Year of the Banner
13 Ches, 1368
Xan
There were, in Xan's opinion, many more drawbacks than benefits to being a defender of Elvendom, and one of those numerous drawbacks of owning a Moonblade was that it made you very conspicuous. Even at the very northernmost fringes of Amn, in the town of Nashkel, mages and magic-users were regarded with suspicion. Dressed in the deep purple robes of his family, Xan felt like a slow-moving target.
Several human children were crowded in a circle around something, occasionally bending down to prod at it. Xan drew nearer, wary, and the children scattered at the sight of him, revealing a small squirrel. He sighed, and the squirrel fled from him as well, dashing straight up a nearby tree.
Xan heard someone approach, and turned to look up at the human with the neatly-trimmed beard. He had the look of a retired adventurer. Even if not from the scars, you could tell by something in the eyes, Xan had always thought. They had a haunted, jumpy look... There was a pause, in which Xan recognized the man from the basic description he had been given. "Berrun Ghastkill, I presume?"
"Aye, and you'd be--"
"Xan Blacksheaf of Evereska, at your service."
The mayor of Nashkel, for that was who he was, relaxed slightly. "The Greycloaks' letter spoke of you. I've been expecting... You'll be wanting to take a look at the mines, then?"
Take a look at the mines. I've not been here a day and already I can tell it's futile. He did have his orders, however. "I would, yes." It was a step towards the source of the problems troubling the region, at the least.
2 Mirtul, 1368
Xan
... so when had this all gone awry? It was clear, still, that he was dying a slow death despite the half-orc feeding him - if he could call it food. Perhaps he was feverish. He'd long ceased being a source of amusement for the kobolds. During the first few days of his confinement, they'd gathered around him, pulling at his hair and yipping to each other. It was clear the half-orc didn't know what to do with him. His name was Mulahey, and he was by no means stupid. The kobolds treated him like a god.
Oh, he'd investigated Nashkel's mines, all right. Not a day in the forsaken place and he'd been caught off-guard. They'd taken his spellbook, and worse, they'd taken his Moonblade. It was still nearby, or he'd be dead. Perhaps in the very next room. Still, its prolonged absence wore on him more than the chains around his wrists and ankles. He had another few months, he supposed, before the inevitable.