Later that night as the Wicked Wench plied her course toward Luskan, the traveling companions sat down to take their meal. They had been lucky enough to secure a spot on a small deck to the aft of the ship. Truth be told, the Wench's captain, Hedron Kerdos, wanted the group where he could see them. Even if the elven maid was able to keep the drow in check, he wanted to keep an eye on the dark elf as well.
Seated under a tarp that had been placed to keep out the worst of the sea's spray and any inclement weather, the small company awaited dinner's arrival. With his back to some cargo boxes, Rizdaer watched each one of the company in turn.
The tall, slender elf, Diriel moved with the grace attributed to his race. Pale golden hair fell to his shoulders, with the braids of a warrior on either side. The elf was reserved in his speech and spent much of his time observing the other members, his eyes missing little. By his clothing and manner, the drow recognized him to be a druid. He had never met a druid before and found watching this one interesting. As Diriel moved away toward the midsection, Rizdaer gaze focused on Wind Nord.
The paladin began to clean another piece of his armor. Knowing that the salt sea air could spell disaster for his equipment, the old soldier carefully applied a cleaner that would also act as a protectant. The knight was a big man, even without his armor. He stood above six foot in height and looked to be solid muscle despite his age. The drow found himself mildly amused by the man's rough manner and less than noble speech. He lacked the normal refinement found in most knights. Time alone would show if he also lacked the singleminded, judgmental zeal attributed to many paladins. That the knight did not trust him, did not surprise the drow.
In fact, Nord had been nagging at the elven maid about him for most of the evening.
"Ye should have left the chains on the wily bastard,"admonished the paladin. "I can see if the good captain has something aboard that we can use."
"No. That will not be necessary Sir Nord," came the simple but obstinate reply. Turning her back on the knight, she pulled a bottle of wine from one of her packs.
"I am sure your lord father would not approve of . . ." started the knight.
"I do not see my lord father aboard ship Sir Nord," interrupted Anariel rather sharply. Lack of sleep and irritation finally started to tell in her voice.
Sighing heavily, she dug around for some goblets, "Besides, I am past trying to gain my good father's approval."
Nord looked at Anariel and sadly shook his head.
Rizdaer watched the maid through hooded eyes. He sensed that there was more to this female than one could see at first glance. She had a hardness to her, his jailer. A strength that the paladin had yet to discover. In truth, the drow doubted that the maid was even aware of her own power. He continued to listen to their exchange with interest.
Uncorking the bottle, she poured a goblet as she continued to address the soldier. "Let us be clear before we go any further. It is not Lord Ni'Tessine who is leading this party," she paused. "Or you." The older man frowned but remained silent as she continued, "You see, this journey is a two sided coin. It was my choice, but it is also my punishment. That being so, it is I, who will decide which path to take or not take."
Anariel reached out a graceful arm and handed the soldier a goblet of wine, "Do not mistake me, sir knight. I welcome your counsel, but the final and only decision, is mine." Smiling rather sadly she added, "If this is unacceptable to you and you wish to return to Neverwinter, or be left at Luskan, I would understand."
Over the goblet's rim, Nord looked hard into Anariel's green eyes, "Nay lass. I told your father I would help you, and help you I will." Sighing heavily the knight sipped his wine before continuing, "I don't mind taking orders, but damn it to the nine hells lass, I am nigh on old enough to be your father."
A soft smile played about the elven maid's lips, "Sir, it is I who is older than you. Should we count years, I am but a score shy of one hundred winters."
With those words, she moved gracefully across the small deck and poured another goblet for Rizdaer. The drow watched her approach although his eyes were properly lowered. As she moved closer, he could see the grace of her movements.
A goblet was being held out to him as a soft voice inquired,"Would you care for some wine Master Drow?" Rizdaer looked up. First he eyed the goblet, then he brazenly raised his eyes to look at her warily. Seeming to understand his hesitation, Anariel took a sip from the goblet first and paused a minute before handing him the wine. "It is not the best wine, I admit, but it is harmless never the less. Take it, it will keep away the night's chill." Rizdaer took the goblet and sipped the dark, fragrant wine. His eyes never leaving Anariel's.
