Autumn 1372

Every crunch of rubble beneath their feet seemed to echo in the deafening silence around them. Ashara felt horribly exposed out there in the middle of the nothingness and considering the previous morning, that was saying something.

It was the eerie stillness of it all... A weight in the air. The breath held before the attack. Much worse here than it had been in Dlabbradath, she could almost feel the unseen eyes on them as they made their way west. But no attack had come, praise the Morninglord for that! Still, there was nothing to relieve that maddening anxiety except to yet again tighten her grip on Dawnspeaker's haft.

Not for the first time, the young priestess wondered why no small wildlife lived in the ruin. At first she thought perhaps it was the broken Mythal, then maybe the infestation of demons and other dangerous creatures, but what if it was due to the tragedy that took place here. The sheer amount of life lost! The City of Song, City of Love, of Might, of Beauty... It had become a city of sorrows. Lost lives, lost hopes and dreams... It was no wonder the crickets forgot to chirp and the birds hushed their voices in memoriam, for at the moment Ashara certainly couldn't find her own.

Soft of step and with watchful gaze, Kaldric wore an unrelenting smirk as the party walked through the mass of centuries old devastation. Though not overly cognizant of his companions' thoughts or worries, the mage trekked along behind them with virtually no fear of ever-present danger. He knew it lingered there, of course, always following them, always threatening to spring at them with sharp talon, pointed fang, or deadly magic. Having lived in Myth Drannor for a decade now, he understood how focusing on death coming on swift wings or by undead menaces could shred the psyche. Quite literally, the constant fear could strip the mind of its faculties. In his chosen profession--to attain his desired goal, such simply wasn't an option.

Additionally, the Veil Initiate saw something different when he stared out at the remnants of the great city. Life. The architecture, even shattered or crumbling, spoke to him of life and love and happiness. Children played through the streets of a crowded city, laughing in the joy brought by friendship and the sunshine on their small faces. Men practiced and mastered their trade in peace and good conscience, developing wares of enduring magnificence right out in the open where passers-by might look on with rapt attention. Women walked through the marketplaces to shop for their families' needs and met at the many cafes and vendors to share exotic foods and merriment with those they may not even know. Lovers disappeared within their secret places to escape into each others' arms, serenaded by the faint din of music and verse that celebrated everything a City of Song was intended to be. Within every brick, sculpture, minaret, archway, and street stone resided the blessings of the Faerunian pantheons, all come together in this place to live as a message of harmony and unity found no where else on the face of Toril.

To so many, the ruin around them seemed a tragedy of all the things lost in a desperate war fought against a fiendish army of darkness. They mourned at the death and misery and destruction, and they wondered how such things could happen in the world. To Kaldric, the ruin symbolized everything good in the world because it had been there, and its presence needed to be celebrated, not its loss mourned! Adventurers came from every corner of the continent to find the treasures of Myth Drannor, but the true treasure of this most glorious of cities was simply that it had existed--had lived--at all. The hope, his goal, embraced the idea that it would live once again.

The only way to realize that goal, he believed, was to help his wife become whole once more. Thus, he had devoted his life to her many years ago, and the beginnings of their relationship budded at that time. Now, Kaldric wouldn't know how to live without her.

What the (relatively) young mage did know--beyond any shadow of a doubt--was that he hardly feared her. As a by-product of that, Kaldric no longer feared the denizens rooted within the ruin either. Unlike his wife, he maintained a healthy wariness when it came to the devils, demons, undead, and other monsters infesting the ruin, and he constantly watched for signs of their encroachment.

He did not, however, live in fear of them.

And so, Kaldric kept a practiced eye on the surroundings as they traveled to their next destination. He sought any form of movement or unexplained phenomena that might seem out of place amidst the desolation, so as to help protect those he accompanied.

Compared to the rest of them though, his demeanor proved calm, and his step quite at ease.

As they walked through the war torn clearing Elric thought he saw Jorelon tense suddenly and then his shoulders slump in resignation.


"Something wrong....." He started to ask as he felt a now familiar tingle crawl over his skin.

