Thanks for reading. I know that my English is not the best (I'm non-native) but I plan to keep going on with this. If I ever take the story to an end, I may think of publishing it, after a lot of improvement, of course. Reviews are most welcome. : )

CHAPTER 3

In the sunny morning the group set foot on the road. The horses were pretty fast and healthy, and they hoped to reach somewhere in few hours. They could spot a bunch of buildings in the distance, which seemed like a village surrounded by a wooden palisade.

— We deserve some rest after these long nights — Hashan said — Let's head to the village and try to find some inn.

— A bed would be most welcome. — Kara replied.

Corister didn't answer. His horse was some meters behind the other two, and his mind was full of thoughts. He was feeling that the strange staff had a deeper meaning for him, as if was a signal of his fate.

During the long ride, Corister remembered his parents, isolated in an old house back in Baldur's Gate, disgusted for the son who left everything behind. Indeed he had left home at a young age, after much pressure from his family to become an important merchant. He used to secretly steal money from his father to pay magic classes from a travelling bard. Magic was his future, he knew. His true gift.

Years passed and Corister journeyed north by himself, cold and starving, until he reached Waterdeep. His life there was similar to one of a beggar, as the few coins he could collect from magic performances were all he had to survive. His life changed when a young red-haired girl paid him a meal. She was Kara, a girl coming from the Moonshaes looking for her destiny. That same night in the Red Gauntlet tavern, she told him that life was much more than a piece of land circled by stony walls. There was much life out there, many opportunities, and Corister absorbed that as a young child who's given a lesson.

The friendship between them and Hashan had led them to where they were. But he was feeling exhausted, wishing for a place to call home and people to call family. And that strange object in his hand was somehow making all those feelings vanish. He knew that he had to keep going, for the task he gave himself was not yet completed.

Hours passed hastily and by the sunset, Corister, Hashan and Kara reached a small village. Stardun was once a reasonably large commercial outpost between the Dalelands and Cormyr, but the constant battles in Archendale made many of its inhabitants flee to Arabel or Highmoon. Now the village was a small amount of buildings surrounded by a wooden palissade. The gate was open as the group approached it. Few people were walking in the streets and the scenery was dominated by a stony building the center of the village: a temple dedicated to Lathander, Lord of Dawn. Kara unmounted her horse and sighed as she spotted the sign of an inn. The two men followed her, too tired to contest.

The moon was rising as the group feasted over roasted pork. While Corister and Kara were sipping on their wine glasses, Hashan was gulping beer steadily. Unlikely other men, Hashan would entertain others with stories when drunk. Having travelled a lot around the Eastern Lands, he always had something to tell about one of his journeys. The tale of the evening was about a caravan he had escorted across Anauroch, the dangerous wasteland of sand.

Only the alcohol would make Hashan talk more than usual, for his common mood was introverted, mysterious and distant. He met Kara and Corister as they crossed Luskan, in a peculiar event: they were being attacked by wild wolves when Hashan heard the screaming and helped them out. When they shared the campfire that night, they knew that great friendship bounds had been created. But still they knew the warrior had some sort of secret, some reason for abandoning his peaceful life in the North.

Their bodies were tired from the tension of the previous night, and soon they went upstairs to the rooms they had rented for the night. Kara giggled as she closed her door after glancing to Hashan's dark but affectionate eyes. Both rooms had two single beds, heavy curtains and a small wooden table, but none of them bothered to check the furniture.

Lea nestled over a soft pillow on the floor. Hashan unceremoniously got rid of his cumbersome armor and weapons and fell heavily over the bed. "Didn't even bother a good night, drunkard." Corister thought.

Also lying on the bed, Corister could not stop thinking of his life. Since they had arrived in that little place in-between realms, he was missing the good old time by the Sword Coast, when his youth had not yet meant a threat for his father will. His friends were so far away, the only family he had now neglected him, he had no hope of returning his life to its former state.

Suddenly his eyes were dazzled by a strange wave of green light coming from the deep darkness. It took him some moments to notice its source — from right under his bed. He quickly moved his body to look, and when he did the light faded away. But he could catch a glimpse of the strange staff there, as if trying to give him some kind of signal.

Again he was surrounded by darkness, and know his mind was focused on the strange object below him. He wondered who was the man who entrusted him the mission of saving it, and why he would know what to do in Highmoon. Many secrets were folded in that green glow, and Corister knew they would change his life in some way.