Chapter 3: The Road to Highport

The winter snows are finally receding. Here. in Hommlet, crocuses crack through the crust of old snow. Pale pink and white blossoms push up at the bases of bare-branched trees. In the warm sun, sap creaks through the oaks and elms. Birds sing in the morning and the forlorn calls of owls fill the night,

Since your stay here, you have seen the villagers change. The braumeister and his nephew have proven fine companions over the winter nights, and you have tipped many a flagon in their fine company. Ostler the Innkeeper plays a fine game of draughts: indeed he's a bit of a sharper at it, having taken you a few clever wagers. That fine-looking spinster woman from the farm by the pond has paid a few calls. You've even managed to get a few civil words out of Black Jay and have enioyed a good home meal at the homes of some of the folk. Ah, yes, it's beginning to feel like home.

As you stretch out on the bench before the inn to warm yourself in the sun, you spot a stranger striding down the lane. Ostler, leaning out his front door, nods in that direction and says, "Now, what do you make of that? 'Tis a man wrapped in the colors of some lord, strolling through our Hommlet. bustlin' like he's driven on some grand business. Mayhaps I'll have me some lord's party stayin' for the night." With a shrug he goes inside, calling to his family.

Looking closely, you can make out the glint of flaxen hair tumbling out from beneath the liveried cape. From the way this stranger moves, you'd safely guess him to be a her. Now, what business would a woman have in such a sleepy little village, a lord's woman at that?

Assuming a sleepy pose, you continue to watch the stranger through halfclosed eyes. With apurposeful stride, she crosses the inn yard and passes your bench. A mingled scent of perfume and horse sweat follows her. There are muffled voices inside.

Suddenly, she steps back out the door and tosses back the hood of her cloak. "Good sirs and ma'am," she says with a graceful curtsy, "I bear a message from Most Worthy Dame Gold of Safeton." She is, as you guessed, a young woman, endowed with a dignified and subdued beauty. She thrusts a heavy, buff envelope into your startled hands. "To The Saviors of Hommlet" is written across the front in a spidery hand. The back is closed with a large blob of wax pressed with a seal. She turns and walks away.

The invitation reads:

To those Brave and Worthy;

May it never be said that the courageous undertake valor for the hope of reward nor the righteous seek purity, and thus may aspersions of evil never fall upon thy name. But, as ye know too well, the rewards of virtue are painful and cold.

Our advisors, through wisdom and sagacity. have proclaimed thy actions good and virtuous, done for the wealth of the people of Hommlet. Those so noble as yourselves will grace and ornament the presence of any gathering. We beseech you to kindly honor us with your presence during the Feasts of Edoira at Windy Crag in the town of Safeton.

Dame Gold

The woman who handed you the message stands at the edge of the nearby woods beside a pegasus, which much have been what she rode to get here. It's clear that she's giving you a private moment to decide what to do with this sudden message.

Bamber Silvertip and Gilthalion Eruantien met in the most unlikely of places, a deserted and volcanic island. Marooned by her former shipmates after she thwarted their attempts to summon an elder fae goddess for their own dark appetites, she found herself entirely grumpy. Put out? Indeed. Was she tickled to find herself in the company of a sudden and very alien elven lad from beyond the pale? Not at all.

They fought.

Swords drawn, they dueled up one side of the volcano and down the other. Flashing steel, the glint of sweat, blazing eyes, it was a battle for the ages, two paragons of their respective worlds, champions of the gods!

When they threw down their blades at the end of the fourth day, they embraced each other as fast friends. They built a boat and sailed for a year and a day to find themselves at the port of Highport.

Of course, each time she tells the tale, the stakes grow more dire. And more fanciful.

There, being wholly devoted to adventure and fortune, they made their way to Verbobonc, and the fabled dangers that would be come to be known as the Temple of Elemental Evil. Only to find it defeated. Boo hiss. They made friends of the resident heroes and have been enjoying their time in the sleepy hamlet Hommlet.

She's a fiery half-elf woman, unpredictable and quick to anger but even quicker to laughter. The word is mercurial..l A swashbuckler and a rogue, she carries twin scimitars and polished leather armor. She's also prone to bursting into song and dancing with strangers.

---

On this day, she lounges with a flask of wine and whistles a tune she knows irritates Ostler.

When the woman comes in and presents the letter to Esme and Ixion, she whistles a different tune, one of alarm and wonder.

Esmenlara reads the letter with a practiced eye, though her interpretations of what may lie between the lines is often restricted to the written word. "Lady Bamber," she says out of habit to the swordswoman, "in your travels on the three-masted galleon with sails of palm, bound with hair and sea kelp, have you heard of this Feast of Edoira, or Dame Gold?"