"Wrong is kind way of putting it." The priest said turning to face the half-elf again. Elric's eyes went wide. On the island with all the running and the fighting... there had been little chance to notice the effects of the dead magic zone on the priest.... but here out in the day, the effects were striking. The usually smooth face had gained a few wrinkles around the eyes.. even a touch of grey showed in his hair. Nothing drastic... but still noticeable. Kaldric was even more so when his eyes and robes chose a single color...

"Dead magic?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"Dead magic." Jorelon confirmed.

"How big of an area this time?" Elric asked looking around him a little more cautiously. He really did NOT want to be caught out here without magic again. The priest just shrugged.

"Don't know... I wouldn't recommend trying to follow the edge or anything... we're here.. let's just get through it!"

"I guess we expected as much," Ashara stated with a resigned sigh as she reached into the Haversack to retrieve the cold iron sword she'd made that morning. "It was mentioned that there are areas of dead magic in Shaundakul's Throne, but I agree... Out in the open like this, I hope we can get through it quickly!"

She handed the newly created blade to her husband and winked.

"I hope the last one is still buried in the molydeus' leg, but if not or any other tanar'ri make an appearance I'd rather you have this at your side next to your usual sword instead of having it tucked away in the bag."

With Durlan's cold iron axe, Elric's sword and a small bag of sling bullets, they were better prepared than they were yesterday to fight such a potent adversary. That wasn't saying much... Flashes of the previous night's dreams flitted through her mind, but Ashara only bit her lip smiled weakly as Dawnspeaker's light went out.

Elric took a few practice swings with his new magic sword. Magic sword? Sword made from magic? If something was created with magic, was it magic? He filed that away in the back of his mind to question Therogeon when next they met. He smiled at the thought of THAT meeting... It would be nice being the one to answer questions for a change! After hearing what they had been up to... oh, his friend was going to have questions.

Maybe he'd tell the elder half-elf he could only ask ONE.... THAT may have a fun reaction!

Moments later, he saw Dawnspeaker flare to life again. They'd passed the dead magic zone, and had crossed the wasteland back into city proper. Jorelon sighed and Elric just stared for a moment. The years hadn't come back to him.

"Jorelon...." he asked tentatively...

"I don't know." the priest answered a touch defensively then shook his head. "Sorry... I knew leaving the mythal wasn't good... but when I de-aged again after leaving Gemblaunt island... I'd hoped I'd be fine... "

"What's different this time?"

"Like I said... I don't know. I didn't really expect to get them back the first time... maybe... something was different about the fields... or the magic that caused them... Something with the mythal... Again, I don't know." His mouth turned up into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It is what it is... Let's just keep going."

"Don't let it get you down, brother," Ashara encouraged him with a warm smile as they continued on. "The little bit of grey makes you look quite distinguished and your aging should reverse itself after a few years, will it not? In the meantime," she grinned, "I hear that women prefer older men..."

The priestess herself still had a handful of magically induced years she hoped to shed. Every year counted when you were married to a man that could outlive you by a century! Of course... They had to live through this little vacation before she could be too concerned about dying of old age!

"Awww..... " Elric said in mock disappointment. "THAT's not what I wanted to hear! If Therogeon is any indication, I may never get to be distinguished! He chuckled as they continued down the path.

Past the small wasteland and the dead magic zone, they again met up with the ancient trail. Cracked spires and lonely ruins again surrounded them. Not quite the heart of the city, the northern trail was still near the edge of the mighty forest, it was still a vastly more cosmopolitan effect than they'd experienced in Dlabraddath. The buildings (that remained,) were vastly closer together, and ancient skyways strung between them. It gave the city a feel that it was even larger than it truly was.

"Up ahead..." Jorelon pointed to the west. "Those two towers there, that's the temple."

Elric nodded and asked, "So what do we know about this Shaundi... Shawn.... Shaundakul?" He cringed at his assassination of the name. "I may not be the most theological of students... but, I'll admit. I've never heard of that one..." Suddenly a look of shock overtook him as a vision of danger overtook him.

"TO the SOUTH!!"

