Chapter One - Missing

[tarlyn]

Vestfold - May 1st, 746

It has been a little over two weeks since that foggy night. Mysteriously, the Wizards Tower is gone. In its wake lies rubble and not much more.
More than ninety eight percent of the population of Vestfold is missing or presumed dead since that day. Of the few remaining, Melora has dared to actually inspect the ruined tower. Unsuccessful in finding anything of value, she spends some time in the city. She soon realizes that there are little to no people in Vestfold and decides to venture out into what she thinks is Blackmoor.

As she exits the city to the south she finds a razed forest, which is odd as there is no forest that close to Vestfold. Continuing, she walks until she can see a town farther down a road she had found. This is not what she is used to. By that, it is not what should be Blackmoor. Curiosity gets the better of her and she wanders to the town and cautiously enters. She notices a few oddities. The citizens look nothing like what she is accustomed to. The architecture is different and the language spoken has a strange accent.


She leaves as fast as she came, returning to Vestfold. Something strange is going on, that is as much as she can surmise. Over the next few days, Melora goes
back to this new town which she learns by listening is called Mordentshire. To her knowledge there is no town of that name in Blackmoor. Very odd. She does notice, however, after a few days the same blond haired youth around. More than once she catches him looking at her then as quick as he looked at her he is gone.

A week has passed now. Upon waking , Melora can feel she is being watched. It is the blond haired boy. He does nothing to hide his presence. No matter she in her home, he is at her window, perched on the sill. He looks neither threatening nor harmful. He nods and hops off. He waits now.

[RobJN]

"If a man is going to watch me sleep, he either pays me good silver, or brings me breakfast," Melora says, leaning out the window and extending a hand to the boy. "Which will it be?"

[tarlyn]

Mordentshire - May 1st, 746

Niyef, Tromo, Lukasz and Lot receive letters at their proper residences or Inn/Tavern rooms in the morning.

Dearest ________. It is with some urgency that I invite you to a fine repast and meeting at the Lost Stag this evening.
This matter concerns the recent earthquake and other events I will reveal to you after our repast. You shall be expected at the hour of six
this evening.

My humble regards,

Balfour de Casteeles.

Except for Tromo, the rest of you have heard of Balfour de Casteeles. He is a well respected noble of Mordentshire and travels near everywhere
with his valet Juergin and an owl. Even Tromo has seen the young Juergin about town. One minute you see him there, the next he is gone.
For a young lad he seems very knowledgeable and for some reason he seems to have better than excellent hearing. This is what Tromo has heard
about Juergin in the time he's been in Mordentshire.

The rest of you have seen Juergin around but haven't paid much heed to him as he is only a young lad after all.

[tarlyn]

"If a man is going to watch me sleep, he either pays me good silver, or brings me breakfast," Melora says, leaning out the window and extending a hand to the boy. "Which will it be?"

The young man blushes a beet red. He appears to whisper something to noone in particular then looks at Melora. "Ah, ja. I vasn't gettink an eyeful, madame. I
haff been sent by my employer Mr de Casteeles to invite you to an important meetink unt supper. Ja, in effect you vill eat, mein frau. Mein name is Juergin.
Vat ist yours? I haff only seen you in Mordentshire unt this city here."

He extends his hand to help Melora out. "Do you vish to freshen up first? I can vait."


Melora has never heard of Mordentshire. The way Juergin calls Vestfold this city tells he he is unfamiliar with it.

[ail]

Lukasz is dozing on his bed, in his room. It is still morning, but he has no business plans for today. It's just 7 days he's been around Mordentshire, but so far he's had no luck. He had looked around the city, in old bookshops and the odd well-to-do inn, offering his services. But so far, no one seemed to have need of him. No matter, he could afford a few days without working, and now he just feels like relaxing, vaguely wondering when the next opportunity would present itself.

He wakes up with the noise of something slipping under the door, and stretches with the feeling of only having closed his eyes for ten minutes. Looking around, he quickly notes a brown envelope on the floor. He takes it and looks at the unbroken wax seal, but then looks at the letter against the daylight and smirks. Clever people could still have read it, but it might prove difficult. He reads the name to himself... Balfour de Casteeles.

Well, well he thinks maybe I'll get some work after all!

Balfour was well-known character, as befits any noble. But in the right circles, his reputation is more interesting. The man mysterious to the point of becoming eccentric and apparently well learned and influent. It could not be a coincidence that this letter had come to him. He approaches the window, gives a look at the street, one floor below, where the people go about almost mindlessly to their tasks. He gives another shrug, closes the curtains, and opens the letter. As he hoped for, it's an invitation.

It appears I should prepare for tonight, then.

