Bio and Journal of Anden Soulseek

[yinyangzealot]

\Anden Soulseek:

First Name: Anden
Last Name: Soulseek

Appearance:
Race: Human
Age: 28
Height 6 foot
Weight: 83 kg
Eyes: Green
Hair: Blonde
Facial Hair Style: Shaved

Personality Profile:
General Health: Good
Deity: Silvanus, with nightly prayers also given to Oghma
Initial Alignment: Neutral
Profession: Priest of Silvanus, adventurer
Base Class & Proposed Development: Bard, priest multiclass, mainly bard
Habits/Hobbies: Playing the hand drum, Meeting new acquaintances, Makes own hide covering for armor, Learning the flute and lyre, (slowly), Books on arcane and natural lore, loves being shown how to survive in the wilds by experts, keeping a journal and making maps
Languages: Common, Celestial, Elven
Weapon of Choice: Curved longsword

Background:

Anden was born and raised south of Trademeet, just far enough to be considered Tethyr. He has spent most of his life living on the outskirts of the Weldath, the large body of forest that covers most of that land.



His father Gwain, was a druid, his mother Seraph, a bard and stormsinger. The former venerated Silvanus, the latter Oghma.



Most of the family time was spent in a hamlet, not far from the Trade Way and small enough that it didn't have a formal name. However the locals used to call it informally Fairwood.



As you a young child, Anden was used to his father's long absences as he performed his duties deep in the forest. As he got older, he began to understand the druid's responsibilities, but it still left an emotional distance between the two of them. He was very close to his mother, however, and used to accompany her to Trademeet, where she was originally from. He learned music and the arts of the bard from his mother, although he could never hope to be as proficient as she was. He used to provide rhythmic accompaniment to her as she played and sang. Anden suspects that his mother and father were Harper friends and that his mother might even have been a retired member of that group



One of Anden's most important influences was his father's closest, perhaps even only, friend, an Elven ranger called Isendur, who hailed initially from Suldanessellar, but now ranged far north of the woods to be an advance scout. He used to visit the home often, never staying the night however, before heading off into the wilds. It was from him, and his mother who also spoke it, that Anden learned the Elven language, often the three of them conversing the entire evening in the language, with no word of common spoken. Anden's grandmother says that her grandmother's mother was elven, so there is some blood in the family, however diluted. In many ways Isendur was more of a father figure than his own father



Isendur taught Anden the rudiments of hunting, although Anden usually watched and was not much of a hunter. However it was from Isendur that Anden got his love for the beauty of the wilds. The hide outer layer he wears now is from bears that became over populated and had to be culled, lest the put the ecosystem out of balance, and which he stitched together himself, albeit clumsily. The sword and shield Anden now brandishes were both presents from Isendur for his coming to age. One is a curved blade, likely of Elven make, and the other a plain wooden shield with the symbol of a tree cut into it as a relief. Anden has since paid to have these items magically enchanted and it is unlikely he will ever part with them,although he may on occasion use other items



Despite their early differences, however, it was his father's faith that Anden followed in. Gwain had always wanted Anden to follow the way of the druid like himself and as a teenager, Anden believed he would. However the music was too stong in Anden, nor was he wise
enough to understand the rigorous obligations of the druid's role. He used to travel with his father deep into the Weldath for the feast days of the Song of the Trees and the Dance of the Dryads. It was at one of these that his talent in leading the sacred chant and rhythm
was spotted and encouraged. The arch druid, who presided over the ceremony recognised that although Anden didn't have what it took to be a druid, there was a place for him in the Church of Silvanus, however small and specialised that place might be. Anden is aware of his lowly status overall in the ranks of Silvanus' clergy



Anden was inducted by the arch druid as a priest of Silvanus, although he was not given the title Forest Master. He does not ask the Oak Father for many spells, primarily ones for protection. As well as his daily prayers, Anden also pays reverence to Oghma, both as the
patron of bards and in tribute to his mother's devotion. He wears the symbol of the living green leaf around his neck. He also sports a small silver pin in the shape of a blank scroll, a treasured possession from his mother.



Both of his parents are now passed away. His father died in circumstances the druids have not seen fit to elaborate upon. His mother died a few years after from the Black Lung, a bitter blow. It is the loss of his mother and the reluctance of the arch druid to tell him how his father died that gave Anden the impetus to travel elsewhere. Having sold the family property and with a coin purse large enough to cover the journey, Anden set out North.