Spinning quickly and drawing his blade he was shocked to see a human skeleton, wreathed in living flames, stagger out of the wreckage and start racing towards them. Evil intelligence gleamed in it's red eyes and it's jaw clacked with insane distorted laughter...

Elric dove to the side as the flaming skeleton tackled the dwarf. The bones split apart in a whirling inferno expanding outwards a good thirty feet. The sound of a dwarf scream barely drowned out the sound of his own flesh scorching and the smell of singed hair.

The inferno was over as quickly as it started. the bones reformed into it's previous shape. Flames still licked the abomination but they were lessened now and it seemed to almost pant in relief. Despite the fact that all such biological needs were beyond it now.

Elric had never even heard of anything like this, but he didn't need to it. Durlan was groaning in agony and he leaped in sword swinging. The first blow glanced off the flaming shoulder blade, but the second cut clean through.

Aside from knocking it off his dwarven ally the undead seemed to not even notice.

Kaldric retreated from the burning undead's fiery blast, singed with a few second degree burns, but otherwise no worse for wear. Fingers adeptly filtered through ritualistic positions as arcane words of power emanated from his lips at the same moment which the mage studied the situation before him. Elric's swift retaliation drove the skeletal inferno from the dwarf just in time for the Veil Initiate to release a blinding flash of lightning from extended fingertips. In a blink, the bolt blasted right through the undead to escape down the road. The skeleton recoiled against the force of the jolt, indicating that it had "felt" the concussion, yet continued its pyromantic attack.

The flesh and hair still burning from the surprising attack, filled the air with its acrid stench. That smell, sadly familiar to most adventuring sorts, could always awaken flashes of past adventures, whether the culprit be fireballs, fire elementals, balors...or one of a hundred other various things. Not a one of them pleasant.

Ashara blinked away the now ashy ends of her eyelashes and continued her Rebuke of the strange undead creature. She couldn't remember ever reading anything about such a thing. In these situations...specifically where undead were concerned, she did not like surprises... What she was quite confident about however, was that whatever this monstrosity might be, there was little chance of it standing before the brandished power of the Morninglord!

A groan of pain beside her hinted at the extent of Jorelon's injuries. He and Durlan both had taken the full brunt of the flaming skeleton's assault and the priest especially looked a bit worse for the wear because of it. Taking a few steps backwards after the loud crack of lightning burst from Kaldric's hand, Jorelon reached into his pouch and retrieved a vial of holy water to throw. Unfortunately that throw was blocked and shattered against friendly plate as an enraged dwarf hurled himself at the smoldering bones, furious that once again, his poor besieged beard had been damaged!

Ashara was already formulating a new sketch in her mind...

The skeleton cackled insanely as Durlan hacked through it's remaining corporeal frame and almost seemed to sigh in relief as the second strike split it in two and it fell into a smoking heap of shattered, ancient bones. Finally, its eternal burning torture was at an end...

With eyebrows raised, the priestess slowly lowered her holy symbol, kissing the back of the golden disc before letting it hang freely about her neck. The dwarf stood over his kill, fuming and muttering, attempting to pat out his beard.

"Should someone...talk to him," she whispered to her brother she began the workings of a minor healing spell, "or is it best that we..."

"Just...just let it be," Jorelon's return whisper warned. "Don't look him directly in the eye for at least an hour and by the Dawn, don't say anything about his..." He fluffed an illusionary beard.

"My ears ain't burnt off ye know!" Durlan huffed and eyed them both as he shouldered his enormous axe.

The two priests simultaneously cleared their throats and averted their eyes and Ashara, stifling a grin, turned toward Kaldric to help magically ease some of his burns.

Elric stood staring at the smoking pile of bones in bewilderment. So much he'd never even dreamed could exist... and so much that seemed to want them dead. He made mental note to study a bit harder when they returned to civilization. These kind of surprises were getting old.

