A Nobody. Doing Nothing. Going Nowhere....

[Steve]

Current day....

Smythe succumbs to old habits, and finds himself in discussion with a speckled non-adventurer mage promoting defense and quiet book filled rooms over...well, seemingly everything else. Smythe brings up the subject of oddities gained in other more non-passive pursuits, and the speckled mage claims curiosity and interest. A potential artifact in fragments of bone passes from Smythe to the mage self-introduced as Charraj Cain, in exchange for a bag of realmcoin. Though the speckled mage leaves soon with haste, Smythe makes nothing of it.

[Steve]

A day past....

Within the High Hedge, Smythe is paired with a full metal mage and his shadowy elven maid, while traversing the rolling hills between Beregost and the Sea. Deep into the night, the fields would become battleground...but during a calmer moment, Smythe describes his successful swordsmanship from the point of the intelligent blademaster, he that mindfully wields a blade as an extension of self, his focus, sharp like biting wind upon naked flesh.

The armored mage shows steadfastness in conviction of his reliance on magicks to propel his tireless sword arm.



And it is a good thing....

The dire bears of these rolling hills are relentless, like an army without end, numbers uncountable by the sane. It is a blood bath drenching the grassy knolls, the small curves curving the wet into pools, then small ponds. It is nothing to be proud of, so Smythe would later remark.

Reaching the manor at High Hedge was no small feat for the trio. Their earned experience brings then to a greater enlightenment to their developing strengths.

[Steve]

A day past....

"You have a way with your weight..." Smythe exclaims as he noisily approaches the bulky warrior from behind, making every effort not to surprise the helmeted figure, who had just recently dispatched a dire bear in heavy handed fashion.

As the figure turns round to face Smythe, the half-elf reels back, halting his movement and pausing to take in the toothy maw, the brutish face—Smythe's eyes slit and his back foot digs deeper into the ground, rooting his body for any rapid engagement. "Where did you come from? Be you friend or foe? " asks forth Jon Smythe on the warrior of no-small-size.

"Me, from north I think it is" says the half-orc. Smythe looks north. "Aye, I reckon that be so. But what are you doing here?" asks Smythe.

"Eat that large beast..." says the half-orc, standing over the bear carcass. "Bear meat?" asks Smythe. "Aye, that tasty..." responds the salivating half-orc.

Jon Smythe pauses, looking over the half-orc warrior with a calculating gaze.

"There is tastier meat farther south...if you like" says Smythe, in a tone structured to lure the armored muscle into a new direction.

The half-orc grunts...an interpreted yes. Smythe answers to the grunt with: "You should follow me...but not that close....

[Steve]

A few days past....


Smythe peers over to the shorter person, arrived and eager to bargin. Smythe says: "Now then...have you brought the promised coin, for what I have to sell?"

The Halfling nods several times. "Yesy-yes, all the coin for all of the armor."

Smythe drops a large satchel at the halfling's feet, and opens a hand to receive the coin promised. "It has a great and defined value...and coin is my wish, thank you." The Halfling counts out several bags of coin, handing them across the cobblestones at their feet.

"I do hope the armor protects you well...it is the finest of it's kind!" says Smythe as the deal is completed.

The Halfling looks the armor over intently. "Marvelous! Nothing quite like Mithral."

"Aye...thank the Elves!" Smythe says, as he appears to absentmindedly touch his ear.

The Halfling looks up as Smythe does so. "Ooo . . you have Elven ears?"

"I do. Not by choice, but....they do me well." replies Smythe with a edging grin.

"Now...Blueberry pie I think..." the Halfing says as he licks his lips. "Fare thee well." Says Smythe as he gives the Halfling a final goodbye.

The Halfing waves a hand in return. "Goodbye to you...and your friend."

As the Halfing departs company, Smythe turns to his "friend" to say: "Well then...I felt much more comfortable than usual, knowing your shield was near my side. I thank you, friend..."

The steadfast shieldwarrior replies: "Pleasure to help."

Smythe then appraises the items that are visible upon his companion, at times grinning, at times...frowning. Then, he speaks with sincerity: "Is there anything I can do in exchange for your service?"

Later...

Smythe says as the two appear to begin to part ways: "And make good use of it, as well...until we meet again."

[Steve]

Subject: Rumors of Baldur's Gate



In a day past, or possibly this day, maybe even hours ago...having left the Shelf of Many Books, Smythe heads back to the harbor and the Wanderess, moored there. He can be seen trying to engage both Calico Flint and Captain Deudermont. At times, his engagement seems to be a pleading with them...at others, showing them a hand with a gold coin in it.

