The first of the untouched letters seems to be penned in high-elven.

Uncle,

I have need of your... services. When you find yourself outside my dear mother's web long enough not to be scryable, do keep me in mind. (I will not be pleased to find that you wasted your time dallying about in The Redwood like last time, though if you are going there anyway, be sure to send me a dozen or so bottles of Velynwis. My apprentice-- moons curse him-- discovered the last lot. How I ended up saddled with a human for an apprentice I will never know.)

Walk in shadow,

Lord Zaelinor Orthran, High Mage of Varinyal
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:54, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

The next letter looks to be a map of some sort. There is a mark on two intersecting crossroads, and a small rune that (if the reader is fluent in high-elven) reads, Noon, when the moon is highest.

OOC: DC 15 Knowledge Geography Check to recognise Northern Thane.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:16, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

The 'Lorance' chooses this moment to come to an end. Applause thunders about the tavern, accompanied by many a hoot and cheer. Many of the patrons gathered seem to be aware that they have just witnessed a historical event which will be long remembered in the town of Lastorn. Commons, gelds, and even carens are tossed at the stage, as the applause begins to fade into excited conversation and laughter. The barman darts about still beaming proudly, as if he has played just as central a role in the performance as Nod and Falnis themselves.

"So tell me, Sir Minstrel," Falnis says to Nod after the applause has faded enough to allow him to be heard, still panting from his recent exertion, "Where do you come from, and however did you manage to land yourself in the company of a human and a high elf with so much less taste and artistry than yourself?"

A wise or experienced human would probably recognise this flattery for the gentle interrogation it is.

Nod is not one such human. He grins, taking his fifth bow before turning to Falnis.

"I hail from Carendisal," he says brightly, then, following the varim's gaze to the table at which the trio of prince, elf and captain are hastily refolding several pieces of parchment, he chuckles, "Varonil may lack a certain appreciation for the performing arts, but he is brave and noble and a master with a blade, an art form in its own right. And Aerendir... Well, Varonil likes him, I guess. But enough about them. Who are you, good elf? I've never seen such skillful footwork in all the dance colleges of Carendisal."

He seems to have firmly decided there is no chance that this varim could possibly be the killer they are seeking.

Falnis looks like he has just made several logical inferences from the fact that the high elf stealing and looking through his private papers has the same name as the younger brother of Thane's extremely notorious High Commander; the fact that the trio hail from Carendisal; and the fact that Nod seems to see nothing special about having attended all the dance colleges in the capital city of Thane. He also looks like any plans of quiet assassination attempts in the night to resolve his current difficulty have just been regretfully abandoned.

"I am Lord Falnis Orthran of House Orthran of Mereldinor, and I can certainly believe that skill such as my own is not something any human dance academy could produce. Even in The Redwood I am considered exceptional," Falnis preens, apparently either susceptible to flattery or good at pretending he is. "But, to quote your own words, enough of me. You failed to introduce the only member of your party I have the slightest interest in: Yourself. Who are you, and what brings you to this peaceful nest of hovels in the woods?"

OOC: Dalmar Argant rolled 24 using 1d20+4.  Elven Lore Check (Recognize Aerendir's name).
This message was last edited by the player at 05:00, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

Unlike Marabir and the Guard Captain, Nod has actually heard of House Orthran. This prestigious house is numbered among the Great Houses of Mereldinor (that is, its leader, the Matron Mother of House Orthran, has a seat on the Council of Nine, the ruling council who vote on all major legal and political matters relevant to the dark elves of the north.) Its ruler is known to be deeply religious-- almost fanatically so-- and a powerful battle-mage. House Orthran, along with Houses Alcazar and Arashi, were key players in the truces forged between the surface races and Mereldinor 87 years ago, and are known (publicly) to have a good relationship with each other.

Less is known of Lord Falnis Orthran (at least in any books Nod has been able to access on Thanian history) but if the informative book, "A Travellers Guide to Mereldinor,"-- penned by Geran the Bard 70 years ago-- is to be trusted then he is a generous patron of the arts, "a dabbler in magic, like nearly all varim," and rumored to be either a brother or cousin of the current Matron Mother. In addition to his own House, he has connections with both the Redwood (where he served as an assistant to the ambassador for several decades), and several influential assassins guilds in Mereldinor. "I found him pleasant to deal with, but I do not know that I would care to cross him," Geran's footnote, from Nod's memory, had concluded.

(Nod also recognises the oval pendant hanging around Falnis' neck as bearing the family crest of House Orthran; a spider cut from amethyst set into a platinum ring.)

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 14 using 1d20+9.  Bardic Knowledge.
Nod the Minstrel rolled 30 using 1d20+17.  Knowledge (history).
Nod the Minstrel rolled 31 using 1d20+14.  Knowledge (heraldry).
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:33, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

Falnis has no trouble reading in Nod's expression that he recognises both his house and himself.

"House Orthran?" Nod repeats, impressed, "Matron Uvariel Orthran, right? They say her beauty is such that men have turned to stone just by gazing upon her! Are you well acquainted with her? What is she like? Is she really as... fanatical as the stories say?"