When all seemed right, the companions continued on their journey. This part of the city held more serviceable building then they'd seen before. Towers, warehouses, grand estates with faded and cracked coat-of-arms that still looked familiar to the Evereskan native. For a moment Elric harbored the idea of maybe presenting the families who still lived in Evereska with artwork or something of their ancestral homes.... but considering the condition of the bruised and battered buildings, he couldn't imagine such a gift would be looked well upon. Who wants a picture of their home destroyed? He dismissed the idea as soon as it took root. Let them have their memories and imagination... There was more than enough memories for just their own walls.

Though it tugged at his heart to pass by so many potentially fascinating things... through unspoken agreement they continued on without any other exploration. Before long they arrived to a set of large steps leading up to a crumbling stone enclosement.

"So this old Comanthor?" The half-elf asked breaking the silence.

"Actually...." Jorelon spun around trying to get his bearings. "I think we've moved beyond Cormanthor. The border's a little tough to tell nowadays... but i'm pretty sure we're in Sheshyrinnam now."

"Homes of the faithful?" Elric mouthed out the archaic translation.

"Basically the Temple Ward. We're close to the border.. but since this is a temple, I feel confident enough in my theory." The priest smirked a bit.

"Works for me!" Elric said returning his grin, and they slowly moved up the stairs.

"What do we know about this god? I'll admit, I've never heard of this one..." He asked aloud as he started examining the large oaken doors that were hanging from the hinges. Large claw marks scored the wood, but they didn't seem fresh. Undoubtedly some old battle. At the slightest touch of his hand. the door slipped from it's worn hinges and crashed loudly to the ground. The sound echoed far and wide as the half-elf cringed as the dwarf recoiled in shock and settled into a comfortable glare.

"Yeah... that was me." the half-elf admitted freely. "Sorry about that."

After the resounding crash, a long moment passed and no one dared move, expecting something to come swooping down upon them at any moment. Swooping is bad! This time they were lucky...

"And you always say I'm the noisy one!" Ashara giggled and stepped up beside the half elf, tugging playfully on a lock of his hair. "I suppose it's only polite to knock before we enter such a holy site..."

Peering inside, she could see that the doorway led into a large circular room open to the sky thanks to a collapsed ceiling, the rubble from which was strewn haphazardly about the floor. She couldn't see any altar or major structures immediately within however.

"This must be some sort of greeting hall," the priestess surmised, before abruptly answering her husband's question. "But yes, Shaundakul! He is the deity of exploration, travel and caravans...a boon and aid to adventurers or those who suffer from a bit of wanderlust," she grinned. "There's a charge given to his followers...um...what was that..." Ashara tapped her lip in thought. "'Be the first to see the rising sun, the mountain peaks, the lush valleys...let your footsteps fall where none have tread. This is the wonder of the world!' Isn't that beautiful," she beamed. "That part's always stuck with me...

"The place we are about to enter was once Shaundakul's largest temple in all the realms but after Myth Drannor fell, he lost the vast majority of his followers and nearly fell into obscurity himself. It's said that he's been making a bit of a comeback since the Time of Troubles shook up the pantheon. I hope so..." Ashara grinned as the excitement and anticipation of new discovery shone in her eyes. "I happen to have a soft spot for exploration and travel myself and though we're about 700 years too late, it can't hurt to pay our respects!"

Elric nodded thoughtfully. Sounded like a decent deity. Having for so long dismissed the great wide pantheon of Faerunian gods, he often felt a little out of his league when discussing them. So much he didn't know, that others seem to think was common knowledge. At least this time it was justified! Though how a god of adventurers and caravans could be forgotten, he wasn't sure. He made a mental note to question Ashara more readily on the subject as Jorelon spoke up.

"The Rider of the Winds...." He brushed some of the dirt away from the symbol of an upright left hand, palm out and fingers together. The wrist trailed away into rippling winds. The hand seemed to be of the finest silver and the background was deepest purple Elric had ever seen.

"This is his symbol..." Jorelon continued on, examining the plaque carefully. "I don't really know much more than Sister Ashara said. I've never actually been here before. Like was said earlier... it's known for a dead magic zone. The fact that this still hangs prominently is a good sign that it hasn't been looted out yet."

"Someone's been here." Elric countered seriously. The half-elf had already started picking his way over the rubble when he spotted clear signs of a disturbance. A dark trail of freshly spilled blood mixed with water seemed to lead into an adjoining room.