[Steve]

Very recently, Jon Smythe spoke his mind over strategy in War, with a couple of spirit to strike hard, at the evil that moves north, to cross the Chionthar, above the Sharp Tooth Woods. A detailed map of region, set up upon the grand table, is observed, manipulated, considered and arranged over and over...until the representative pieces that stand upon the map, satisfy the trio.

As the trio leaves the conference, their faces remain long and pensive...but a glimmer of hope, even excitement from what they accomplished, sparkled in their eyes.

[Steve]

Maybe a few days past....

Smythe chances upon a smartly dressed gnome with a double pointy chin braided beard...and for once, this curious creature among all the finery and amazing wares on display and for sale in the Wide, stops him in his procession, such that he is forced to engage the being, simply, if not more, to learn his name.

Later, Smythe can be seen walking with the gnome toward the Wanderess, docked in the Harbor. Alas...when Smythe arrived and walked up the plank...he was alone...or so it seemed.

[Steve]

An impromptu gathering at the starboard of the Wanderess...where many seemed eager to embark on a mission—none could say heroic, nor foolish, in describing it.

But the Wanderess did not leave her berth this day.

[Steve]

More recently than Smythe would prefer, alas...time also stands still....

A half-elven female, demanding to be recognized as Smythe's Captain-by-Courtesy, goes to every length to persuade a completely, absolutely, in full resolve disbeliever in what-he-sees-before-his-very-eyes Smythe, that an "accident" has befallen them, and yet...Smythe must heed their orders. The swab—as Smythe refers to her—must prove their rank, from bottom up, if they wish to be Captain...

The female Half-Elven, in final attempt, pulls a Canary Diamond to push into the face of Smythe—a cracked Canary Diamond, so particular to Smythe...the very diamond that brought about his constitution weakening curse, that drove him from the Sword Coast so many months ago....

At the sight of it, Smythe takes a half-step backwards, his face showing pain...and his hand, quickly reaching to his scabbard—with every intent of drawing his sword....

///to be continued....damn DDoS.

[Steve]

Something earlier....

Smythe warms his hands by the roast at the Elfsong—it is nearly winter, the nights, brisk and full with a sea-born chill...or is it a chill that races from the east?!?

A familiar face—such that Smythe recognized it immediately—arrives to the patio, and engages him on matters both great and small...many times, a person by the name "CC" is mentioned...though that might mean little to anyone else currently dining under the stars.

[Steve]

This day...hours before a meeting is to be had with many minds on the Plan....

The half-elf approaches the Mystic Margaretta, she who sits in the Wide, day in, day out, giving her insight...for what, be it coin, be it favors, be it as her power is direct from the Gods and none shall own it, freely...no one can say.

But Smythe approaches her, again—he has relied upon her divine insight before—in order to present to her, his vision, and ask, of her, what she herself, sees.

"I have perceived of The Blight, to be cursed, and a walking curse...but for the Undead, as well as the living. It seeks to cure, it does...but...what do you see of this creature, Mystic Margaretta? Is it the weapon, the lance we seek against the General...do you see it battling the Undead in the Fields from which they rise?!?"

[Steve]

This day...at the Wide....

The Mystic Margaretta leads Smythe to smaller tent, where she calls upon spirits, within a seance...a dark fog surrounds the two, wherein their voices are barely whispers and what is said, is impossible to hear.

Time passes, and the dark fog dissipates. The Mystic Margaretta walks away from Smythe, who remains seated upon the ground for some time, pensive.

Later, Smythe can be seen walking to the Helm & Cloak feast hall, where he doesn't leave for the foreseeable future.

[Steve]

A day past....

Smythe takes a deep bodied drink of some sort or another, as he sends a rumor merchant upon his way....

Later, he makes his way to a dark corner table, where dark figure sits behind a tankard of ale.

[Steve]

A day past....

Contemplating a roll of parchment, Smythe idles near the street performer, he that delivers notes of considered arrangement in order to reach a perfection of sound—such inspiration empowers Smythe as he works on something in thought.

Arriving before him are two beings known to him—the Singer of Winds Soora, and the being that would be known as Hoihe...but fails to catch Smythe's trust.

They speak for a very long time, often in terse words...though Soora does her best to create peace.

As the female Elf and the possibly-female half-elf eventually leave Smythe's presence...none observing the "meeting" could with any ease, say anything was resolved between them.

[Steve]

This day...

A cold morning, rain...winter has arrived, so far, much warmer than winters past...but all seem to feel the cold on the doorstep.

As the sun rises from the eastern horizon, and reaches a mark in the sky so that what lands that lay below it may be seen at a distance, a half-man ascends to the battlement, the tower...and looks far into the northeast. How he peers into the distance, contemplating...contemplating the many unknowns between him, them...and them all.