Yltoris

A small cargo ship moved down a river, propelled by oars and a sail affixed to her mast. The ship went around a bend in the river, then moved in, closer to shore. Ahead lay a series of docks, part of a small city. The sail came down, and the ship went to the docks, propelled solely by the oars. There she came to rest, her port side tioed securely to the dockside, attached by stout cables. Officials in attire of bright colors awaited her there. A tall man, strong and sturdy looking, his brown hair and beard washed in grey, waved to them, then disembarked from the ship and strode to the officials. Handshakes and smiles were exchanged. The bearded man offered some papers, whivh wre perused and then stamped by an official. Coin was counted out, then offered to that same official, who put them into a purse. More smiles and hndshakes, then the officials departed, leaving the tall, bearded man alone on the dockside. Almost alone. A elven woman wearing the livery of a courier service

A horse and rider moved slowly down the street. The rider, an elven woman with hair of coppery red, slowly swivelled her head, as if looking for something. Spying a red brick house with a retinue of armed Purple Dragon soldiers arrayed outside it, she nodded, as if to herself. She steered her mount toward it, then halted before the house. A guardsman called out. "Get on with you, there is naught for you here." "It is mistaken that ye be. Tis Quessaar Yltoris Anarrallin that I be. I am Ambassador from Ruanis to yer land. Further, an appointment do I have, and it is expected that I be," the woman replied, and then dismounted. Another soldier joined the first, this one with gold braid and rank insignia, indicating he was an officer. He gazed at Yltoris. "Who are you here to see? How do I know you are who you say?" His voice was calm, his manner stern but not hostile. Yltoris knew what the man saw. An elf woman, with the golden skin and coppery red hair of a sun elf. Her

The door flew open, hitting the wall behind with a crash. Two men strode into the room shouting. "Wake up, you layabouts! Wakey wakey! Out of those racks, now!" One student was slow to move. His cot was flipped over, landing on the floor with a crash. The student stood, seemingly confused, blinking bleerily at the sudden intrusion. Another student stood at the end of his cot, at attention. Tha cot was also flipped on its' side. The man flinched at the sound. A third student, a woman with blonde hair in braids, stood at the end of her cot. It was also flipped onto its' side. The woman didn't move at the sound. One of the men stood before the blonde woman, his face a bare inch from hers. "Who are you? Why are you here, at the Citadel Arcane?" "I am Grimhild Ivarsdottir. I am here to learn to be a war mage," she replied, in heavily accented common. "You talk funny, as if you have rocks in your mouth. Do you have rocks in your mouth, wench?" Grimhild noted the man's teeth were

Your cat speaks. "Hello there, dinner."

"N'Tel'Quess." The word came at her from out of the dark like an assassin's knife. Caught unprepared, it hurt her, cut her to the quick. N'Tel'Quess. An elven word, cold and cruel. It meant not person. Not a person at all. Just a thing. A thing to be loathed and despised. Ysagren had recognized the voice. Now it came again. "N'Tel'Quess. Abomination. You should never have been permitted to exist." The voice was that of Anandorell, the youngest son of her mother's brother. Anandorell, three winters older than Ysagren, with nigh an adult's full growth and muscle on him. Anandorell was a true Gold elf, to the bone. Assured of his own superiority over anyone and everyone, excepting other Gold elves. Ysagren wasn't even full elf. Her mother was a Gold elf, but her father was a despised human. Rightly so, for he had stalked and took Ysagren's mother prisoner, after killing two swordsmen protecting her. Her mother had been carried off, and repeatedly violated. Yet others had seen

