grunts, takes the bag and coin and goes to fetch a meal.

When Olive returns she places a bowl of broth, a mug of ale and a letter in front of Wilberforce. "What's this then?" Wilberforce asks, through a mouth full of broth, pointing to the letter. Olive replies "How should I know? Came in last week and I said I would hold it for you. Probably just someone wanting a guide again". Wilberforce continues eating his meal and opens the letter. As Wilberforce reads something happens that no-one in the tavern has seen before, his face loses its perpetual smile and suddenly a small tear rolls down his face. Olive looks concerned, with a spark of genuine sympathy in her voice she asks "Everything OK Wilberforce?". Wilberforce considers this for a second and his face lifts up once more. "Thanks Ollie. Everything is fine, just life moving on as all things must. And it looks like I've got a journey on my hands. So no time to waste". Wilberforce reaches inside himself and finds the pieces that are now him that used to be something else. He asks those pieces to remember what it was like to be that other thing, what it was like to run without end and jump so high. Those pieces start to remember and soon his whole body remembers what it was like to move on four legs. Suddenly with no more announcement than the slight breeze caused by displaced air, the Kender is gone and an old but powerful War Horse is standing at the bar. Olive reacts angrily "I've told you before you old codger, none of your wild stuff in here. Get out and don't come back until you're you again". Wilberforce lowers his great head and takes one long lick of the bowl before turning and galloping out of the tavern. Meanwhile one of the drunks rubs his eyes, looks at his drink suspiciously and says to his companion "Was that a horse at the bar?".

Daryan has a few decisions to make.

One is of logistics: will he walk to Vogler, or pay the silver to hitch a ride on a ship? Walking would only cost him wear on his boots, and time: he would just barely make it by the eve of the Kingfisher Festival. Riding aboard a ship would take him there faster; he could reach Vogler a day early, or have a little more time in Kalaman to get his affairs in order.

Perhaps more significant, though, is the decision whether to let his contact in the Mages of High Sorcery know of his planned movement... Or not.

Wilberforce, meanwhile, has made the decision of how to get to Vogler, dashing off from Kalaman in the form of a powerful, riderless steed. Perhaps Daryan even sees him run by, on the road or at a distance from the deck of a ship...

Shagrin looked about as the crowd dispersed. His heart was heavy as the reality that Ispin wasn't at the commencement solidified that the letter he had received had been true. Until now he had held a modicum of hope that the letter had been a ruse. Unfortunately, since the old warrior and mentor wasn't to be found the news of his passing had to be true. Only death would have kept him from seeing Shagrin graduate from the citadel academy.

The stalwart dwarf shook off his grief and strode off purposely. He retrieved his belongings from where he had stowed them near by. He had signed on as an escort for steel and other goods being sent to Vogel and they were scheduled to leave them immediately. If things went well they should arrive just in time for the ceremony.

The caravan Shagrin escorts proceeds on schedule. One day away from Vogler, they set up camp along a forest trail. As they sit by the fire before bedtime, one of the dwarven caravan handlers looks over to Shagrin, and says, "Brother, ye've been lookin' like ye're holding on ta some misery this whole trip. Would it help ta talk 'bout it, or is it a one-dwarf's burden kinda thing?"

With the early light of the new day peeking through her window, Calitynia had already been up for a while. She was just finishing running a brush through her long white hair, when there was a knock on her door.  Answering it, she was surprised to see a courier with a sealed note for her. She took it, thanking the young boy, and walked over to sit down, puzzling over the envelope.  'A Knight of Solamnia insignia,' she thought. 'I wonder what this could be.'  It had hardly been a fortnight since she had been sent to Maelgoth on assignment.  It really shouldn't be new orders.  Quickly she broke the seal and neatly opened the envelope. 

