N/B Was showing this fanfic to my DnD group and was beyond shock when none of them know who Bishop is. There was once upon a time everyone know who he is. Suddenly I feel very old.
I certainly hope you readers here know who he is. Wait, do you?
Thank you for following this little project.
Lost in Realm
19
Next morning was foggy. Everything beyond an arm's reach was veiled by the blurry mist. It wasn't that uncommon this time of the year. Yet it was rather inconvenient to a lot of folks who tried to get business done. Standing by the heavy gate with Bishop snugly tucked inside her side shoulder sack and the hood over her head, Nhilva met Bastian and the rest of the expedition crew.
It wasn't exactly a big crew.
Despite the lucrative offer, there were only a few people signed up. Twins, half-orcs Greg and Boyle, both armed to the teeth and looked about as sturdy as boulders on both side of the bridge. Nhilva inwardly guessed one of them was fighter. They looked almost identical apart from one had silver eyes and one dark brown. There was Viessa Adeptor, a petite female with dark hair tied into a bun on the top of her head. Her profession was a matua maker, which to her understanding was some kind of dress maker. Yet from the air emanated out of the female, she wondered if the individual was actually someone else like a sorceress.
And that was it.
For some unspoken reason, maybe it was because of the fog, or maybe it was because of the early morning, but none of them were in the mood to talk. They only answered questions or introductions with nods and single syllable grunt. Which suited the drow just fine. After that, they embarked on their long journey to Klauthen Vale. Once out of the gate, they headed west and onto the Northern Mean, the trail that connected the city of Luskan to the Frozenfar.
The Spine of the World was an alpine range stretching across the northwest region of Fareun to the frigid lands to the north and west. Icewind Dale, the Cold Run, the icebergs of the Sea of Moving Ice, and the northeastern-most part of the Trackless Sea fell under the Frozenfar region. Like its name, it was the coldest and most remote area of the land. Aside from a few brave merchants and people who were at their wits end, no sane mind would walk in this area. The trail headed north until it met the Ten Trail, another path south of the Spine of the World. It went along the east and, as a result, it was snowy and windy with very few trees or hills along it to provide shelter. In winter, there were times the trail practically disappeared due to the heavy snowfall. Luckily, they did not have to go all the way to Ten Trail, if she remembered correctly. They would turned northeast at the Iceflow River Gorge and head toward Klauthen Vale. It was the shortest and most direct route without using any form of magic.
Although the route produced another new set of problems.
Different kinds of monsters inhabited the gorge. Nhilva had read through a handful of campaign books set in Icewind Dale in her previous life. And almost all of them mentioned the dangers hidden here.
The fog lingered and obscured their journey for the next few hours or so. It wasn't windy because of it. But it did not make the temperature any warmer. Even under her especially drow-made robe, she still felt an icy chill. She could not help but sigh, missing her days when she had a handful of cantrips that keep her warm at immediate disposal.
"Dreadful, no?" An accented male voice appeared by her side. Peering over, she noticed it was one of the half-orc twins. Judging by the lighter and slimmer gear, she hazarded it was not the fighter one.
"Heard it will be a blessing on the day when Northern Means actually got a good weather," she chuckled in response. To be honest, today's weather wasn't so bad. It was just cold. But she supposed it was better than scorching hot.
"Aye!" The half-orc's grin deepened. "I am Greg, by and by."
" Aye, you are the one with silver eyes."
" Aye!" Greg sounded rather pleased she was able to tell him and his brother apart.
Nhilva identified his accent as very closed to an Irish one. Of course, there was no Ireland here. She wondered where in Faerun would have accent like that. But it was just an internal ponder. Asking someone something like that would often offend them, even in this realm.
"Where did Bastian find you?" asked Greg. "He has been very busy for days. Our employer assigned him recruitment duty."
"One-Eyed Jax."
"For real?" The half-orc sounded surprised. "He plucked us out from the Cutlass. Wait a minute..."
The drow looked at him curiously, waiting for him to finish his sentence.
"You were at Cutlass a few days ago, were you? With that mate of yours?" Greg pointed his finger at her.
"He was not my mate." The passive expression on Nhilva's face changed a little. Jhalnin was more like her dreadful nightmare.
"Stay away from him, I tell yeh. He's not anybody's friend. That bloke got a reputation. No one... Wait you just said he is not your mate?"
"No."
"AHAH!" The half-orc male clapped his hands and let out a loud cheer, startling everybody.