For two days, your path has led you through an eternally sunlit land, the now closing orb known as the Companion marking the site of your destination. As you guide your Tuigan roan once more from the well-kept road to allow another patrol of the Hellriders to pass, you feel the eyes from the helmeted knights bore into you. While the road is very busy with carts and groups of local farmers heading back and forth from the hundreds of stone-hemmed fields that run all the way up to the city’s walls, your lone, clocked form draws both surprise and some suspicion.

Shorel noticing the attention from the plate clad riders turns and gives them a friendly bark, the sound much deeper and louder than what was likely intended and startles several of the well trained mounts, causing their riders to suddenly break from the line to avoid a collision. With an inaudible sigh, you know that your very large and friendly dog has drawn even more attention to your presence. You are already slowing when the troupe leader lets out a loud whistle and raises his right hand, the dozen knights slowing their mounts as they fan out slightly to block any easy escape you may have thought of. Raising his silver face-guard, a middle aged man, his skin well-weathered and a slightly greying bushy moustache above his lips, addresses you in Chondathan, the local accent clipped and rigid.

“Ser Darvin of Torm the True” he motions to himself as he watches to see if you understand the language. Observing your smile and nod, he continues. “This road reaches the city of Elturel, home of the High Observer and the Orders of the Companions and Hellriders, what business do you seek upon entering its hallowed walls?”

His grey eyes don’t leave your face, his own marble like as you feel a strange tingling through your body. A less perceptive person may have missed the holy symbol of Torm embedded into the horn of his saddle where he rests one gauntlet-clad hand, but your keen elven senses mean you are well aware that he is channeling his god’s divinity to search your soul for darkness or deceit as he awaits your answer.

Slowly, so as to not give the suspicious knights reason to get twitchy, I raise my hands and pull the hood back from my face, turning my head enough so I am not blinded by staring directly into the Companion. Once done, I then push the whole cloak back past my shoulders so that it pulls away from my body to show that one, I am not immediately armed and two, that I respect their theocratic land by dressing modestly, my travelling leathers covering my entire body despite the warmth.

Bowing my head, I address the already judgmental paladin as I carefully, and slowly, retrieve a scroll from my saddlebag.

"Well met Ser Darvin of Torm the True" I respond in Chondathan, hoping to ease their suspicion while at the same time, I give Shorel a look to settle down and not sniff the nervous horses. "I am Audrianna, an itinerant of Mielikki, who has been summoned to Elturel by Godsword Lorecine for reasons unknown". I hold forth the scroll to one of the nearby knights to check. "I have come directly from Berdusk, a place once my home, where I was given this summons".

I sit back in my saddle and wait for the knights to go over the scroll and mull my answer. I have a feeling this is not the first time I have been stopped in similar circumstances on my trip within the paladin led Theocracy of Elturgard.

As your silvery white hair spills forth from your hood and your fine elven features are revealed, you catch the sound of a few knights suck in air out of surprise. They suspected your form was feminine but was not expecting you to be a lone moon elf woman. Regaining their composure quickly and thanking their chosen gods for the full faced helms, they seem to ease in their own saddles as they look to their leader for his response.

At mention of Berdusk, Ser Darvin's magnificent mustache twitches ever so slightly, his own prejudice showing for your old homeland. Berdusk was the last of the four independent city-states of the Western Heartlands to join the Theocracy over thirty years ago when the lands were plagued by devils, monsters and cruel mercenaries, all remnants from the world tearing Spellplague that struck Toril some ten years before. Even though the city has become an important part of the young nation, Berdusk's strong ties and history to artistic and personal freedom means that the staunch religious code that has swept through the other three cities has yet to find a strong foothold there. Because of this, it is considered by many of the land to be a place of impropriety.

A minute passes as Ser Darvin reviews the scroll, his face impressively emotionless as he occasionally looks up at you. Despite their closed helms, you feel the eyes of the other knights upon you, for while you have made effort to show little skin, your well worn leathers do little hide your overall figure and you hear one or two whispering a prayer to Torm to protect them from immodest thoughts.

Finally, Ser Darvin passes the scroll back to one of his knights, the young man urging his mount forwards slightly so as to be able to pass the scroll to you before stepping back. While the paladin's stony face has not changed, you notice his overall demeanor has softened.