She couldn't get past the first paragraph without stopping.  Her hands shaking, she re-read it at least three times before her mind accepted the truth of the words. 'Ipsin has always been there for me! What will I do with him gone?' she thought, continuing to struggle maintaining her composure. He was never a constant presence in her life.  But ever since that night she had met him, he'd at least been a recurring presence. A source of interesting letters from far off places. And when he did make it to Sancrist, he always found her and was good for a new tale or two.  Tears came to her eyes, and she could hardly control her sobs. Ipsin's care for her had brought her to her new life. She couldn't recall ever having felt such sadness.

It took a few minutes before awareness came to her. 'I am sitting here bawling like a silly child. No! I'm a Knight of Solamnia! This isn't what Ipsin would want!' She stood up, quickly wiping away the tears then washing her face to rid it of any possible sign of her sadness.  She carefully read the entire message, then resolute, donned her gear to head out.  She marched straight to her superior, Sir Wyman.  Showing him the note, she told him of Ipsin's death and the request from Becklin to attend the memorial. "Given all that Ipsin has done for me, honor requires that I honor him by attending!" she pleads. "The eve of the Kingfisher festival is coming quite soon, so I must depart at once. If I could impose on your kindness, being allowed the use of a horse or even passage on a vessel going to Vogler would be quite helpful." 

Standing there awaiting a response, Cali suddenly realized just how anxious she was. She couldn't imagine going without his permission.  But neither could she imagine missing out on Ipsin's memorial.  After what seemed an eternity to her, Sir Wyman responded. "I've heard of this Ipsin Greenshield. And Becklin's a good man. You are of course correct, you must attend this memorial."  He stops a moment to run his fingers through his coarse beard. "We just have to get you there. Not sure overland will be fast enough. We'll have a boat for you arranged before the day is out. Report to your squad as usual and we'll find you when it's time."  

It was all Cali could do to keep from jumping with joy.  "Of course, sir!" she said, with probably a bit too much enthusiasm. Calming herself a bit she continued. "I will go and await your order."  Wyman just nodded, "Dismissed!"  Within a few hours she was aboard a ship, heading down the Vingaard River to Vogal.  Standing at the fore of the ship, the wind tousling her hair, she felt a mix of sorrow and happiness.  It was hard to lose Ipsin, but she knew in her heart that it was right to honor his memory with her presence. 

It was a long day, but a satisfying one. The greatest benefit of living out on the edge, in a place like Ligett, was that there was always a need for hard iron, worked into some useful shape. Pelo Surestaff had spent a long day at the forge, worshipping Reorx in the best way he knew how. Shirtless, but wearing an apron, his arms had countless small scars from slight burns and minor injuries. He hardly felt them during the day, raising his strong right arm in an arc, holding the metal in the strong grip of the tongs in the left. And if the old injuries came back at night? That was what mead and good music was for.

His work at the forge was so loud, he didn't immediately notice the man with the letter. Not until the man gently touched his shoulder did he spin around, ready at first to strike, but quickly realizing that no harm was intended. He wiped his brow, took the letter, and opened a nearby jug to give the courier a tip. The letter was already discolored in his hand from the sweat on his hands and forearms. He walked out of the stifling tent and broke the seal. Although he knew Ispin was old for a human, it still took him by surprise. Why he'd seen Ispin only four...oh my...four years ago now. How had it come to be so long? He had lost himself in the work again, forgotten his obligations. Well, he was hardly the only blacksmith in Ligett. They'd have to struggle on without his services for a time.

He immediately went back to the forge and began the process of cooling and, afterward, dismantling it and storing it on his wagon. Afterward, he hooked up Daisy to the front and, making sure that all was in order, nickered to the mule so as to get her moving. By his calculations, he would arrive in Vogler just two days ahead of the Kingfisher Festival. Along the way he would take a bit of tin he had and shape it into something beautiful and interesting for Ispin. He'd have liked that.

"Aye, tis A solemn journey em makin fer sure. A man to whom I owe me life has passed and em bond to see em off."  replies Shagrin. Changing the subject he quickly goes on to ask, "What's the schedule look like? Eh saw we pass through Ligett. Let's make it a quick stop." 