From behind the elven maid, came the sound of booted feet and jostling dishes. Several sailors approached, followed by Diriel. With them they had a small cook-pot and several metal plates. Nord accepted the dishes of what looked like a stew. Anariel gathered another two goblets, one of the druid and one for herself as Nord ladled the savory smelling stuff into the plates. With the addition of bread and cheese, the meal was complete.
Over the next several days, the weather remained mild as they continued to Luskan. By the close of the second day, the ship left the Trackless Sea and sailed up the River Mirar to safely weigh anchor. Here, in the City of Sails, they would take on new passengers heading north and gather any personal provisions that may have been forgotten in Neverwinter.
Diriel was one of the first to leave the ship once they had set anchor. Knowing of a shop where he could procure a few rare herbs and other medicinal elements necessary for their trip, he quickly disembarked.
Realizing that he too, had not packed certain items, Nord decided to go ashore. Turning toward Anariel he tried to persuade her to join him. "Are ye sure ye do not want to go ashore with me lass?" asked the knight kindly. "I know of a little hole in the wall that serves the finest ale and fish chowder."
"I have no need nor wish to visit Luskan, but you have my thanks for the offer." Flipping the knight a coin she added, "Have a nip of the ale for me as you toast our adventure."
"As you will," replied the knight. He glanced over to where the drow sat and sent the elven maid a warning glance before departing.
Smiling at her overly protective paladin, Anariel fetched a soft leather pouch from her pack. She was content to stay aboard ship, and intended to make good use of her time. Making a small pot of tea, she poured a cup for herself and then offered some to Rizdaer. The drow scowled only slightly at the proffered tea and leaned back onto his pallet. Toward the prow of the ship, one of the remaining sailors pulled out a set of pipes and started playing a lively tune, to which another man joined with a lute.
Humming along with the tune, Anariel set down her tea before beginning to clean her swords. Both perfectly balanced, the swords were an exact match. The twin swords had been a gift to the twins, Anariel and Lavir. Both were enchanted and of elven craftsmanship giving them sleek, graceful lines. The dark metal, had a slight curve to the blade, not unlike a scimitar. The blades had an edge so keen, that it rendered a deeper cut than most blades. The victim of such a wound would also find that the bleeding was harder to stop.
In addition to the swords, she carried a long, black bladed dagger. Balanced for a more feminine hand, it was crafted for throwing as well as hand to hand combat. A bittersweet smile crossed her face as she recalled her brother's insistence that she have the dagger enchanted to return to her once thrown.
It had been mere months before his death, when she had gotten involved in a particularly foolish prank with some friends. It ended poorly in a fight that she could easily have lost after being left unarmed. She could still recall how angry with her, Lavir had become. Regret, even now, weighted heavily upon Anariel's thoughts. Quickly swiping away an unexpected tear, she applied the whet stone to the dagger's edge.
Time passed by with little effort. The cleaning of her swords and long dagger complete, she reached for her last weapon. Carefully she drew out a large wrapped object that had been secured to her pack. With great care she unwrapped a large bow and taking a soft cloth, proceeded to carefully clean it. The weapon was created from a dwarven master-craftsman of a hard wood. Polished to a warm, rich color, it was a thing of beauty. Several centuries old, it was just as strong now as at its creation. Facing outward, just above and below the arrow rest arose a dragon. Its wings arched gracefully down each limb, ending in a blade-like flare were each end recurved away from the archer.
Made of the strongest and lightest metal, the flaring design protected the archer, allowing one to weld the bow against their attacker at close range. A deep red garnet was placed as the dragon's heart, giving it its name, Dragon Heart. When properly strung, the bow required no ammunition, creating its own supply of fire arrows. Lavir had gifted the magic weapon to her on the year they had both reached their adulthood.
"That is a fine weapon you have there," came a woman's pleasant voice. Glancing up, Anariel found herself looking at a tall woman leaning on an iron shod quarter staff. "Would you be Anariel Ni'Tessine ? I was told by your knight, Sir Nord, I believe he said his name was, that you were in need of a few more people to round out your party. Please, forgive my manners, I am Valeero, a priestess of Lathander."