"I have heard the name Audrianna, though it was many years ago when I was still a squire. The Companions, the founding order of our fair nation who rode forth across the land to quell the rising evils that stalked both city and hamlet alike were said to have occasionally made use of an elven guide who had an almost supernatural ability to find incursions of daemonic hordes. But, that was decades ago.." The aging knight's voice trails off as he regards your youthful and diminutive appearance.

"I lent my assistance where I could, but my part was small, your legendary Companions were as great as the stories tell. Only when the hellish forces appeared in remote regions unfamiliar to your people were my skills required." I dip my head in reverence as I speak of their heroes for I know that almost all natives of Elturgard hold the Companions as near-mythic legends.

Returning the scroll to my saddlebag, I look back up to the paladin and address him directly.

"I wish no offence Ser Darvin, but I wish to make my destination within the hour, the road has been long and while it is a divine blessing to your people, I admit to struggling with the eternal sunlight awash in these lands. I look forward to a darkened inn room and warm food. Unless there is a matter of concern to you, I ask permission to make haste to Elturel."

At mention of their great heroes, you see many of the mounted knights stiffen as if standing to attention. Your carefully chosen words obviously having their desired effect, the knights of Elturgard well known for their military pride. With suspicion all but gone about your presence, they turn to see how their leader reacts.

Ser Darvin leans forward in his saddle and removes his helmet and leather and chain coif, revealing short cropped grey hair. Now that you can see more of his face, only his eyes, nose and mouth visible in the steel window of his helm, his features seem overall soften despite his gravelly voice and stature. With a small smile, he nods to you.

"Of course" he voice warmer now that it does not echo forth from steel "any business with a Godsword should not be delayed. I also assume that despite your openness with us, your need to keep moving also stems from likely multiple stops like this one on your travels."

Despite yourself, a small smile pulls at the corner of your lip, the old knight much more perceptive than you expected. Seeing your subtle reaction, Ser Darvin smiles back.

"Too speed your journey and prevent more boorish knights accosting your fairness, please take this as a symbol of trust, you will find your path blocked no further."

As he speaks, he pulls forth a gold-trimmed pennant of the Hellriders and urging his great war-horse forward until he is beside you. Leaning down, he attaches it to the front of your reigns where it flicks and rolls in the light wind. Leaning up again, he looks down to you and again, an awkward look crosses his face. Despite realising you are the elven ranger that was spoken about during the purification of the Western Heartlands, he seems to struggle with your size and age. His warhorse is almost a third taller than your Tuigan Steppes roan and added that he himself touches just over six foot, you are dwarfed and shaded by his presence.

Ser Darvin suddenly realises that he may appear to be intimidating you but looking down to aplogise, he realises that you show little discomfort from his presence. Urging his horse forward and around until he is facing you on your right, he holds his gauntlet clad hand out in respect.

"I mean not to stare mi'lady, the fair folk are not common to our lands, in fact, you are the first I have spoken to. It is easy for us to forgot your immortality, I meant not to look down at you as young woman." Despite his relaxed manner, you sense awkwardness creeping in to his voice as he seems to struggle how to address a non-human woman. His hand now hovers awkwardly as the whole troupe try to stifle their surprise at their leader's sudden lack of confidence.

I reach forward but so that he feels like he is not going to crush my admittedly, much smaller hand, I lean forward and grasp his inner arm, a common greeting up and down the Sword Coast. Once performed, I give him a genuine smile and lean back.

"No offence, greet us as any other who visits your lands and I am sure you will never have to worry. Thank you for the gift and may your patrol find you safely home again."

With that, I give a courtesy nod and urge my horse forwards, hoping to gain entrance to the city that rises up from the hill a few miles ahead. I also check to make sure that Shorel has fallen into stride beside and not bothering the knights.

The remainder of your journey is uneventful, your path taking you through the villages that extend out from the city's walls. Farmers' wagons and a few small traders are mainly what pass you by, most giving a friendly nod to your hooded presence.