Goals:

To meet up with other Silvanites and interact with druids and rangers especially. To explore the wilds and possibly draw up maps of unexplored areas, encompassing both Silvanus' and Oghma's portfolios. To help in Silvanus' feast days. To meet and befriend nature
experts. To learn arcane lore and pick as much nature lore as his travels allow. To combat followers of the gods of fury, with special determination against followers of Malar, Talos and Talona. To adventure for the sake of exploration. To bring word of Silvanus to others who might be interested using his strong force of personality. To uphold the Balance where he can


Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts:

Anden is heavily neutral and will combat overwhelming evil without thought. However there may be times when the Balance is more threatened by good overly thriving. Possibly situations when previous comrades are on different sides. At the recent sermons of Ameris Santraeger, Anden was whispering caution about following blindly the whims of a priest of Ilmater and asking whether the destruction of Triel was a necessary result of the Balance. Seek out local dryads and find their names as mandated by the Church. Possibly seek to convert others with his strong force of personality. Help out with events that involve Candlekeep, collect books and scrolls for the library. Face any foe that seeks to destroy the treasure trove of information that is Candlekeep
Seek the return of his mithral dagger, a gift from Isendur, stolen in a burgalry the first night of Anden's stay in BG

[yinyangzealot]

I will not seek to date these entries as they are usually written some time after the events described therein. And my first entry is the hardest of all. With mother gone, there is nothing here for me now, save Isendur's occasional visits. It might be my imagination, but they appear to be getting less and less frequent, especially since mother's death.



He is hard to read, not being one for overt shows of emotion, but I have known him long enough to see the grief in his eyes. I have told him of my plans, however, and when he saw the look in my own eyes, he didn't even try to convince me otherwise. We have said our goodbyes and wished each other well. As a parting gift, I gave him mother's old pearl inlayed flute. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but I am sure I saw his eyes well up upon receiving it. I know he will treasure it and there is no place for it where I am bound.



In return, he gifts me his old mithral dagger, not to be used in combat he assures me, rather a utility for skinning and cutting wood when I am in the wild. I am sure it will be most useful. We wish each other sweet water and light laughter till next we meet again.



I have made my farewells in the town and have sold the house to Old Man Guinne. He's been coveting the place for years and I guess he has given me a fair price for it. I am staying at the inn for these last few days, but have spent most of the time in my room, tapping
out a soft rhythm on my drum.



The innkeeper, bless him, and his wife pop in periodically to attempt to cheer me up, but I'm in no mood for frivolities. However it is a time of reflection for me, not sadness. Despite the grievous losses of the last few years, I had some
happy memories of this simple little hamlet. Part of me doesn't want to leave - to live the simple life is so tempting, but I know I must move on if I am to thrive. A caravan heading north arrives in town tomorrow, headed for Trademeet. I intend to be on that caravan.

[yinyangzealot]

I have spent the last few days here in Trademeet with grandmother. She is in her seventies and has still managed to keep hold of her sharp wit. It has been nice to spend time with the last remaining family I have, although taxing on occasion. She still seems very angry
with father, for I know not what reason, as if not marrying him would have spared mother from the Black Lung. I have a feeling that she feels he put duty over family, which I suppose if looked at dispassionately he did on occasion. I wish those damn druids would tell me how he died, however. Never mind, Anden. All is as the Oak Father wills it.



I used to think Trademeet was the capital of the world, with its markets, estates, taverns and temples. As a boy I would go down to the markets and look at the merchants' wares with astonishment until I made a nuisance of myself and was shooed away. Father, of course, never understood the place at all. What use was money to a druid? Although he and Isendur, did in fact trade furs of beasts- father never hunted for furs though, but only killed animals when their numbers were out of balance and skinned those animals he found already dead. But now that I recall, mother did the trading for them, being a local girl and one with considerable charisma at that. I wonder who will trade for Isendur now?



I said my goodbyes to grandmother. I don't suppose I will ever see her again? Our goodbye was tinged by that unspoken realisation. But Trademeet is not for me and she is well looked after by her neighbours. There is another caravan leaving north tomorrow. This one goes
all the way through Amn to the North. I will be taking that caravan for the North, the Ten Towns, perhaps even further if finances allow. I hope to bring the word of the Tree Father that far north.

[yinyangzealot]

It has been quite an uneventful journey to my surprise. I had heard tales of increasing dangers as one travelled north, but the trade way seems well patrolled and our caravan master knows his business. Sometimes we travel through the night if he feels we may be in danger by lingering too long. We cross the Small Teeth without too much hardship. It provides for some spectacular views.