"Where is she going?" Bamber says, watching the young woman walk away. "The moathouse?"

She turns to the acolyte of Pelor, and says, "A harbour town, north of HighPort. It's near enough to orc territory as to be a likely place for deep scouts or cunning adventures. The town itself is anything but safe. Might makes right and the Old Families have might to spare. Along with fishing, quarrying and trade, brigandage and piracy fill Safeton’s coffers. Like their forefathers, the Suel highborn of Safeton often use slaves to work their quarries and their fields." She nearly spits time word slave, clearly disgusted by the practice.

Gilthalion yawns and leans forward, his long greenish hair falling across his shoulders. His skin took on a light purple hue this morning, as it seemed to change at times day by day. "I don't much care for slavery," he says, "don't know why we should wish to, what does it say, grace them with our presence?" He gestures around with his hand. "I like it here. Good friends, good food and drink, and life is easy. Were we not in such a rustic village, I'd feel the call to adventure more readily, but here - well - I could be comfortable here a while."

"I feel the same way, Gilthalion, but I'm also intrigued by the invitation. Why would someone who profits from questionable if not evil activities request the presence of those renowned for deposing evil? It could very well be a trap, though it seems quite a long time to wait for vengeance over the temple's destruction."

He smiled broadly.

"I say we go. Blæcsæx and Rꜵshilde must be getting bored by now."

The mention of his sword and shield made Ixion remember Master Itkovian, now returned home after fulfilling his god's quest, and a touch of sadness crept into Ixion's smile.

"Do you think we could convince Dame Gold to abandon their ways and turn towards benificent pursuits?" Esmenlara asks in serious consideration. "I have no experience in diplomacy, of course, but perhaps we are being guided to where such work must be done."

She looks for a map to locate Highport. Esme recalls her promise to find a drow named Izzlyn in the mountains far to the north, so perhaps this Feast of Edoira brings some direction in her search.

Gil's brows furrow and he seems more intrigued. "You are right, this missive seems out of the ordinary. Yes, it could be a trap, but do you think it may actually be a call to aid, disguised in case of interception by another party?"

"The best way to reveal a trap is to leap in!" She jumps to her feet in the little courtyard, and springs to the center.

"Behold we have arrived. Oh noes! It's a trap!" She flings back her cape and draws both curved swords. "But ho! The trap is on you! Release the umber hulk!"

"They have an army. We have an umber hulk," Ixion said with a chuckle. "Invitation, cry for help, or trap, it seems like we're all agreed. I'll go accept."

Ixion rose from his comfy chair and walked to the messenger.

"We humbly accept your Lady's gracious invitation. What can we expect in terms of travel to and lodging in your fair town? Are there more fine flying steeds like this one?"

"And when are the feasts to be held, so as to account for the travel time?" adds Esmenlara. "I would hate to arrive late."

The woman messenger shakes her head, "Unfortunately, this pegasus is just for me, so that I can take back work quickly. You will have to make your own way there. The feasts won't start for two weeks and it shouldn't take more than a tenday to get there at a leisurely pace."

"I will leave to take your acceptance back, but do you have any other questions for me before I leave?"

"Your employer, Dame Gold," Esmenlara says. "I have not the honor of knowing her name. What can you tell me of the noble Dame?"

Gilthalion holds his question for when the messenger finishes replying to Esmenlara. "What is your name and tell me, why do you serve this Dame Gold?"

"My name is Esther." the messenger replies, bowing "Dame Gold is a fine woman indeed. Beautiful, kind, and gracious. I am blessed to be employed by one such as she."

"What of this place, Safeton? It is said to be a place of danger and ill repute, what can you say to that? Why would one so kind and gracious as this Dame Gold call such a place home?" Gil smiles warmly, attempting to take the edge off his words.

Esther shakes her head, "It's had a bad reputation in the past, but it's definitely not as rough as you may have heard. The area is much safer now than it used to be."

"I suppose we will see," Gil says evenly. "Are we invited for a mere party, or should we expect some other motive behind the message?" He doesn't suspect she would necessarily tell the truth, if there was another motive, but he watches her face carefully to see if he can detect any trace of dishonesty in the answer.

Esmenlara turns to the others while Gilthalion speaks to the messenger, and says, "I suppose we ought to prepare for travel. Do we journey on foot, or hire a carriage?"

Bamber is growing to enjoy this idea. The idea is a party.

"A carriage! How fun that would be to travel, with a wine cart to follow!"

She's also suspicious of the Pegasus rider, but admires her style, which is really the most important bit.