The letter is of crisp, pale brown parchment with golden fibers throughout. The wax is a pale, shimmering blue, the seal's symbol, a star with six points with three points in one hollow and one in the other. The symbol of Autre, Highcliff's capital, and home to the High Star Kirinen Aberita.

The letter is addressed to you. Perhaps it was left upon your doorstep at midnight, or tucked into your pack as you slept by an ethereal wind, or slid into your hand by a passerby in a black cloak and ice blue tabbard. Perhaps it was given to you by a serious-looking messenger in mithral half-plate, or slid to you by a bartender in a small village who winked as you took it. However you received it - and Delabi knows the High Star got it to you, one way or another - this is a summons you cannot refuse.

You are instructed to leave right away for Highcliff. That the High Star will cover transport costs if need be. That the moment all seven of you are gathered, you will meet for a mission of grave importance.

Her signature is in warm orange ink, sharp and swooping, with a star at its end.

Autre is called the Gleaming Valley, and not for nothing. The palace is built into the cliff face, town spreading out in the ridged and sweeping valley beneath it. The diversity of architecture is second to none, as is the quality - everything from Underdark-stone cathedrals to Feywild-sung wood lodges, with plenty of Highcliff's signature: Stained glass, stone, and thin sheets of precious materials like crystal, marble, and limestone as accents. The city bustles with a strange serenity, colorful bazaars flowing into quiet business districts, flowing again into warm and homely storefronts and restaurants.

The path to the palace is an easy enough one - it's the main road that leads into and out of the valley, from the aimless streets at its gates to the rich metropolis around the castle walls. The oddly smooth cobblestone is dappled with shimmering stones and opal shards, framed with lamp-posts where eternal blue flames burn, despite the world's endless daylight. As you walk by, you are recognized - people whisper, giggle, stare in awe. Some may even have the daring to approach you - praise your exploits or thank you for your service. Countless people gawk at the Shatterstaff. A teary-eyed man shakes Dwilla's hand as he thanks her for saving his son. Mumbles follow Whisper - a stranger in every way. A child runs up to Reed and asks brightly if she can pet his mount. Aéquitas and Sarlus are hardly strangers, but people always mutter as they pass, for one reason or another. Meanwhile, Silvarel gets as many double takes as pedestrians making wide, fearful berths.

How strange it must be, looking at the pristine blue sky of Highcliff and wonder what kind of armageddon would call the High Star to gather the world's brightest and deadliest together with such... uncharacteristic urgency. But so it begins, as many adventures do: On an otherwise ordinary day.

The palace, glass and crystal spires rising from the highest mountain of Highcliff, is ahead of you, only its iron gates and watchful guards, insistent on opening it only for all seven, between. What do you do?