One night, an altercation between two of my fellow travellers threatens to turn into a brawl and I step in and quieten the potential aggression with a few quick witted jokes and a bawdy song to reduce the chances of an escalation into violence. I feel quite embarrassed at using my music for the lowest common denominator, but it is called for here.



The caravan master seems quite impressed by this and asks me to travel up front with him. This proves quite beneficial, because for the price of a few songs here and there on the road, I get a guide for the rest of my journey - this battle was fought here, that mage died there, monsters abound over there, this sort of thing. His wife, Magda, a plain looking middle-aged one woman, who always addresses him with a sharp tongue, seems particularly taken with my songs. The song "I'll Always be in Inisfree", in particular, never fails to bring her to tears. It obviously contains some special significance to her.



After a week or so, we arrive at Imnescar. The caravan master stops at an inn he recommends. It is homely but more than adequate for my purposes. After several weeks on the road eating the stale and plain fare of the caravan chef, it is a delight to have some roast duck and potato, washed down with a mug of the house ale. And a bed for the first time in weeks. The innkeeper, a sordid little man of fifty years or so, asks me if I would like company for the night, but I refuse his kind offer politely. Ah, the wonders of civilisation. We don't tarry long at the inn however and we stock up for the next leg of the journey.

[yinyangzealot]

We are deep in Amnish territory now, nearby Purskul, with Athkatla far to the west of us. We see more evidence of guards patrolling the trade way in larger areas and tales from travellers become more lurid and alarming. Beasts, monsters, highwaymen. It seems the north has it all. We press on, however, undeterred by such fanciful tales, but with our hands on the hilts of our swords just in case.


North, north and north again we travel and as we do, my funds become more stretched. I should have been more frugal on the road, but I was not accustomed to handling such a large amount. Along the way we met a mage who told me he could put a permanent magical enchantment on my sword and shield and, perhaps listening too much of the stories of magical beasts that require magical weapons to defeat, I foolishly agreed. A magical sword and shield is of no avail if you cannot feed yourself.



As we travel north, our next obstacle is the formidable Cloud Peak mountain range, surely the hardest part of our journey so far. We follow a rocky trail through the lowest valley in that range, but even so the temperature has dropped noticeably. Our caravan master assures us that this is the fastest, most secure passable road to take. We hit a fork in the road and he tells me that if we took the right fork it would cut two days of our journey, but would leave us deep in the heart of giant country. "Trust me, Anden", he tells me, "Old Morris here, has been taking this road since before you were born. That don't mean it's a doddle though, so keep your eyes and ears peeled". Needless to say I oblige the man.



But, he was true to his word and we pass through the peaks without incident. Only the truly dull, however, could be surrounded by the snowy peaks and wonder what manner of life they contain? Perhaps one day I will find out. We travel north again and make our way to Nashkel. It is the most delightful hamlet one could imagine, hard to believe it sitting as it does at the foot of such danger. The people are warm and friendly, being mainly farming stock and miners. We stay at the local inn, run by a retired adventurer the caravan master tells me. The provender is good, a hearty beef stew, served with some unleavened bread. Our stay there is brief and pleasant, but Morris tells us it does not behove us to tarry. Accompanying us on the journey are various merchants and traders and they
are anxious to make their way to Baldur's Gate.

[yinyangzealot]

We head north again then, along the Trade Way. The land is rugged and featureless, a few mountains to the west and what the caravan master tells me is wastelands to the east. We stop at Beregost, a larger town and spend the night at the Risen Phoenix Inn. I have a meal of mutton, carrots and potatoes and a stein of the locally made mead. We are serenaded by the local bard, a man whose musical output is both gaudy and bawdy, mixing cold musical virtuosity with a vulgar humour. I do not care for it much to be honest and I head to bed early.


The next morning the members of the caravan are asked to make a further donation to secure additional guards for the next leg of the journey. It is close to being my last coin.



Further north the road takes us then, and I can see why the extra security is needed. There are goblins and ogres and a spill over of large unusual insect creatures and it takes all the extra muscle to fight these off. We pass by the famous Friendly Arm Inn, but we only see it from a distance as the caravan master tells us we are to travel through the night to make it to the city by morn. Through the night the guards -and I- hold off some bandits and feral bears on the way and are almost ambushed twice.


As we pass the Trade way not too far from the Gate, the caravan master points out a shrine to the Oak Father about a ten minute walk from the road. I ask politely if it would be possible to visit the shrine, even for a few moments and, despite his misgivings, the caravan master acquiesces to my request.



