To the Ends of Faerun

"What have you done?" a body appeared from a pile of books, a blank expression on his face as Arislan accused him. The body belonged to Lukslor, Arislan's one and only friend. Arislan had been staying at Lukslor's little cottage in the outskirts of Shadowdale for a couple of days while he thought of what to do next. His barging into his room/library was, therefore, nothing out of the ordinary; it was how he barged in.

Arislan had met Lukslor on one of his treasure-hunting expeditions early in his career. Lukslor was called one day at his house for historical information; he was one of the best historians in the Red Wizard owned part of Faerun. He had acquired most of that information through books and little on expedition and this showed, for even though Lukslor was a few years older than him, Arislan was the more traveled of the two.

While Arislan had been hardened by his career as a treasure-hunter and the lack of a home in ten years, Lukslor had had the comfort of a home and love of his family and his mentor Alassra Shentrantra. He was a tall, skinny man, if you would call him that, for his body had very few adult features apart from a sparse beard that would appear sometimes. His complexion was deathly white acquired through years in libraries, studying the history of men, elves and dwarves and little outdoors experiences. This was contrasted by his short, sleek black hair. Though his complexion reminded everyone of winter and death, his eyes told a different story. These were eyes full of wisdom beyond his time or age, so deep and magical. The first time Arislan met this historian, he was mystified by those eyes, eyes that held so much more than simple wisdom. It seemed that he belonged to a time of magic.

"What did I do?" murmured a confused Lukslor after a few seconds. He then went back to his pile of books. Arislan looked at him and gave him the scrap piece of paper the note was written on. The historian took the scrap piece of paper, looked at the note and then gave it back to him.

"Mmm! Interesting, I wonder who wrote this."

"You, of course," Arislan said looking at him to crack, "You are the only one in this land that knows who I am. Only you must have written the note and been able to get the note into the room, or told someone about my past." Lukslor looked shocked and then he began to get angry, his eyes, which were generally soft and understanding, began to harden and joy could not be found there.

"Well you must be wrong because I am not one for jokes or telling secrets which are not mine to tell," and with that he closed the book in his hand and walked out, stopping by the door. He looked back at Arislan and with a sigh grumbled.

"Oh! And breakfast in on the table. Try coming after you have figured out it wasn't me," and with that left the study room and headed to the dinning-room.

Now Arislan was worried. Lukslor was right, he would never lie about something that seemed so important, he was very bad at it and it just was not what he would do. If he was playing a trick, he would have told him already. He was not good at keeping his own secrets and many a game of chess would end with Lukslor telling his friend exactly what he was going to do and Arislan not being able to do anything about.

So Arislan, with his tail between his legs, approached the dinning room, slowly, step by painful step. He knocked on the heavy oak door and opened it standing there until Lukslor raised his head from his meal, his voice bellowed out for all the cottage to hear:

"Well, why are you standing there? Are you not hungry or do you not eat? Sit!" said the historian, his voice losing the anger and getting softer until he was smiling. Arislan sat and started his meal with a bowl of milk and a chunk of bread, his eyes never meeting those of his friend. There was silence for minutes, until Lukslor broke the mutually agreed silent.

"You do know that there were probably many people in the ship on which you left Evermeet that could recognize you where ever you are from your parents. It is not a stretch of the imagination that someone left the note for you and if it were an elf even easier, they can be so silent." He went for a fresh pot of tea and offered it to his friend. Arislan lifted his head and looked straight at Lukslor.

"I am deeply sorry about accusing you. It just came as a shock seeing that signature again, it had been a long time since I came by it and that was only because my father was teaching me how to write."

He remembered that day so well, 'you must only use this when in dire need, look at me son,' his father had to capture his attention again, Arislan had always been an outdoors person, not one for reading or writing. He closed the curtains of the windows where his son's sight was being distracted to, 'now, where were we, ah yes, the elf-friend signature. This signature is different for everyone who had done a great service to the fey race, but one thing remains the same, the word. Arislan! Get off your wardrobe and sit down, please, this is important. Now, the word, you may dress it up in so many ways, but one thing remains, it must be in elvish. No other language will do, no other spelling will matter. It must be Elf-friend and it must be elvish. Are you listening boy? Another thing you must remember is that you are bound to it the moment you read the signature. You will not be able to live properly again until you respond to it or you do whatever is written down.' He looked at his son again and sighed, 'go! Get out of my sight before I do something I might regret.' Arislan sighed…

That had been only hours before he returned to find his whole family either kidnapped or dead. The image of the signature had stayed in his mind as the last thing his father had tried to explain to him. He had told Lukslor this story countless of times and Lukslor had tried to find out more about this signature, but it was elusive. A thing mentioned when talking about elves and their friends, but nothing about why they were used and how to make it, this had been a secret kept between elf-friends and passed from generation to generation by mouth, not literature.

