"Everyone knows the tale of the Battle of Brindol and the Fane of Tiamat," a jaded patron calls in challenge to a traveling bard who had taken up residence at the inn over the past few days and had mostly provided warmed-over retellings of stories everyone knew

"How about something of what happened after all that? Surely that wasn't the end of their adventuring..." he says.

"Yeah! Tell us something we don't know!" a drunk patron blurts out over the din.

"Very well, as you like," the bard whispers, relishing the challenge of telling some of his lesser-known tales.

"Little louder!" the drunk patron calls out again, "Can barely hear you back here!"

The disheveled bard clears his throat, rolls his eyes, and takes a big draw from his tankard.

A brown dog curled up at the bard's feet wags her tail, the whip-like appendage thwacking against the floorboards, as she opens an eye, seemingly eager to hear what the bard may have to say next

The disheveled bard laughs, "Right then..." and launches into his next story...

"Let us begin with what happened to Dame Daflin, Sister of Avandra, and leader of the Trailbreakers," the bard began.

"Trailblazers!" came a shout in correction from the back of the dimly lit room.  Most likely a dwarf.  Valthur Ironhelm had done a thorough job of misremembering their group's name at every opportunity.  The bard, however, was a stickler for accuracy.

"Their proper name was the Trailbreakers, but I have to admit they are often called the Trailblazers as well," he replied in an attempt to mollify the unseen patron.

"As it was, Dame Daflin followed her own path.  After reporting their success to Lord Jarmaath of Brindol, she had two loose ends she wished to tie up.

"One was the remaining split from the dragon's horde and the other was the Raiment of the Green Chevalier."  He spoke this last bit with some reverence as it was his own embellishment he hoped would catch on.

"As was her demeanor, she had always been adamant in her belief that those lost received their due, even in death.  Perhaps more so as they'd sacrificed the most.  She'd been able to track down family for one of the mercenaries and confirmed none for another, but Dergen and Lieutenant Laurnbeth were still on her mind as she had yet to exhaust all avenues in finding kin for their part in the victory.

"The Raiment of the Green Chevalier was another matter," he said almost conspiratorially as he looked around the room to ensure he conveyed the proper measure of mystery.  "How had a sealed chest, packed ever so carefully with the Chevalier's Raiment, find its way so deep into the Wyrmsmoke?"

He paused to let this conundrum settle in.  This little bit was his own interpretation of what he'd heard of her fascination with the chest and its contents.  What she really saw in it, he didn't know.  He'd never met the Dame and only heard third hand how she'd excluded the chest from the spoils.  That, however, did not encumber his artistic process as he continued the tale.

"Some say she recognized the crest.  Others say a magical aura emanating from the sword compelled her to return it to it's rightful heir.  More yet believe she searches for the mythic figure himself who single handedly held off the horde at Skull Gorge Bridge for three days, giving the Trailbreakers the time they needed to reach Brindol and organize a defense.

"So how had this raiment come to be packed away as they'd found it?  That is what Sister Eoni Daflin, Dame Daflin of Brindol, and Captain of the Trailbreakers has set her sights on.  Uncovering the truth and perhaps more, much more.  And only then will this tale finally have an ending."

He bowed deeply with a flourish of his hat.  Perhaps his best performance to date, he thought to himself with a broad smile.

As is always the bain of overconfidence, a child's voice piped up in the crowd,
"Wot?! Is that it?"

The Bard smiled.

"Well, no . . . not exactly.  Remember Sarah?  The young girl who vanished after the Battle of Brindol?  Well . . ."

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Sarah was at a crossroads in her life after the Battle of Brindol; one motivated by fear.

She was at a different crossroads after the Fall of the Fane: one motivated by uncertainty.

Three years prior, Sarah's thought was to get as far away from Dennovar and hide, lest Munisamy track her down. (OOC: Chapter 17, Post 3.)  She spent some time bouncing around in the southwest, eventually settling in the Hammerfist Holds where she worked as a serving girl.

So earlier, when Sarah expressed confusion about what was in store next (OOC: Chapter 20, post 765) it got her to thinking: iis the plan to go "home?"  And if so, where is "home?"

Certainly she could go back to the clanholds.  The dwarves there adored her; some knew why she was there and vowed to protect her, some knew of her "talents" and solicited her aid.

There was no doubt that she had friends there, or that she'd be welcomed back -- but . . . somehow, that didn't seem right.  Sarah had learned many things during her time with the dwarves, not the least of which was confidence.  And going back to hide was cowardice.

Besides, after the Battle of Brindol, Sarah felt like she'd abandoned her companions.  (Mostly because . . . she did, slipping away in the night without a word of explanation.)  Eoni forgave her upon reuniting at the beginning of the trek to the Fane, but still . . . somehow, simply going back didn't feel right.  Eoni was the only one left from that original foray into the Witchwood, and through it all Eoni had exhibited the confidence in Sarah that she herself lacked.  In fact, were it not for Eoni, Sarah would likely not have joined that venture -- or stuck around for those that followed.

So no: Sarah could not simply leave.  Certainly not without talking to Eoni first, and depending on how that went, perhaps not even then.  So she sought out the priestess:

"Eoni," Sarah began.  "Before I made any plans about what to do or where to go, I wanted to talk to you.  I know there are probably loose ends that you want to tie up, things you want to take care of.  So before I left I wanted to ask . . . well, can you use my help?"

______________________________________________

". . . there are frequent reports that, as she went about tending to the unfinished business she wanted to complete, Eoni had the help of young lady.  And based on the descriptions, it seems that the young lady was Sarah.

It's not a certainty, you understand?  But it's not like after the Battle of Brindol, when Sarah seemed to disappear from the face of the earth and there were random reports of sightings all over the realm.  This time, the reports, though sporadic, seem more consistent.  On the other hand, often Eoni is seen working alone -- but then, if anyone would be expected to operate out of public view, it would be Sarah."

The bard shrugs, sighs, then offers a slight smile.

"You know, of course, that Sarah was supposedly a street urchin in Dennovar?  An orphan, with no recollection of her parents?  If that's true -- and there's no reason to doubt it -- she's certainly made her way in life pretty well, hasn't she?  And I for one would like to think that she's found the peace and happiness one such as that deserves."

A bushy-bearded dwarf slowly worked his way through the crowd to pay close attention to the bard's tale about Sarah, seemingly listening for any fabrication or outright falsification. Satisfied with the bard's account, the dwarf chimes in "Sounds 'bout right by my reckoning."

He then locks eyes with the bard, "And what do you know of Ovo of Clan Goldenshield?"

The bard smiles and reaches for his psaltery and bow. "That," he says while taking the instrument in hand and plucking its strings as a flourish, "calls for a song."

The bard begins to saw the strings, simply at first, then growing more complex as he builds upon a repeating arpeggio, conveying a sense of movement and destiny. Then he begins his song, a ballad recounting the adventures of an unlikely pair Ovo Goldenshield and Vaxfar Leaf, as they hunted down the remnants of the Wyrmlord Kul's forces deep within the the Wyrmsmoke Mountains. Astride a giant owl, the duo had many successful, hair-raising adventures as they fought against goblin clans and pockets of fiendish foes throughout the region.

The bard's ballad is appreciated by all, none more than the tavernkeeper, as tales of high adventure are good for business. Spirits soar by the time the bard has completed the Ballad of Goldenshield and Leaf and this inevitably leads into other songs, dances, and general merriment as the night carries on.