Of course I say my nightly prayers and give thanks to him in the morn and whenever is appropriate during the day, but there is something so serene in sitting by a shrine of Silvanus. By the shrine I see various rune marks and scratchings, which I instantly identify as messages to and from druids who stop at the shrine. By the shrine are some sort of herb growing, for which the druids no doubt have a use. The moment of serenity doesn't last long, however as I am minded of my colleagues patiently awaiting my return.


Under the moonlight I thank the Oak Father for his blessings and set off to join the caravan on the journey north again.



We finally arrive at the outskirts of Baldur's Gate and it is upon looking at my coin purse that I realise that this is my final destination. I pack my backpack and say my farewells to those who are continuing further north still. It has been some months on the road and circumstances like that can give rise to deep friendships. I tell them that I will be staying at the city and Morris, the caravan master, advises me to stay at the Elfsong and tells me to mention his name for a discount and the best fare.


I thank both him and Magda and watch the caravan head north. I turn to the city, immense and breathtaking even from this distance and say to myself 'Let the adventure begin'.

[yinyangzealot]

I arrive through the East gate and I am bombarded with a cacophy of noise and a barrage of smells. I pass through the market district first and I hear the pitch of the big city hucksters plying their wares - this is the best, that the most precious, this particular is one of a kind and so on. And the goods! Spices and perfumes from Calimsham, jewelry from Amn, carved wooden figurines all the way from Chult. Anything and everything you could think of is being traded here with gusto and volume.



I am beckoned hither and thither by the merchants, no doubt seeing a country boy arrived in the city for the very first time. If only they knew how light my coin purse was, they would not waste their efforts. That being said, I'm afraid even with my current state of funds, I have been victim of the smooth talk of one of the merchants!



I come across a stall operated by a halfing man, selling what he says is the finest of Hin pipes and pipesmoke. It is my both my curiosity in the halfling chap and my desire to test out this pipesmoke for myself that leads me to purchase a long thin, elegantly carved wooden pipe and, what the halfling describes as the smoothest smoke this side of Gullykin. Imagine that, a village entirely of halflings? I make a mental note to visit one day.



Of course there were the Fentons of Trademeet, a well established family of that town and one that curiously lived in a human sized house. But I did not see much of them in my stays, although I was assured they were an integral part of Trademeet society and well thought of. I have much curiosity regarding halflings and perhaps in this area I can learn more of them and their customs.



Armed with my new pipe and pipesmoke, I leave the din of the markets behind me and set off in search of accommodation. I do not have to travel far to find my objective, the Elfsong tavern. Along the way, I heard the stories of the tavern, of the ghostly elven lady whose voice can stun elves with its haunting beauty. The first thing that hits one as you enter, however is the thick cloud of pipesmoke, the din of gossip and tavern talk, whispered and not so whispered. A few heads turn to look at me, but mainly the tavern is full of its own intrigue and talk.



I make my way up to the barkeep and inquire about a room and when he asks guardedly for how long, I reply the tenday. He seems a little more relaxed at the thought of a long term customer and we exchange pleasantries. He shows me to my room where I unpack and play a little rhythm to cheer my soul. I am careful not to play my rhythm too loud, no-one outside my room could hear that is for sure. It seems a curious thing for an inn, but I was attuned to it straight away - apart from the fabled ghostly singing, the tavern lacks any kind of music at all. That is no doubt by choice and I am careful not to change that lest I incur the ire of the locals on my first day.

[yinyangzealot]

After I spend a few hours in my room, I make my mind up to venture downstairs, have a meal and perhaps ask around for available work.



It may be my imagination, but it seems that the din has gotten louder and yet there is a sense of anticipation in the air, as if it could be shattered at a moment's notice. I take my seat at a table alone and a pretty half elven serving girl comes to hand me the bill of fare, untidily scribbled on a beer stained parchment. There are cheeses of various types, some fish, a warm meat dish. I ask the girl what she would recommend and she tells me the locals swear by the stew. I order a bowl of that accompanied by a mug of honeyed mead and fill my pipe, taking a long languorous drag. The sensation of the pipesmoke is most unusual, but not unpleasant.


After a short time, I begin to feel slightly light headed, but not in an uncomfortable way.