"That don't look normal..." Durlan grumbled as he poked the mysterious substance with his axe. Not having any answers, he simply shrugged.

"Let's check it out..." Elric nimbly followed the trail towards a side room. Silently drawing his sword he poked the door open a crack. He winced slightly as the ancient hinges groaned from the effort. The small room was more than it first appeared. Three walls still stood, but the fourth had succumbed to time and led outwards into the worship area. Unlike most temples, the front buildings and the massive towers had little to do with worship. The Rider of the Winds' temple was an open air dais in the center of a large courtyard. Atop the dais was a large stone throne. None of that mattered to the half-elf though.

Yanking his head back from the door the warrior stared wide-eyed at his friends with a look of bewilderment on his startling pale face. "Phaerimm..." he sputtered. "That is the biggest Phaerimm I've ever seen..."

Durlan blinked at him, and rushed past to see for himself. The blood trail led to a broken and shattered chest. Lying next to it was something large, wet, and dead. Above that he saw what Elric had seen. A large cone shaped creature. It's skin a mottled gray, and the wide base of the cone was full of teeth. It did bear a striking resemblance to the ancient powerful spellcasters that had plagued both Myth Drannor and recently Evereska. However this was huge The gaping maw was at least eight feet wide... and the flying cone of a body was at least twenty feet long. The biggest one the dwarf had ever heard of was only twelve...

There were other differences too.

This creature had noticeable eyes, which seemed to glow with a burning light. Instead of four arms around it's maw... it had only two, Finally, the best news of all... No tail barb. Still, for the quick glance the half-elf took, the similarities were forgivable.

"Nah... Not Phaerimm..." the dwarf mumbled quietly. "Windghost. More like 'flying parsnips'." the dwarf grinned through his beard. A grin that vanished with an ominous, "Uh oh...", as an airy moan came crying from the creature as it charged toward the dwarf. Durlan and the others barely dodged out of the way as the massive creature impossibly slid through the doors into the large greeting hall.

"Yep... It saw me..."

Windghosts were infamous in Myth Drannor-that-was as being powerful guardians for Shaundakul. Some believed the deity spoke directly to the great beasts, which some sages conjectured naturally came from the Plane of Air, conveying unto them commands to protect the Church in the City of Song. To see such a monster of legend up close practically mesmerized the mage into inaction . . . which actually worked in their favor, as it prevented him from acting irrationally at the mere sight of the creature and granted him that split second to recall something important about the Windghost . . .

Its uniquely incredible ability to use the magic of others for its own desires.

More importantly, he also remembered that these creatures were remarkably intelligent, and fully capable of understanding the common tongue, though he couldn't remember if the monster somehow had the ability to speak it. Regardless, to fight the thing at all would end in a great deal of blood-spilling, which meant fighting it needlessly would be an absolute tragedy.

Thus, Kaldric took the biggest risk of his life in Myth Drannor so far when he pushed his hands out nonthreateningly to each side and stepped forward to gain the attention of the enormous, intimidating beast. "We don't come in search of a fight! Ours is a mission to save the City of Song against the evil that plagues it!"

The windghost howled angrily and twitched and spun in the air, but it did not attack.

"Alright.. what do we do now?" Jorelon asked cautiously. It didn't take much imagination to realize that thing could swallow any one of them whole. Despite Kaldric's words it didn't seem appeased either.

"Aye... do we fight or what?" The dwarf whispered tightening his grip.

Elric didn't answer but started to slowly slide himself back towards the room with the corpse and shattered chest. A gust of wind signaled the creature poising for attack halted him quickly.

"I wouldn't recommend that if I were you..." a strange voice sounded from a distance. Spinning quickly he saw a tall man dressed in leather sitting comfortably on a pile of rubble. He was dressed in worn leather armor, and on his left hand was a metal gauntlet dyed a deep purple. on the palm and the back was the same shining silver hand that Jorelon had proclaimed Shaundakul's symbol. A scruffy beard was showing on a handsome face and by his side, he carried a two handed sword. Unsheathed and ready for action.