"Well, we can start by figuring out where this place is… what was it again? Almort? No, Almorel? Yes Almorel," Lukslor stood up and set towards the library, set to his new project. During the years he had known Arislan he had been getting restless, listening about the different places the mercenary had gone to in search of one or another artifact. He was trying to find any excuse to go on one of these adventures. So he must find as much as he could about this mysterious town or city and then convince Arislan to go and take him.

As Lukslor was busy with his research, Arislan began to feel happier and therefore start enjoying his favourite meal, breakfast. He had already finished his bread and milk and was already tempted by the grapes which, in his opinioned, had been lingering there for too long. He grabbed a bunch and stared savoring each one. While this was going on he poured himself another bowl of milk and reached for the cakes, trying to decide which one to pick. When this 'foreplay' was over he went to the larder and picked some cured ham and a sizeable piece of cheese. He then sat down and hacked away at the bread and cheese and ham until only the toughest part of the bread remained. When this ritual was finished, he felt so much better. Lukslore on the case and him not being the culprit had meant his anxiousness had left him and was replaced by cheeriness.

He then started towards Lukslor's room, whistling and smiling. His smile did leave him till he saw his friend waiting for him.

"So, how was breakfast?" he smiled, "I see the note did nothing to weaken your appetite, nor preoccupy you with what I would find."

"My dear friend," Arislan replicated his friend's smile and added, "you do know that I cannot function properly if I do not have a hearty breakfast. So, what did you find?"

"Well, our anonymous writer wants you to go to Almorel. Now there is nothing about any place existing now with that name…" at this Arislan slope his shoulders and resigned himself to a stupid search of the whole of the supracontinent known as Faerun to find this elusive place, "but I found a text which talks about there once being a place at the shore of the Lake of Mists with that name and if I am not incorrect, this note wants us to go to Telagrá."

Lukslor closed his book and moved towards the door while Arislan stood there assimilating all which he had heard. As Lukslor was about to leave, Arislan responded:

"Us?" Lukslor's head turned towards his friend.

"Of course us. You may need my assistance when we are there,"

"What with?" asked Arislan, whom by now had a huge smirk on his face.

"What with you ask! You may need help with things and translating old books and… and…" Arislan laughed at this last remark, "ok, ok. I've caught the itch. I'm dying to go on an adventure. Your love for them is contagious." Lukslor also smiled, "will you take your inexperience friend to the ends of Faerun?"

"Well… will you accept that there will probably be perils all the way there and back? Will you accept that we may be going on a wild goose chase and that all we may be coming back with is a miserable face and a few broken bones? Can you accept that you will have to live on the bare minimum and that there is no space in your travel luggage for a soft, warm bed?"

Lukslor had said a silent yes to all but the last question, to which he said quietly:

"Will I have room for a few books?" Arislan smiled at that and nodded his head in agreement. Lukslor smiled and then something started to gnaw at his brain.

"My parents! Goodness me, I'll have to tell them. They will not be pleased. They've never liked you and now you are taking me away…"

"I'm not doing that!" the adventurer interrupted.

"But that is what they will think. I will need to tell them something to be able to go there, but what could it be? Oh well, I'll think about it while I go there. I'll see you back here in an hour or so, you will probably hear the shouting first I think."

With that Lukslor left the cottage to head towards his family home, embedded in the thriving town of Shadowdale, leaving Arislan to think about supplies for two while noticing a fight between two very different people developing outside the cottage, on the road leading towards Shadowdale. He smirked knowing that one of those people was probably Lukslor.

… … …

What Arislan should have noticed was the eyes of someone in the house. The same eyes that were looking at his door while leaving the note. The person that was even now happier that Lukslor had decided to join him. The plan was being perfectly put to practice and those eyes left the room with a thought, and then there were two…