He then seems to remember that Falnis actually asked him a question, and hastily responds.

"Oh, I'm Nod. Nod the Minstrel. To be honest I'm just accompanying Varonil. He's on a quest of a... personal nature," he seems to realise he might be talking a little too freely regarding his companions, and finishes with "So, um, yeah, nothing that interesting, really."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:20, Tue 15 Jan 2019.

"Believe me, it is not her beauty turning humans into stone," Falnis mutters, softly enough that Nod can't be sure he heard the dark elf correctly.

At Nod's obvious discomfort about revealing his companion's objectives, Falnis waves a dismissive hand. "Very well. I will not press you. I perfectly understand one can't always choose the missions one goes on, or the company one keeps. Perhaps we can turn matters to more pleasant topics again, and away from the politics of the Great Houses and your reasons for being here? Such as, for example, if you know any more tunes you can play as well as the Lorance? Perhaps one with a simpler dance, since it seems our good townspeople would also like to join us in the revelries?"

At that moment Marabir rises indignantly from his chair and strides purposefully across the room. At first his companions assume he is making for the stage, but they quickly realise he is in fact making his way over to the table at which the young noblewoman and the pair of mercenaries are seated. The reason for his sudden action is becomes apparent a moment later. One of the mercenaries has half risen, his hand firmly clasped about the woman's wrist. Her expression is a mixture of indignance and pain.

"Excuse me, sir," he says sternly upon reaching the table, one hand held threateningly on the hilt of his gilded longsword, "Is there some sort of problem here?"

OOC: Prince Marabir Carendil rolled 21 using 1d20+5. Intimidate.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:36, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

The man glances disdainfully up at Marabir, appraising his weapon, armour and general appearance. At length he releases the woman's wrist, before rising slowly to square off against the prince.

"Nothing that concerns you," he replies coolly, resting a hand on the hilt of his own blade as his companion rises behind him, "Now why don't you keep your nose out of matters which don't concern you? Hmm?"

OOC: Tared Garn rolled 27 using 1d20+8. Resist Intimidate.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:11, Sat 23 Mar 2019.

Marabir's eyes narrow.

"A thug behaving like a brute towards a lady always concerns me."

The man's lip curls as he slips his blade a few inches out of his scabbard.

"The lady and I have an arrangement. This is your last chance. Back off."

Falnis takes advantage of this distraction (the whole tavern has fallen silent, watching this exciting event unfold) to step off-stage and retrieve his cloak.

"Is there a problem here?" the guard captain repeats from Marabir's shoulder.

The mercenary turns his disdainful glance to the captain.

"And you are?"

"Caln Deran," the captain replies evenly, "Captain of the guard in this town."

The barman seems torn between getting involved in this violence to try to calm everyone down, and staying safely by the bar.

The mercenary's lip thins even further. He does not seem eager to confront the entire town guard, however. He scoffs, and sheaths his blade, turning to the woman.

"It seems you have made quite the scene. Do you want my help or not?"

The lady in question eyes him venomously. She glances at Marabir, then the guard captain, and then back to the mercenary.

"I do not," she sniffs.

The mercenary clenches his fists, glaring at Marabir.

"You will regret this," he hisses at the prince, before storming through the crowd and out of the tavern, his companion in toe.

The atmosphere of silent tension hangs in the room for a few moments after the pair depart. Then a sea of murmurs and whispers sweeps throughout the room, as the patrons return to their drinks and conversations once more.

Nod sends Marabir a concerned glance for a few moments, but then recovers himself, glancing about for Falnis.

"Indeed!" he agrees to the varim's earlier suggestion, "Are you familiar with the 'Caldan Waltz'?"

With that he breaks into the lively waltz to a series of cheers and laughter as the patrons about them begin to perform the well known dance, what remains of the tension being swiftly forgotten.

OOC: Nod the Minstrel rolled 32 using 1d20+17. Perform (mandolin).
This message was last edited by the player at 02:09, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

"I am not," Falnis admits, as the first few chords of the music start, as he ties his cloak neatly so that it will not interfere too much with any dancing, "But it should not be too hard to pick up the steps."

Picking up a partner might normally be the problem for a varim dancing a waltz in a tavern full of humans, but if the dark elf is daunted by the prospect he does not show it. He does, however, take the time to scan the tavern for a partner who might actually be able to dance. Apparently deciding that in a tavern like this such a partner does not exist, he selects the next best thing, which is the best looking female in the room (and the one most likely to annoy the person who has most annoyed him this evening).

"Would you do me the honour?" he says, approaching the woman Marabir and the guard captain are standing next to.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:49, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

The woman glances at him with mild surprise, her gaze still on the doorway out of which the mercenary disappeared. She hesitates, clearly not in the mood for a lighthearted waltz, but the cheers of encouragement about her, along with a good many shouts of 'Go on then!' and 'Do 'im the honour!' seem to convince her, and, blushing slightly, she reluctantly takes his hand and follows him back to the stage.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:54, Thu 30 Dec 2021.