Corym
When the bodies have been stripped and the gear removed, Phaerl speaks with the earth elemental and it pulls the drow bodies into the earth without a ripple. In moments the path is clear again. Phaerl bows to the elemental, thanks it, and dismisses it back to its plane. Then she turns to you.
"Thank you once again for your aid. You are a worthy ally, with more than one trick up your sleeve. It was a pleasure to fight beside you. Our war never ends, and if you should wish, we are always in need of skilled warriors.
"As for the spoils, you are welcome to take as much of the drow craftwork as you like. It will last at least a few days, or longer if you take care of it. We have more than enough back in the temple; anything you don't take we'll spread out for the sun to destroy. Most of the permanent magic we'll take, to not burden you in these dangerous woods. But you have more than earned your share. Take the master mage's spellbook, if you think it wise, a handful of the potions, and any two of the others. A chance meeting well rewarded, I should say."
"More than generous." Corym gives a slight bow.
"I think it is likely we'll see each other again. We have a similar ethos if different focuses. For now I have no orders. The standing orders are to retrieve the Art of the People from those that have taken it. As far as I can tell the bones of Myth Drannor are being plundered by increasing waves of exploration. My company, then, endeavors to retrieve the Art and place it in the hands of the nearby communities to bolster them against the rising tide of Men. I shall remain in Cormanthor and attend to this work until my order calls me to another task. Given the miraculous nature of our arrival in the City of Song, I think it is the will of the Seldarine for me to undertake this work."
"Trust a Knave to willingly return to Myth Drannor." If Phaerl had been anyone other than a Shevarashan, the words would have been said with a smile. As it is, they come out gruff and friendly.
"We tend to steer clear of the ruins, except in cases like this, where one of our little honey pots draws the traitors towards it. Should you wish to take up arms with us again, you can find us at the Vault of Unquenched Vengeance. It is east of here, in the Elven Court woods."
She gives Corym more precise directions, such that he could probably, and someone like Kitheras could definitely, find the temple.
"Phaerl, one question more. I am unfamiliar with The People of this land, and my reception in Bristar was chilly. Is there an Arch Mage among our kin yet in these lands? Or an elf-friend of comparable ability? We have a companion who is uniquely afflicted and while my Art is useful it will never suffice for the problem she faces."
Phaerl nodded.
"There's one in Glen named Neldor; he was a noble of Eueurarlor, before it was destroyed a century ago, and like all of their nobles a powerful wizard. When Eueurarlor fell, most of Cormanthor's most powerful wizards dispersed, and many of the remainder Retreated. There are still a few, here and there, but they tend toward the isolated tower-dwellers. Neldor is by far the most approachable. Though he's useless in a fight." Phaerl shakes her head, and you could swear her face gets a little softer for a moment.
Almost as an afterthought, Corym added
"The elders of Bristar did mention a daughter of their village that was lost and implied that we might be better received if we had found her. Her name is Syndra. Has she run awry of your patrols?"
When Corym mentioned Syndra, Phaerl frowned.
"I have not heard of her, no. When did she disappear, and where in the forest? Did she leave herself, or was she taken?"
Corym related the story of their initial pull into Myth Drannor, and returning the stricken Talathel to Bristar. Clearing his mind, he repeated what Syndra's sister Ciyradyl had told him, almost word for word:
quote:
"My sister, Syndra, is one of our scouts. Last summer, she joined a group of humans going to Myth Drannor. She said she'd be back by winter, but she never came home. Everyone says she's dead, but she's not! I swear by the Seldarine she's alive. I can feel it. But no one at home will do anything, and if I went to Myth Drannor I'd be eaten before I could clap twice. Please. You saved Talathel. Can you save my sister?"
"Syndra is a moon elf like me," Ciyradyl says. She holds her hand about a hand and a half above her head. "About this tall. Black hair and blue eyes. She's an archer. I don't know much about the group she was with. Something about black bears. She said they were from Sembia, and she wanted to keep an eye on them."
Phaerl's face tightens.