Sir Wyman, perhaps, was confusing Uth Viharin, a woman, for another Becklin; it is, after all, a unisex name. Regardless, Calitynia has been given passage aboard a ship, the K.S.S. Crown's Conveyance, a Knights of Solamnia resupply vessel. The schedule of the Conveyance has been altered slightly to stop in Vogler on its way to Kalaman, per Sir Wyman's orders.

The dwarven caravan handler shakes his head, "Passed Ligett days ago, my friend; we're 'most a th' way ta Vogler by now. Why don't --", he stops. There is a slow trodding sound coming along the road in the direction of Vogler. The camp quiets to listen, and take up arms if necessary.

What trods up is a dwarf driving a mule-pulled wagon. It is Pelo. It is good that he left a little early, as he had been set behind somewhat by broken axles and thick mud. When it becomes clear that the intruder on the campsite is a fellow dwarf, the caravan dwarves ease up. "It's late, brother; care ta pull up yer wagon an' share a fire?", the handler asks.

In the instant that the handler stops talking, Shagrin is on his feet, Shield braced, trident in hand. 

When the source of the sounds is revealed he relaxes his posture but remains on alert. When the handler offers the new comer a place amongst them Shagrin steps aside to make room. He remains standing and on high alert just in case this is a distraction. 

Walking in the morning sun coming over the rooftops, making his way to the Kalaman harbor, the white-haired half-elf seeks out a vessel for a quick passage to the village of Vogler.

Earlier back in his small room at the Steady Beacon he drew the blade Darkstar from it's scabbard, holding it before him reverently in both hands, reaching out with his mind to report to the old man with the white beard about his plans to attend the funeral of an old friend in the village of Vogler but that he expected to be back in Kalaman within the week.

Seeking out a vessel proves easy enough for Daryan. For a single silver piece, he is aboard.

"Vogler, eh? You're a wise one to choose the river route," the captain says, welcoming the half-elf aboard. "Travelers of the forest roads report sightings of strange men, cloaked in black. Dark mages, no doubt, sowing the forest with seeds of misfortune. Better to take the water road, most definitely. Well. Welcome aboard."

Wilberforce, meanwhile, has galloped from the farmlands around Kalaman into dense forest. One might wonder, does he too run into the dwarven caravan, by most unlikely coincidence?

No, he does not. He is coming from the east, you see, while the caravan is camped in the forest's west. He does, however, sense something amiss, ahead on the road. His horse ears pin up, his nostrils flair; it is too quiet, suddenly, and something close smells of blood.

How does he proceed?

Calitynia, aboard the ship down in the southwest, hears all kinds of rumors from bored squires and deckhands. That warlords in the east have been recruiting anyone with a will to fight, with eyes on the eastern provinces. That a great fleet of elven ships was sighted heading west, destination unknown. That the land of the kender had suffered a great disaster, causing a flood of refugees. Impossible to know if such rumors are true, but listening staves off some of the boredom of an otherwise monotonous trip.

Wilberforce slows and stops. He is no stranger to blood, it's part of nature and cannot harm him itself. However, Wilberforce knows there are predators in the forest mighty enough to prey on a Warhorse. He is in control, but the horse instincts are making him more careful than he would be in Kender form. He has travelled far and it is getting harder to maintain this form. "Not quite time for a change yet" he thinks, "Let's just take a look around and see what is going on". 

He makes a Perception or Survival check (in D&DBeyound the stats are the same for both in this form): 24 rolled on character Sheet. 

[OOC] DM Let me know if I can do rolls on the character Sheet or should only use post. Thanks.

The white-haired half-elf simply nodded politely to the captain, paying him his coin of silver. Strange men cloaked in black? Well it was certainly not any Mages of High Sorcery, that much he was certain of, but there were of course renegades to look out for. This had to be looked into, he thought as he stood on deck and saw the harbor of Kalaman disappear as the ship steered westwards towards the village of Vogler.

