A Gathering of Heroes
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.