Umber

Blastir and Achomed’s students are summoned for the first time to the event for which they have spent most of their lives preparing.

Images tumbled through Hadrack’s mind in an increasingly restless sleep. A behemothic four-armed being of gold wielding a holy sword strangely frozen in battle with a badly wounded, bipedal dragon-like creature. A man with unfamiliar features clinging to a wall, observing the conflict. The Blasingdell children and a woman he didn’t recognize, standing in a ring around Brin’s quarterstaff, each holding a hand on it and casting spells, not just a few but dozens of them, for hour upon hour until they were ready to collapse from fatigue, using innate abilities and items of magic. Wielding the staff and a ring, Brin casting a spell. A flash of blinding light and then –
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Stopping by the Three Feathers Inn, Sir Geoffrey is displeased to hear that Blasingdell’s children are abroad and knighted in Clement of Dunthrane’s service.

It was late afternoon when a lone rider clad in plate mail pulled up in front of the Three Feathers Inn. A stable boy rushed to meet him; leaving the mount in the lad’s care, the man walked inside, looking around expectantly. He turned when someone began speaking from behind. “Can I help you with – ” the innkeeper broke off midsentence.

“So you really are here,” the rider spoke with obvious affection. “I’d heard rumors. It has been far too long, Rolf.”

“Sir Geoffrey!” Hadrack exclaimed. “This is a pleasant surprise.” The two men embraced.
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It was late, and Hadrack sat in the empty common room of the Three Feathers Inn half-dozing by the fire, still watching, and listening, and thinking. Out of the corner of his eye he saw young Perrit, carrying an armful of wood to replenish the dwindling supply. Dutiful Perrit. I’ll have to retire to my room soon, or the lad will hover all night. “Thank you,” he said. “Just put it with the rest. And you should be in bed, you know,” he added, as he said many a night.
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The fate of a woman found in the traitorous Aimar’s quarters is left in the adventurers’ hands. (af, cp, ler, pc, sab, tad)

Rel Mord is an impressive city, and your newfound friend Gwydion shows you some of its ways and byways. You are surprised by its cosmopolitan atmosphere, as well as the breadth (within obvious limits) of its religious tolerance. Gwydion points out the magnificent temples as you pass through the city streets – “Heironeous, god of Valor – Pholtus, enforcer of Law – Pelor, the Healing ray of the Sun – Rao, the Serene – Delleb, student of Reason – even Zilchus the moneygru… err, the essence of Commerce – ” and looks to Brin with a smile. “Your faith is also represented, though few of the citizens of this city are aware of it – at least until the unfortunate occurs.” He points a finger downwards. “And they rarely walk the streets, and never by the light of day…”
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Gwydion shares a famous prophecy, much-studied by the sages of Nyrond, whose time may now be at hand. (wotc)

With six hands of

Loring the Lost

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