The meal arrives and I devour the stew wolfishly. It really is rather good and I ask the serving girl when she comes to collect the empty bowl what it contains, for I have not tasted the like. It is the tavern owners own recipe apparently and contains all the left overs mixed with ale and wine and spices and slow cooked to bind the flavours together. I ask the girl to send my compliments to the chef and swear that it will become my staple as long as I stay at the Inn.



Then, it happens.



It starts slowly at first, my ear picking up the hint of a musical voice, but suddenly the room is silent. It is hard to describe how achingly lovely this song is and it is no wonder that the hearing of it can literally stun an elf upon first listen. Crystal clear, moving from major to minor, a voice than can pierce your soul with its beauty. As it has been some time since I have spoken elven, my farewell with Isendur being the last occasion, I miss a few of the nuances. But still, I understand enough to realise that it is as moving lyrically as melodically. A song of a love, long lost at sea and the cruelty of true love cursed by fate.



Perhaps it is the combination of the pipeweed and the mead, but I find myself weeping gently. A gnarled old man comes over and without provocation or invitation gives me a long, heartfelt hug. When the song is over he beckons me join his group and I do. He tells me not
to be embarrassed, that the weeping and the hug were common enough customs at the Inn.



He tells me his name is Caine -with an 'e' he stresses- and I spent the next few hours in the company of him and his friends, swapping stories of the road with advice on what to do next in the city. I'm afraid to say I get rather drunk and am forced to call time on the evening's proceedings before I make a fool of myself.

[yinyangzealot]

I should not have worried, I already made a fool of myself, before an ale was touched. As I enter my room, slightly inebriated, I discover to my horror that I have been robbed. Oh Anden, you fool. Why did you not take Morris' advice? Trust no-one in the city until they earn your trust. The contents of my backpack are poured on the bed and what is left leaves me close to tears for the second time this eve.



All my potions, many of them made by or procured by father, all gone. My scrolls, collected over a period of ten years or so, likewise gone. My wands, gone. Many of the scrolls I possessed were scribed by mother herself, as this was one of her talents. I used to take one or two out and look at that elegant script and was reminded of her. No more.



My wand of stoneskin gone. In my thirteenth year, when my bardic abilities were manifesting, mother had taken a week to create this wand, cast as a higher circle spell, but usable by a novice like myself. It was no mean feat and that wand had been the difference of life and death on some of the hunts I went on with Isendur and father's journeys deep into the woods. I needed that wand and now I would be without it, with no hope of casting the spell of my own accord.



But those were consumables, however much sentimental value they contained, they were always destined to be used. The most egregious loss however was the mithral dagger Isendur gave me as a parting gift. Gone, stolen, in the hands of some black hearted thief. How careless
you were with your gifts. My grief turns to anger and I swear I will find the thief that stole this dagger and have it returned to me.



My hand instinctively goes to my sword. I had thought it foolish to go downstairs with my sword by my side, but I am glad I did so now. It would most certainly be gone too.


All they left was my old hand drum and -yes- they left my shield, perhaps looking at its surface value and seeing only a battered wooden shield. If only they knew, it would most certainly be gone too.



I make a vow to have my goods returned to me and make the thief feel the loss I feel in kind, offer a simple prayer to Silvanus and go wearily to sleep.

[yinyangzealot]

I awake at the break of dawn to the sound of plates and cutlery clinking below me. After my low point last night I am strengthened in my resolve. Perhaps this was Silvanus' way of letting me know not to hang on to the past too much and to start afresh without the baggage of worldly possessions. I am sure, however, that he would want me to return possession of the mithral dagger Isendur gave me and I decide that this is what I shall focus my attention to. But where to start? One simply can't go around asking people if they are a thief, not if one wants to avoid bloodshed that is. No, I must make contacts, establish myself and be discrete in the asking.



But that is for later. A quick look at my coin purse tells me what the now should be. I have to earn some coin and, to top it all, I am expected to purchase also the one or two spell scrolls that will be necessary for me to operate on my own. To business then.



Armed with a hearty breakfast of eggs, lightly spiced with a hot ground red pepper and accompanied by a mint flavored sausage, I set out to find gainful employment. The night before had not been a complete disaster, though, as I was told that the most likely man to help me would be a street performer who plies his trade not far from the Elfsong. 'He goes by many names', I was told, 'but you may call him Brandon.' Sure enough I find Brandon not far from the Elfsong. I delibarately put a single gold coin in his tip bucket, taking the time to show him the coin first so he could guess my meaning.


