Eldebryn's mental journal, part 1

The Wailing Spirit, Mulsantir's welcoming inn... It stood there quiet, near the shores of lake Mulsantir, at the southern part of Rashemen, the land of spirits.

The wizard and his companions were casting away their exhaustion in this unresting, dark night. The rain was falling heavily outside the warm tavern, as Eldebryn was looking through the cloudy windows.


"Uh, sir... Are you having anything..?", said a trembling voice

The young human barmaid was looking awkwardly towards the dark elf, abruptly forcing him to emerge from his pondering, and so did his companions momentarily. She was no older than 16 or 17 years old.

She is afraid of me

"Just the local tea, thanks...", he told her with his slightly exotic Common accent in a low voice, right after pausing and looking at her for a moment.

The bard's music was filling the fest hall, his guitar and his assistant's tabor under his enchanting  command.

What an unusual kind of music, he thought for an instant, as the unfamiliar melodies caressed his ears.

His gaze was discretely examining the individuals occupying the same table as he did when his tea arrived. They were either enjoying their meal, like the fighter and the ranger, or focusing their attention elsewhere, like the elf and the necromancer...

Kaal and Khameir. Both raised in the wilds of Rashemen, the former by his hag mother as well. Unlike the well-equipped ranger with numerous tools and weapons, prepared for survival in unfamiliar regions, the fighter's purple-hued broad torso was only covered in old, cheap rags of the lowest quality. He claimed to deny all material possessions, save for his blade, his battle companion.
Both quiet and devoted to the combat they so seem to enjoy, often fighting side-by-side. I certainly have trouble discerning the motives of those two. Though come to think of it, no greater of a difficulty than I have for the rest of this odd bunch.
They certainly seem to be driven, however. That I admire. Too bad they are not so keen on following the directives and advice of the rest of us, who are brighter and more knowledgeable.

The soft water drops, dancing only slightly above the muddy ground's surface, echoed inside his mind, as his crimson eyes turned to the elf.

Laiquardiel, the elf druid, is enjoying her drink, seemingly lost deep in her thoughts. In spite of her claims to be suffering from memory loss, I find it quite bizarre that she travels with a drow... Very bizarre. Her attitude is confusing, at best, demonstrating little coherence from day to day. That blasted wound from her enchanted stone still hurts...

At this point Eldebryn rubbed the back of his head, trying to not be noticed by the others.

Her display of anger, obviously because of my less-than-flattering words towards her species, was more fitting to mere humans than elves... She should have realized it was necessary for our previous plan to work as intended. We had to look convincing and I did the right thing.
Strange though... I had the impression, and hoped, that almost all races of the surface treated their females as weaker and less important. Could I be wrong?
That incident in conjunction with her... rather unusual appearance in front of my room the other day, lead me to believe she is either mentally unstable and unpredictable or plotting something I cannot perceive just yet...
Which intrigues me.

The drow moved on to the last human, as he heard the giggling of the waitress at his side, with whom he flirted shamelessly.

Ah, the necromancer... Menegroth. He is exactly the kind of annoyingly impulsive, inexperienced kind of human that I find disgusting. His white hair and pale skin make him look older but it's fairly obvious he is no older than 25, given the way humans age. No actual wizard, that's for sure. Perhaps some kind of sorcerer, though his kind of magic seems limited within the field of necromantic arts, excluding that impressive healing magic I am so curious about. His performance in combat has been remarkable, his presence indicative of a strong yet idiotically stubborn personality.
Ironically enough, it is the impact of his chaotic, careless acts that often leads to me thinking on our current situation.
The ripples flowing in accordance to the shape of the pond...


Why would a group like the Hathrans hire a necromancer, instead of reporting him to the Doomguides of Kelemvor..?

Why would they even let him walk out after being charged with murder only hours ago?

Perhaps for the same reason they hired a hagspawn, a mentally disturbed elf and a drow all the way from the Underdark too...?
There is something we are not being told, more than the conflicts with the Red Wizards, or the retrieval of that artifact... I need to find out soon.


He drunk the last sip of his tea, placing the ceramic cup on the table as he nodded and declared he had to take his leave in order to study his spells. He headed towards the hallway, hardly expecting a farewell.

I sense shadows slowly engulfing us, dark as the skies at this chilling time of the night...
May the Lady Of Mysteries watch over...