[Yaztromo]

Tromo is reads the invitation over and over quite a few times...
There's no such thing as a free meal... but they really don't say what they want in payment.
Well... let's have the meal first, then we'll see...

[RobJN]

The young man blushes a beet red. He appears to whisper something to noone in particular then looks at Melora. "Ah, ja. I vasn't gettink an eyeful, madame. I haff been sent by my employer Mr de Casteeles to invite you to an important meetink unt supper. Ja, in effect you vill eat, mein frau. Mein name is Juergin.

Vat ist yours? I haff only seen you in Mordentshire unt this city here."

He extends his hand to help Melora out. "Do you vish to freshen up first? I can vait."


Melora has never heard of Mordentshire. The way Juergin calls Vestfold this city tells he he is unfamiliar with it.

"So, tell me Juergin, is your employer often inclined to invite complete strangers to sup at his table?" Melora asks, as she slips into a pair of supple leather leggings.

Casteeles. Not a name on any of the Lists of Blackmoor, Ten, or the Duchy of the Peaks. Certainly doesn't sound like anything from the lands of the Iron Duke. It definitely isn't Thonian.

An invitation to supper. Best to dress accordingly, she thinks.

Her fingers are quick to work the various laces and buckles, fitting a vest of studded leather over a linen blouse, and securing a similar skirt over her leggings. Twin belts drape each hip, a short sword on her right, and a quiver of broad-tipped arrows on her left. She hefts a small traveling satchel over one shoulder, a long double-sided cloak finishing her ensemble, worn green-side out.

She ties her auburn hair up, securing it with a too-short bit of bowstring, hefts a well-worn shortbow, and gestures for Juergin to lead the way.

She can't remember when she last had a decent meal, and hopes that this 'Mr. Casteeles' had a halfway competent kitchen staff.

[ail]

Lukasz starts going about his preparations. It certainly wouldn't do bad to start early and be ready for anything that showed up later on.

He sits at the desk in the room, and takes a bundle from his backpack. Carefully, he unwraps the cloth, revealing a very finely crafted pistol that he examines and cleans painstakingly. He inspects it just a little more to make sure there is no dirt and that it is unloaded, then puts it inside his surcoat. He then checks a belt curiously adorned with bullet cases. He fills then with the proper ammunition and ties the belt at his wais. He then produces from his pack a few sacks, holding individual doses of what must be smoke powder, and places them on the bed. Despite this being essential to the fire arms, he never enjoyed having to carry them on his person, afraid that some accident might throw them off.

Then, he takes another bundle from his pack, and places it on the table. This is markedly heavier than the first one, and he takes the cloth away to reveal a thick book. He blows to remove a few hairs that had fallen on its cover, then opens it with some care and begins flicking the pages.

"Let's see, let's see" he murmurs to himself, as he looks for something. As he finds it, he spends a few minutes looking at it, in a deep state of concentration, as a scientist who tries to understand a complex mathematical derivation, or as an actor who memorizes his lines. He then shuffles the pages again, looking for a new topic, and repeats his attitude of study.

After one or two hours, the morning is off, but his preparations seem to be complete. He packs everything, including the book, takes the powder bags with him and leaves the room, and then the inn. For some reason, he does not like to eat in the same place where he sleeps, and he goes about the street, looking for some new eatery he hasn't tried before.

[Death By Pumpkyn]

Niyef carefully refolds the invitation and sets it alongside the glass of wine set before her. The barmaid had paid her strange looks, but accepted her coin just the same.
She hadn't been long in Mordentshire, persuing her quarry, and she had already heard the nobleman's name. What was strange was that this Balfour De Casteeles knew hers as well.
The whole affair seemed odd. What could the recent earthquake have to do with her? Or the one who she hunted? Answers would have to wait til after 6. And this De Casteeles would have to accept her modest attire. A she-wolf persuing her prey simply would not be burdened by packing dinner attire.
A smile flinched in her features as she breathed in deep the vintage. She would arrive on time.

[Lot]

After reading his letter several times, Lot folds it neatly and puts it in his pocket. He is perplexed. "Why me?" He wonders. He paces in front of an uncomfortable looking cot, pushed against a dusty stone wall. Other than a wall sconce and a lit torch, It was the only furnishing of the cramped subterranean chamber he'd been calling home for the past month. He wonders if his master had read the letter before delivering it. The wax seal was unbroken, but that meant nothing. Nestor was an accomplished mage. "He could easily be scrying on me this very moment." Lot thinks to himself as he scans the room for spectral eyes in the shadows...

The young apprentice has heard of this Balfour fellow, and the chance to meet with someone of his caliber excites him. He frowns and thinks how he misses the finer thing in life. "It has been far too long..." He mutters to himself.

If only he could slip off without Nestor getting upset. His master was very paranoid. They both were...