"If she's been lost in Myth Drannor that long, she's almost certainly dead. Especially if she went in with a bunch of club-footed humans. There's a minuscule chance that instead of dying she ran into something powerful enough to dominate an elf, though the mythal is supposed to prevent that.
"Your best bet is to confirm whether she's alive with divination magic, and if she is hope like the hells more divinations can give you a place to start looking. But you'll need to make those castings outside the city; the mythal absorbs all divination magic."
Corym's eyes widen at that last tidbit. He files it away to tell Krackor.
The immediate questions answered, Phaerl leads the ground away from the trail. The rangers drag their two captives off of the trail and deeper into the woods, while the junior priest stays behind to spread out the drow mail, weapons, and cloaks on bushes where it will catch the sun. They make camp about half a bell's walk away from the ambush site. It's a cold, dreary thing; just a place where several large trees grow together to provide shelter from the wind.
Corym grabs a pair of drow boots and cloaks for everyone who isn't Kitheras. Looking over the gear, he takes the master mage's spellbook, five potions grabbed at random from the pile, and the ring the high priestess was wearing. One of the rangers wraps up the drow gear you are taking in a blanket, and instructs you to keep it out of sunlight, and if possible underground. "It will still degrade, of course," she says. "Their work can't bear the strength of the surface. But it will last you longer that way."
Corym also tries to take the wizard's wand. It's made of ebony of the deepest black, and the moment you touch it, it burns your fingers. You drop it and stare at the blisters that are rising on your fingertips. Seeing your reaction, the under priest steps over. "Best you leave that one with us. Most dhaerowathilla have no qualms turning evil's tools against their makers, but for others it might be... painful."
Rebuffed by the wand, Corym instead grabs the arachnid cloak, and settles down for reverie. Phaerl and the under priest do the same.
Nothing bothers the camp that night, though the two drow captives do eventually rouse to consciousness. Whenever they struggle too much, the rangers club them unconscious again.
In the morning, with Corym's assistance, the Shevarashans drag the two drow out of sight and earshot of each other and interrogate them. It isn't violent, but it is intense. Much of what the Shevarashans learn is nit picky details of places Corym don't know, but he is able to pick up a few things.
There is a major drow city, Maerimydra, that lies to the north of the forest of Cormanthor. You're not sure whether it's under one of the dales, or further north. The priestess comes from Maerimydra, and is a younger daughter of the third house. Maerimydra has at least two outposts south of it, closer to Cormanthor. One, Aleithel, supplies most of the city's iron and coal. The other Szith Morcane, has surface connections.
He also learns that a drow house called Dhuurniv has been establishing small outposts on the surface inside the forest of Cormanthor. The Shevarashans don't seem surprised at this; instead they spend a significant amount of time grilling the other female, who is apparently a senior fighter and was along as a guide for the Maerimydra-based expedition, about who and how many drow are in the near-by outpost that the expedition staged through. They seem disappointed when the answer turns out to be about twenty drow, most of them male dregs.
Before he leaves to return to Myth Drannor, Corym draws Phaerl aside for one last question.
"Are there any other bands of the People still trying to occupy these woods? How will I know them? How can I make myself known readily?"
She gives the questions some thought.
"Well, you've been to Bristar. I'm not sure Elmwood counts. We hold the Vault. There are still nomadic bands of Sy'Tel'Quessir who move about the forest. They spread themselves thin, but even with the Retreat there have to be thousands of them. And some of the People still hold the Tangled Trees." Phaerl nods.
"The Retreat cut the legs out from under us. But we are not yet all gone into the ground."
With that, Corym says his farewells. The ranger who had given him advice on the proper care of drow gear gives him a new bearing towards Myth Drannor. Corym covers himself in invisibility, and sets off. Between the spell and his new boots, he disturbs nothing as he moves. By mid-morning, he feels the temperature suddenly warm as he steps inside the bounds of the mythal. A short time later, he's outside the door to the mansion. All around him Myth Drannor lies in silent wait, but at least for the moment, he is safely back.