It appears that the folk of Elturgard have had to adjust to the presence of the Companion in more than just their sleeping patterns. You notice their crop fields are divided into quite small squares, each one with four large wooden posts at their fieldstone corner. Between them, rolled up canvas sits, a nightly duty to cover the crop from the eternal sunlight above. Between the crop farms, enormous barns sat, larger than you have seen in any other land for none of the farm animals can be left outside, the light affecting their sleeping patterns and even produce, the cows for the first few years not producing any milk.

Passing into the city is smooth, the gate guards taking heed of the flag adorning your mount and even waive the standard entrance fee. Your horse is taken to a nearby stable and you receive a wooden token to keep until your require his services again. With one saddlebag now on your back and the other strapped over Shorel, you find yourself upon a steep street, abuzz with activity as townsfolk rush back and forth. The city is built upon a great hill, defensible but making the lower quarters quite a hike to traverse.

For a human city, it is not the worst you have been in, but despite the wealth that flows down from the many powerful churches, the common quarters are still cramped, somewhat dirty and confusing. Standing in a small square, you realise that the city has changed a lot since you were here several decades ago. What do you plan to do?

Audrianna pulls her hood back, a heavily cloaked figure in a city such as this likely to draw more attention than just a visiting elf. Flicking her loose hair out, the white mess annoyingly bundled into her hood for the last few hours, she looks around for one of the distinctive city guards and approaches. With a smile, she asks for directions to a good, clean inn that has heavy shutters or curtains. Once received, Audrianna shows the guard the summons she has, specifically the seal and asks the guard if he could send someone to the Godsword and tell them of her arrival and where she will be staying. She makes sure to thank them and take note of their symbol of faith so that she can tithe later on their behalf.

On the way to the inn, she picks up some fresh meat cuts and a stew bone for Shorel, the poor thing relying on dry treats the last few days.

At the inn, Audrianna leaves Shorel outside with his treats as she negotiates a room for a couple of nights, a few extra coins to the establishment if her furry companion can be allowed in under the promise he does not chew the furniture and gets a bath. Once done, it is to bed in a darkened room for a spot of reverie.

For the first time in days, you get to enjoy some true darkness to rest your eyes, even Shorel flopping down almost immediately in the middle of floor, the poor beast not used to such conditions.

Hours pass before Shorel's low growl wakes you from your reveries, the tone one of general awareness. Someone is obviously approaching the door. Within a few seconds there is a low knock followed by a strong but whispered voice.

"Madam Elf Audrianna, I am Culstren, squire to Godsword Lorecine and I am here to escort you to my liege. Are you ready?"

"Madam Elf?"

Shaking her head at the the formal but awkward address, Audrianna slides off the bed and stretches as she calls back to the squire.

"Five minutes please, I will join you shortly in the taproom."

With the assumption that that she hears the squire's footsteps moving away, Audrianna prepares herself. While trying hard to keep a positive outlook in her travels, enough traps, treachery and betrayals have kept her on her toes and not to be blindly trusting, even in the most pious of cities. On the upside, assassins generally don't follow orders to head back into open areas.

Unsure of what to expect with the Godsword, a powerful political and religious figure within Elturgard, Audrianna looks at her dusty road leathers and knew that it was unlikely to be considered acceptable. Admittedly, it would help if she knew why she had been summoned, it was only by chance she had been passing through Berdusk when the Holy Harrier found her. The summons seemed like one that was unwise to ignore and her interest was piqued, what would a land of holy knights backed with powerful divine casters need with a wandering swordswoman?

Audrianna sheds the outfit until she is only in her undergarments and the fine silken shirt that sits beneath the leathers. Retrieving a plain pair of trousers from her bag, she dresses in them and again puts on her magical boots. Done, she taps into the magic of her pale green shirt, enacting the glamour ability and changing her plain clothes into a neutral themed uniform, a cross-buttoned jacket and matching pants. Securing her hair into a ponytail with a simple but magical leather thong that is imbued with Shou mysticism, Audrianna makes sure her bracelet is on before exiting. The moment reminding her of when she used the glamour magic once to create the illusion of a full dress and an unseen ward stripped the illusion that left her standing in her shirt and smalls, her decision to go pantsless a poor one. Since then, she wears enough clothes, even if plain, to ensure if the magic is dispelled or someone has the ability of True Sight, she will not be caught short again.