Having gained her feet, Anariel smiled at the woman before her, "Welcome. 'Tis true, we are in need of a good cleric, and Lathander is a better choice than many I have met."
From across the way, amber eyes assessed the new comer. He had been half dosing and half watching the elven female attending, lovingly, to her weapons. Now, he fully awake, listening to her speak with the human female. He noted the cleric's attributes. Her face was tanned and without blemish, or wrinkle. The drow had trouble pegging the female's age, especially as she was human. She appeared to be young enough. Strong of limb, with muscle evident under the sheen of chain mail beneath her traveling clothes. He noted that she was not foolish enough to wear the full robes that some clerics wore, but instead wore breeches and a long, knee length tunic, split to the hip. Hazel colored eyes showed wisdom and a glimmer of humor.
A decent size buckler hung from her back, while a wicked looking mace hung from her belt. Keeping it company, was a sling and a pouch of bullets. Rizdaer's drow eye sight detected a faint glow from the mace when ever the cleric's hand brushed the weapon. From the conversation he learned that Valeero was from Neverwinter. It was her intent to join the fight and meet up with Captain Mariner who was leading a contingent of soldiers from Neverwinter to Targos.
Voices from the dock drew the attention of the two women. Nord was returning with Diriel as well as two others. A tall man in a sorcerer's robes and what almost looked like a female child. The knight ushered the newcomers forward while the druid placed his purchases safely in his pack.
"I have found these two likely adventurers heading north. They were looking for a party to join, and as we have have a need . . ." began the soldier. Anariel raised a black brow at the knight. He had taken matters into his own hands without discussing it with her. Instead of feeling angry, she found herself curious about the the newcomers. What did it matter now who chose them, she reasoned with herself. They did indeed need a few more to round out their party. Surely, being a soldier, Nord must be a descent judge of character.
"Why not introduce your friends sir knight," she said finally.
Nord breathed a small sigh of relief. Soon the introductions were made. Both were magic users. Of the two, Jaemal, was a gifted sorcerer who, Nord explained, had also received rigorous weapons training. This combination had been too good for the knight to pass up. Anariel learned that Jaemal was from the east, a country called Mulhorand. She observed the man as he spoke, his tones cultured and soft. He stood tall in robes of a dark wine color. To his belt was attached a sling, a pouch of bullets, and a sheathed dagger. A wand tucked into the another specially made sheath also hung from the leather belt. He leaned casually upon a staff, encrypted with numerous magical runes and figures. Dark brown, almost black hair hung in waves to his shoulders. Anariel found his countenance and manners most pleasing, for he lacked the usual haughtiness that one found in most sorcerers. The intense dark eyes that looked back at the elven maid were full of intelligence, and something more. Realizing that she was staring, Anariel quickly looked to the remaining spell caster.
Peony was a gnome. A rock gnome to be exact. The first that Anariel had ever met. The petite female was several inches shy of five feet tall. She dressed in the robes of a mage, a whirl of blues and purples. Silvery blue tresses hung below her shoulders in soft curls. Her dark blue eyes literally danced as she told the story of how she had traveled from Silverymoon to Luskan. As Peony continued her story, Anariel started to feel a slight headache forming between her eyes. She knew that size could be deceiving, but in reality, could this talkative gnome hold her own in a fight?
Anariel sighed heavily as she considered the lives of those in her party, and the responsibility she now carried. A bitter laugh threatened to escape her. She could barely take care of herself, and know she was to lead a band of adventurers. They were now a party of six now, seven while the drow was still with them. She knew without having to look, that the amber eyes of the dark elf were watching her, as always taking her measure. She rubbed her forehead with her fingers, closing her eyes in quiet desperation. She had been looking for escape, for freedom. To succeed where others expected failure would take all of her strength and cunning. As she listened to Peony launch into another story, Anariel wondered which would be the first to go, her feet, or her sanity.