"So... Who are you and what are you doing here? The windghosts don't take kindly to thieves or looters... and neither do I."

Startled by the unfamiliar voice, Ashara spun around to see the speaker sitting at the other end of the large room in a place she was quite sure had been vacant only moments before. He must have slipped in during all the windghost hubub...

"We are neither thieves nor looters, I assure you," the priestess spoke up as she took a step forward to get a better look at the man. The magic of the couter part of the Arm of Valor allowed her to see the aura of enchantment around his blade and armor, but that was not what surprised her. It was the gauntlet! The purple gauntlet with the symbol of Shaundakul was the holy symbol worn by the Windwalkers, those exceedingly rare priests of the deity. So, either this fellow was either a priest or a very devout follower, which made sense seeing how he was guarding the ruins of the Rider of the Wind's greatest temple!

A wide smile swept across Ashara's face and she bowed low.

"It is a great honor to meet you, Faithful of Shaundakul!" She motioned toward Kaldric. "My companion here spoke true. We five have been sent out by the Abbess of the Dawnspire to seek a solution to the threat that looms over the Seekers of the Dawn, the same group who has been aiding travelers and battling evil among the ruins for generations. We wish only to continue our search and to pay our respects to the Rider of the Wind while we are here."

"Indeed... " the man said raising his eyebrows in curiousity. "It's a rarity to see servants of the Morninglord in these halls. Rare for any guests for that matter, besides the looters and thieves... those who seem to think that, Shaundakul has fallen so far that he can not protect his own...

"You claim to pay your respects... Do you frequently honor the Rider of the Wind... or was this a sudden impulse that brings your here? He glanced around at the well-armed group and he nearly licked his lips.

"Do you bring... tribute?"

Ashara's eyebrow twitched up at that but she nodded. "I do indeed, but that's not specifically what brought us here. Our mission to find a particular item has led us to Shaundakul's Throne and with this item, the Abbess believes we may be able to aid the Dawnspire in its current plight."

Reluctant to reveal more details than necessary about the Arm of Valor, she thought it best to remain as vague as possible for the time being. After all, they knew nothing about this man...or his motives...

"My name is Ashara Everdawn," she offered, fishing for more information. "May I ask whom it is we have the pleasure of meeting? How long have you and your...companion served as guardians of this temple?" Her eyes shifted sideways, stealing a glance at the enormous windghost hovering nearby.

"I'm known to some as Shamus the wanderer." The man said with eyes narrowing. "My travels take me far and wide, but whenever possible, I call this temple home."

Elric looked nervously at his wife. The tension here was getting heavy, but he was loathe to interrupt two priests.

"Now... let me see if I understand correctly?" Shamus continued on, confirming Elric's concerns. "You are not looters... nor thieves... But the Abbess of your tower has sent you here to collect something that rightfully belongs to great Shaundakul? Has the Morninglord fallen on such hard times, that he sends his servants to raid tribute from other gods?"

"We didn't know anyone was here..." Jorelon spoke up quickly.

"Now you do." Shamus replied with fire in his eyes.

"What we seek isn't tribute left for Shaundakul," Kaldric informed the mysterious Shamus. "In fact, I'd be happy to leave an offering for the deity if that's a stipulation for stepping foot on holy ground. No, in truth, what we seek is an item distributed amongst various temples of Myth Drannor to be preserved until that time when Myth Drannor should need it again. If you are familiar with the Morninglord, then you know that his followers would never work for ill. If you don't know the Morninglord, we've just the duo here to pontificate to you. Our time is short, however, so please be understanding quickly."

Shamus glared at the impudent mage, but kept his voice steady.

"Anything left in the temple of Shaundakul, is the rightful property of Shaundakul. No servant of Lathander has ever 'loaned' an item to the Rider with the stipulation that they would come back for it later. Even if he had, Lathander has never been a friend to Shaundakul.

"The Morninglord has many followers, many temples, and a great deal of wealth and power at his disposal. Why does he come seeking the few treasures that the Rider of the Winds still has?"

Elric tensed under his tone and hoped the others treaded carefully. They weren't this man's enemy, and he really didn't want to fight him.

