Neth: "No! You mustn't!" cries the youngest of the three Thayans, still aquiver from whatever person, place or thing sent him running into the inn to join his comrades. The elder of the three shoots the young one a sharp look that promises future recrimination. He stands and gives you a false smile, clearly wise to the game you are playing, but attempting to keep his cool.

"We must thank you so very much for your concern, fellow traveler. My friend here is merely suffering from a wretched combination of heatstroke and road-nerves. We have come far on our way to Sembia, and are not as close to our destination as we would like to be. If you would kindly leave my addled friend here in peace, I would have no cause for anger." The last word is said with barely-restrained emotion. It is clear they will tolerate little more of this...

Daurily has assumed a position facing Neth and the three Thayans. She seems calm and alert. The group of merchants in the corner seem strangely detached from your interactions.

Perelia: "It is reassuring to hear a mageling such as yourself express an interest in more than just the accumulation of power. Would that all such aspirants display that level of... courage, I suppose." Noristuor stands slowly and walks over to a bookshelf closer to the fireplace. He scans several volumes as he speaks. "And yes, it would be my pleasure to share with you some of the tricks and incantations I used when I was still a younger mage." he laughs his gravelly laugh, then says "I remember how every new scroll and each chance to study a new volume was like a gift from Azuth himself, accompanied by the ecstasy of communing with fair Mystra's Weave." He steals himself from his reverie as Shlep enters the room.

"Master," the portly young man says, "I have scryed somewhat successfully the location of the man who fled the event. It seems he has run to the Ashabenford Arms. It is strange, though... some magic I cannot decipher blocks my vision further. We will not be able to see into the Inn itself."

"In that case, Perelia, I suggest caution as you move forward. Before you leave, I'd better help to ensure your safety. Nothing too noticeable, but something nonetheless..."

Noristuor then chants several words in the Draconic tongue - words that seem to come as easily to him as Elven does to you - makes a quick gesture through the air before you, and you feel his defensive magic like a bulwark invisible over your skin. "That should do." he says. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't still be careful, though. Now then, if you don't mind, my apprentice will see you out and give you directions to the Inn if you don't already know where it is. He'll help you go anywhere else you need as well. I'll expect to see you soon with news."

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Noristuor has cast Mage Armour on Perelia. The apprentice stands by to answer any questions as Noristuor climbs the stairs leading to the upper floors of the tower.


Roen: "Aye," says the Rider captain, "Their motives are damned vague. Makes one wonder how they knew Herlam was here in the first place." He throws up his hands. "Lieutenant, send riders to the outlying villages, and round up as many of our scouts and rangers you can. I want our meager forces ready for whatever comes. I'm not in the habit of negotiating with drow, at least not without a damn good explanation as to why. Southerner, you'd better go to the Inn now, or at least soon. If you've got a meeting in a couple of hours with the old man, that'll do I suppose. I'll be coordinating things from here if you need me."

And with that the captain jogs back to the barracks, yelling orders as he goes...

Ryn: With your final blow, the Uthgardt makes a last attempt to raise his sword, but his muscles falter. His eyes flutter, and he droans a slow gurgle/curse that dribbles out of his mouth as he slumps to the earth in a bloody, dusty heap. The cleric of Helm and his squire rush in, and are already upon the man, chanting and signing their curative magic, before you even know the battle is finished.

After the match, the Master of Lists approaches Ryn with a purse of coins. "Good showmanship, all around. A bit of comedy here, a few deft swings there, some good riding. Most fun I've had watching a mounted combat in a good long while. Oh, here's the winnings."

And next up, the Dirty Melee... (OOC: Will now be incorporated into the main posts).

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The purse contains 150 GP.