If possible, Daryan would spend the short journey, trying to pick up more rumors, particularly about these strange men in black.
Perception: 22
Persuasion: 16

(Nevermind :-P)

The letter came all of a sudden. Ori was helping out with some live stock on a farm just outside Kalaman. She had arrived here a few weeks ago and offered to assist in the day to day of running the farm in exchange for some meals and shelter before she set off again, to who knows where. Prone to wandering, Ori wasn't entirely sure how this letter was able to find her here, but with a seal like this, she imagines there are powerful people at play. 

She was out in the fields when Morry called out that she had received a letter. "Ori, a note arrived for you! Looks important!" Morry hollered from the small farmhouse. She is a robust human woman of middle age. Her husband was killed in one war or another and her children were grown and have all left the nest. She is appreciative of any help she can get on the farm, and is secretly overjoyed by the presence of another warm body in the house. "Be right there!"

Ori stands from her work and unhitches her dress. It falls around her in soft sheets of fabric and blows gently in the wind. She walks easily back to the farm out. Grabbing a cup of waters she moves to the window and opens the letter. Upon reading the contents Ori starts to tear up. Unable to help herself she dissolves into silent sobs for a moment, until Morry notices and hurries over to offer her some comfort. "I need to go" Ori says quietly "This man was like a father to me, and he is dead now... his funeral is soon in Vogler and I don't want to miss it." 

Morry hugs her close "I understand child. I thought you might be leaving soon, so I prepared this for you." She hands Ori a small sack with food and a fresh water skin. "This should help you make the journey safely. And this.. " She pulls a small wooden carving from her pocket. It is in the shape of the livestock that Ori had been helping tend. She hands the carving to Ori "May this help guide and protect you on your journeys."

Ori looks up with tear filled eyes. "Thank you." She says. She takes the supplies and the trinket and puts them in her backpack. She finishes tidying up her space and starts the trek to the funeral of her surrogate father. A constant optimist with a song in her heart, through the whole trip she cant bring herself to sing a note.  

Horse Wilberforce looks around carefully. There are fresh wagon tracks ahead, boot prints from human sized feet headed in the same direction.. Nothing out of the ordinary for a roadway so far, but there is something else, worrying. Bootless tracks, large like a human or elf's, but the shape is more like the footprint a bird would leave, with three long thin splayed toes in the front and a fourth short toe in back. Following all these tracks, as quietly as possible, he comes upon something horrific: a burnt covered wagon, with slain humans armored in iron spawling around it. The ashes are not old, but not fresh either; the massacre must have happened a few hours ago.

Daryan's inquisitiveness is rebuffed, as deckhands and captain become busy on setting out. He can't do much sightseeing either, as the banks today are covered in a dense fog. He'll have to find some other diversion to while away the time.

Ori is heavy hearted as she walks into the forest, so distracted that she is completely surprised when she stumbles on the burnt covered wagon with the dead humans around. The only things alive around her are trees, and a suspiciously unharmed warhorse. What happened here?

Ori will look around in shock. For a moment she just stands at the edge of the clearing, trying to just take in the horror that she sees before her. "what happened here...?" she whispers quietly to herself. 

As she takes the first few steps into clearing, she pulls out her Hoopak and holds it at the ready. "Who or what are you, and what did you DO to these poor people?!" She yells at the warhorse. As she does the strings on the sling end of her Hoopak start to hum a quiet and discordant harmony. 

Daryan would walk the deck, looking for other passangers that may be playing cards, in which case he would join in. Otherwise he would restlessly walk back and forth on deck, thinking back on Ispin and how he turned the young half-elf's life around back in Tarsis. He felt some anger over not tracking down his old friend while he was still alive but also felt some comfort in now having the opportunity to pay his respects and say farewell to the goodhearted Ispin. He smiled as he remembered some of the adventuring stories Ispin used to tell him. He wondered who else would be at the funeral. Quite a few people if he had to guess.