Stopping to give Shorel a scratch behind the ears, Audrianna tells him to stay and that she will be back later. Looking at his sad eyes, she retrieves another bone for him and fills one of her cooking pots with water from her canteen. Happy that he is comfortable and set, she heads out the door, summons scroll in her gloved hand.

The taproom is not particularly busy, the small area mainly filled with trophies and heraldry of the city's armies. Shields, banners, weapons and armour cover almost every available surface making the room feel more like a barracks.

Standing by the door, his eyes locked on the staircase that you descend, a tall, solidly built human stands, clad in rose red vestments of Torm that thread around a brightly polished ceremonial breastplate. At his hip, lashed by a triple wrapped belt, a longsword rests easy, the point just above the ground. The squire looks like to be in his early twenties, but based upon his impressive physical shape and disciplined stance, he is likely only a squire in title, not ability.

As you approach, Culstren bows to you, his head barely lowering to your eye level as you guess him to be at least a foot taller than yourself. As he rights himself, he eyes the scroll in your hand and with a barely perceptive nod to himself that he has the right person, he steps to the side and pushes the door open.

Out on the street, the still ever-lit street, city life continues as it did when you arrived. While the light of the Companion is dimmer near the borders of Elturgard, the City of Elturel is directly beneath the great orb, creating an eternal midday. Culstren sets a fast pace, the squire obviously not looking for conversation as the people of the city move to allow him free space, many smiling, waving or offering a hand sign to Torm as he passes. After almost ten minutes it suddenly seems to dawn on him that his pace is fast and direct as he has led you up some quite step roads towards the Faith Quarter where most of the temples and shrines sit. Looking around concerned to see if he has lost you, his handsome but rigidly impassive face twitches slightly as he sees you are right on his heels, no evidence of fatigue evident in your movement. Happy, he turns and continues his path.

Despite moving out of the lower quarters, both figuratively and literally, you notice that the upper wards face similar issues of cramped streets and abodes. There are some beautiful courtyards and public squares ringed by impressive buildings that showcase magnificent architecture and history but at their foundations, the common elements of human cities persist; refuse, poverty and tiny, squalid homes. Apart from the now occasional regal building, the only real other difference is the presence of better dressed citizens, most in variations of holy garb, and the amount of guards on duty. It appears that Elturgard has long outgrown its walls, a difficult issue for the city as it is ringed tightly by high walls and balanced upon a steep hill.

Culstren veers to the side of what appears to be an administrative building, a plain stone structure of unimaginative design. A narrow, cobblestone path runs beside it, guarded by an iron gate. At the end of the path is a single wooden door painted green. Culstren unlocks the iron gate with a key he produces from around his neck and motions you forward. As you step through, he closes the gate behind you and locks it, the squire giving you a nod to keep going to the door as he turns his back and stands to attention. With little other choice (besides leaping the gate or wall to escape), you make your way to the door, the plain alley providing no hiding spot for would be assailants.

The green door is unadorned, only some ravages of time evident. You do detect a sweet smell coming from the edges where the wood has warped slightly, something akin to incense. With no danger evident and no handle to turn, you knock upon the door and wait.

Before they open the door, you acknowledge that whoever it is, they are graceful and quiet, your almost preternatural senses only barely tracking their movement across the hard floor inside. When the door opens, it is only a crack, enough for you to slip in but without seeing the occupant. While wary, you step in out of the sunlit alley and into a soothingly dim room, polished rose marble beneath your feet and dark stone and timber inlays making the walls. The room is small, only maybe twice the size of your inn room and is largely unadorned except for the burning braziers in each corner, the sweet incense smell now much stronger. In the centre of the room is a single, small round table and two high-backed chairs. A crystal carafe of a clear liquid is flanked by two intricate flutes. There appears to be one other exit in the far wall, a door that blends in quite well to the decor.

The door closes behind you and the occupant steps out and round to greet you.

"It is a testimonial to your sense of righteousness that you have endeavored to arrive so quickly, I offer my gratitude for your presence here today." The voice is like honey, both rich of accent but also a little sickly sweet, the tone difficult to tell if it is truly humbled or slightly condescending.