A rider sat her horse atop a low hill. The rider was a woman, a human, with long hair the color of sunflowers. Her skin was light, and her eyes the color of the noonday sky. She wore armor, dusty chain mail, from chest to knees; a cloak the color of scarlet hue kept the low wind away from her. An iron headed mace hung from her saddle bow. In a hollow bordered by a stream below the hill was a village. Or, not so much a village, as a collection of huts. The stream meandered through the village, between the huts. The huts were in great disrepair; some seemed nigh to ruins, with walls or doors broken in, although all the roofs were intact. A low bridge across the stream was intact, but the rails alongside the bridge were missing or broken. Nothing moved within the village. No dogs, no pigs, no chickens. No people. There was no sound, save for the cawing of crows roosting in trees outside the village. The rider noted the crows were not within the village. The rider looked at the

This takes up where Suspicions ended. Schantzsy sat her mount, before the Ruanis trade mission, furiously chewing on a blade of grass.  She looked at the sky, noting the position of the sun, then cursed in elvish, asking for damnation on the fool Cormyreans, if they kept her waiting. She had taken the time for a hot bath and thorough cleansing, getting rid of the foulness and stench of the prison cell she had been in for 3 days.  The fleas she'd picked up from the cot were all gone too.  At least, she hoped so.  She'd put on clean clothing from her pack after, while her dirty clothing was burned to ashes.  Aniir had her things brought from the inn she had been staying in.  A hearty meal accompanied by a half bottle of cavaz assuaged her hunger, and mellowed her temper.  The documents she had taken from Selkin Mellizar's desk were now in a safe inside the trade mission.  A diplomatic courier had been summoned, and would take them, under armed escort, to Ruanis the following day. Now

It was a pile of paperwork.  Reports of actions, information gathered, contacts made.  Things known to be true, things tought true but unconfirmed, suppositions, and the vaguest of rumors. Selkin Mellizar sighed.  It all had to be organized, collated, marked, and sent off to Thay by courier.  Some things were of obvious value.  Troop movements, equipment and weapons ordered.  Names of military personnel and government officials. Policies of the Ruanis government, or changes thereof.  These were all useful, Selkin understood.  Valuable, potentially even critical. Why the price of a bag of nuts was important to learn, he couldn't imagine. Some of the reports were of the elven ruled nation of Ruanis, to the east.  Some involved the nation of Cormyr, his own, and where he resided. At least all the reports were in.  That was good.  His masters were quite insistent on that.  Quite insistent. All the reports save one, that was. The one from his best source of information.  The source most

Elloske cocked her head, and considered the tracks before her.  There were two sets of tracks.  One set were that of a rabbit.  The tracks were far apart, obviously the rabbit was moving at speed.  Fleeing, as if for its' life.  She looked where the tracks led.  Into a thicket, of brush and trees. This was naught surprising,  Rabbits were hunted, and fled. The other tracks were curious.  Most curious. They were of a humanoid, barefoot, seemingly a small one.  Not a goblin or an orc, for both had nails on their toes.  Human, or elven, belike, yet this was a wilderness.  None human or elven resided in these parts. None that Elloske knew of, at least.  Certainly no children.  No adult human or elf, if such it was, had made those tracks.  And why pursue the rabbit?  If a hunter, would not the one have a bow or spear or javelin? It made no sense. Elloske followed the tracks, blade in hand.  They led into the thicket.  Just before the thicket, the barefoot prints disappeared.  Elloske's

It was a city of some fifty thousand inhabitants. It sat on the shore of a deep bay, nearly every place on the north shore of that bay having buildings or docks built on it. This was because the city was a busy trading port; ships of many nations docked here, bringing or taking goods to market, here or elsewhere. The city had its' own navy of 11 warships, to police that trade and hunt down pirates. Those warships did not hunt down slavers; no, for slavery was legal in this city. Indeed, trade in that cargo was one of the things that made this city rich. This was indeed a rich city. The wealthy here had mansions built, often with high spires, expensive glass windows, and gruesome statues of fierce winged monsters. Those mansions also had armed guards, walls, and magical wards. Lesser merchants had their own homes. Taverns, shops, warehouses, and inns were everywhere. Anything one might desire could be bought here, for the right price. Here, gold was king. For this was a city