It works. He stops and asks me how he can help. I tell him I seek any available work and he sizes me up and down and tells me the only work going is muscle. He asks if I can handle that. I tell him I look forward to the challenge and he gives me a bemused look that screams 'of course, right'. He tells me I have to start off small, earn my reputation and the more lucrative work will come. As an afterthought, he tells me that each job I do, I must pay him ten percent commission. "Call it a finders fee" he tells me. I am in no position to argue and I agree.



He tells me of a merchant in the docks district, a Stewart Hipp, that requires someone who can handle themselves to ensure the safe delivery of certain 'items', without too many questions asked. I wonder what I have got myself into, but again I find myself in no position to argue. I nod in agreement.


Stewart Hipp, docks, packages. Right, got it.

[yinyangzealot]

I head off to the docks district in search of my first paying job in the city. It doesn't take too long to find the docks, thankfully, just follow your nose and the sound of the water hitting the breaches. What I do notice however is that one can tell almost instantly that this place is more dangerous than the East district. Nearly everyone carries a weapon, be it sword, mace or dagger. I am thankful I have my curved blade with me.



As I head through the district to the docks themselves I am approached by a young boy, perhaps only ten, who offers to sell me a gold necklace. The boy is emaciated, almost certainly a pauper and probably an orphan. I ask how he might have acquired such an object, but he sharply asks me whether I want it or not. I feel sorry for the boy, but I'm most certainly not helping the child fence stolen goods.



I come up with a compromise. "Tell me from whom you got this necklace, boy, and I'll give you ten gold to feed yourself". It is perhaps a foolish gesture given the current state of my finances, but I figure if I can return the necklace and help the boy feed himself, it would be a better result for all. The boy ponders and agrees, giving me a description of the noble lady he pilfered it from. He agrees and I take possession of the necklace, vowing to return it to its rightful owner.



I make my way further down the docks and eventually, after asking around a bit, I meet this Stewart fellow. Again, like Brandon, he sizes me up and down, considering heavily. He asks if I can handle that sword and I tell him I can and slightly unsheathe the weapon so he can see the faint glimmer of sparkle that shows that the sword is indeed magical.


He nods curtly and tells me of the job. I am to deliver four different items, be careful of them, they are delicate and beware thieves who may or may not know of the deliveries. I make a quick mental note and am off.


The first two deliveries go without problem, but on the third, a delivery for Sorcerous Sundries, I am approached by a small group of men wielding what looks to be daggers. I sing a quick curse song and put my hand on the hilt of my sword and say "I wouldn't if I were
you, boys".


The curse song bites into them, making them indecisive and weakened and the sight of a magical sword ready to be drawn gives them pause for thought. They back away quickly, making the right choice. After that the job is uneventful, although I do discover that
this whole time, I have been carting around supplies of alchemists fire. No wonder the pay was good.

[yinyangzealot]

My first visit to the palace district for the last delivery proves to be an eye opener. If I was intimidated by the noise and din of the markets, this place is intimidating in quite a different fashion. This is the district of the Hall of Wonder, the various temples the city is home to and, of course, the inevitable noble estates. If one wants an example of how imbalanced city life is, one has only to take the journey from the docks to the palace district to see the inequalities of wealth. There is much to see here, but I dare not tarry, carrying as I do valuable deliveries.




I do, however, ask a few nobles about a woman who may or may not have lost a gold necklace - or had it stolen. By chance I do in fact meet the owner and tell my tale, handing over the necklace. She is initially suspicious of my motives but when I don't mention the subject of a reward she softens a little. I find how she speaks of the boy to be most disagreeable, but I'm not here to be judging anyone, simply trying to earn coin. As I am off, without asking the woman hands me over a small bag of gold, perhaps it was a matter of pride that she saw a deed done repaid in kind.




I finish the deliveries and head back to the docks district where I am duly paid by Stewart, who tells me I handled it well and that he will put in a good word for me with other merchants and dealers seeking similar help.



And with that, I return to the Elfsong, stopping by to give Brandon his commission as promised. He seems quite pleased with the result and tells me he will likely have more work for me in the coming tenday. I nod graciously, looking forward to the equipment and scrolls
my new hard earned coin will bring me. It is getting late in the evening now and I have a bowl of warm, meaty stew, an ale and a few rounds with Caine and comrades. After last night's disaster I feel that things are looking up for me. As I go to bed, I thank Silvanus
for his blessing and promise him I will be out of the city as soon as I can afford to equip myself for the rigours of the journey.

[DM Soulcatcher]

Character biography reviewed and approved. PM any DM IG for reward.

[DM Lobo]

//Awarded