Your eyes quickly adjusting to the dimmer surrounds, you lay your gaze upon a man dressed in simple, clean white robes, unadorned by any faith. Beautiful is the word that comes to find first, the golden haired Godsword displaying fine features that would usually show some elven heritage but it appears no blood of Tel'Quessair flows through him. There is a radiance to his being and despite a slightly arrogant lilt to his face, his aquiline nose slightly down pointed and his lips curled every so faintly, you find him pleasing to look upon.

Not waiting for your response, the strangely charming man turns and heads to the table, his sandled feed barely making a whisper upon the marble. Taking a seat, he looks in your direction with a slightly crooked smile and motions to the other. Once seated, he pours liquid into the glasses which you quickly determine is just water. Very clean water.

Holding up his flute in a toast like fashion, he speaks.

"To those who walk the distant paths so that civilization may follow in their wake." With that, he takes a sip and looks back to you, dark eyes, certainly not human as a faint violet ring surrounds the iris, search your face for discomfort. Finding none except maybe some wariness to the situation, he speaks again, the reason for your summons apparently not yet on his mind.

"So fair Audrianna, please pray tell, of where have you most recently traveled? There is so much change in the world, I often miss the grander happenings of Faerun." With his somewhat arrogant but strangely appealing smile on his face, he leans back and takes another sip as he awaits your response.

Unsure what to make of the likely aasimar, his strange sincerity or masterful duplicity greater than her ability to read him, Audrianna decides to play the game for the time being, her reason for being here sure unraveled in time.

"My last few months have taken me through many realms but it was from High Imaskar that my return started from." Audrianna decides to be a respectful guest despite the games he was playing and takes a sip from the water before continuing. "It appears on the surface that the rumours are true, the once most hated empire in the known world has returned, Mulhorand blasted from Faerun in the Spellplague and her ancient enemy returned. But, it appears to much different, the Queen kind and wise as far as I can tell and the slavery that once marked the nation is now completely abolished."

To make a subtle point that she would prefer to turn their attention to the true matter at hand, Audrianna places the scroll that was given to her by the Holy Harrier on the table, his seal pointing towards him as she takes another drink from the flute.

"My, High Imaskar, that surely has been a great journey, close to two and half thousand miles from Eltergard by my estimate" Lorecine drawls, completely ignoring the scroll, his eyes locked on upon your face, his smile slowly broadening at your attempts to focus the conversation.

"Such a world you must have seen in your travels, blessed by longevity unmatched by other humanoid races. The Spellplague must have been a least a little interesting to one such as you, entire new nations appearing not to mention the arrival of humanoid race of dragon kin, sure that keeps the banality of centuries at bay?"

Audrianna's eyebrow raises slightly as she settles the finely crafted glass back down, the Godsword's words seeming to be both naive and completely ignorant of the tragedies that the Spellplague brought. Looking at the relaxed host, she assumed that neither was his intention, the question seeming aimed at getting a reaction of some sort, though the reason why yet to be revealed.

"I count not the boons brought by tragedy" Audrianna replies evenly as she leans back, matching the relaxed demeanor of Lorcine "though I imagine the safe walls of faith overflow with new flock in such times? A captive audience brings power, maybe even enough to forge a new nation one might reason."

A warm chuckle escapes the Godsword as a broad smile crosses his face.

"You are not a fan of our fair nation, born from fires of the Spellplague?"

"The intentions of Eltagard's founders should be praised and lauded," Audrianna replies, her tone friendly as she is determined to play out this strange game "their honour and vision prevented the loss of thousands of lives and the fall of many settlements. Your heroes are deservedly praised."

"But?" Lorcine interjected, genuine interest in his voice as he was curious how an outsider saw his beloved nation.

"Despite the noble ideals of the founders, Eltagard was forged in war, where people willingly allowed the trading of certain freedoms in exchange for safety. But now, four decades later, peace has been achieved and one would have to wonder, do the people still view such a trade worthwhile?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:08, Tue 13 June 2017.

The golden-haired paladin sits back once more, his hand on his chin as he dwells on your words, trying to find what aspects you are getting at.

"I find it hard to determine your point Lady Audrianna, do you suggest that our laws and customs are too strict, oppressive even? If so, I don't think I could agree, we are prosperous in food, wealth and faith, our people likely the safest and happiest in Faerun. For such prosperity for all, we only ask people live good, honest lives in service to country and the divine."