"What is it you seek here?" Shamus demanded. "Speak plainly."

In spite of his disrespectful tone toward Lathander and his clergy, Ashara refused to be baited by this man. For many reasons... Not the least of which was that one must never underestimate a priest with a greatsword, especially one who claims a home among deadly and long abandoned ruins. They also didn't want to make yet another enemy for the Dawnspire to have to contend with. Not of this priest and especially not of Shaundakul! As a minor deity, he would no doubt take considerable exception to the harsh treatment or slaughter of one of the few priests he had. She didn't want to see this come to blows but neither did she have any intention of leaving this place without their quarry in hand. Or...on arm as the case may be...

"Is Myth Drannor home to so few monsters, demons and devils that we must seek to make enemies of those who could be allies?"

With a smile and a sigh, she stepped forward a few more paces and sat easily upon a pile of rubble between her companions and Shamus.

"We seek a piece of magical armor... A pauldron or a vambrace we believe, and blue-black in color. As my companion has stated, it was not left as tribute to Shaundakul but we do intend to offer tribute as we are all travelers and explorers. A couple of us have even been known to guard a caravan or two, so we are ever in need of the Helping Hand's favor in such pursuits.

"We are not thieves. We are not looters." Ashara's face softened and she smiled again, her gaze never leaving the distrustful priest. "And we are not your enemies."

Elric would have sworn he saw a spark in the man's eye as Ashara's peaceful entreaty seemed to ease the tension in the room. The man hadn't moved nor had his expression changed as his mood switched from curiosity, to anger, and now back to, what the half-elf, would only describe as 'interest'. The windghost seemed to have sensed the change as well, for it floated a bit away and seemed to simply hover.

"So you say." He said as he looked over the group. "Is what she says truth? Are you travelers and explorers? Do you seek the Rider's favors?"

"Well... umm..." Jorelon glanced around nervously. "It's been many years since I left the city, but I've done my share of exploring while here..." The windwalker did not look impressed.

"My wife speaks mainly for ourselves." Elric volunteered quickly. "We've been traveling for a couple years now. Protecting caravans when possible... but in the last two years, we've been from Evereska, to Calimshan to here.... and we have no intention of stopping!" At that the man's eyebrows raised in appreciation.

"And you've honored Shaundakul on these journeys..." he asked simply. Elric cringed at the question, but answered honestly.

"Ashara is a devout priestess of Lathander... and Honestly, till just seeing the temple here... I was unfamiliar with the Rider of the Winds along with many of the other gods of the realms...."

Shamus sighed sadly. "I suppose that's to be expected... Shaundakul was once very well known, but others have pecked away at his power like vultures over the year.... Now he's barely a memory..." He seemed lost in thought for moment before his eyes snapped up.

"But what to do with you?" There was a definite twinkle in his eyes now. "We obviously have a difference of opinion on what constitutes 'tribute'. I've no interest in destroying you, but we seem to be at an impasse here otherwise... However, I may have a solution should you be agreeable.

"You obviously seek to reassemble the Arm of Valor. A powerful artifact to say the least... One of those pieces belongs to Shaundakul. Whether you believe it to be for safekeeping, or tribute... or possibly to keep the power separate is no matter. It had been kept here for centuries, and belongs to this temple as much as your Dawnstone belongs ot yours.

Elric felt his companions tense a bit and wondered where Shamus was going... He didn't have to wait long.

"However, as the one here with authority, I shall relinquish all rights to the arm provided you deal fairly. It's a powerful artifact, and as such should fetch a decent price.

"First, you must slay a demon. There's a particularly foulsome hezrou that has earned destruction and was high on my list of things to accomplish. Being the only one here, it's a long list. Typically Shaundakul requires you to slay one of his enemies as payment for his help... Usually it's some kind of demon, lich or Phaerrim. Though the Phaerrim are getting fewer and fewer lately..." A noticeable twinge of pride permeated that statement.

However, This hezrou in particular should be well within your capabilities to defeat. Do so, and you will acquire your pauldron

"Secondly.... If you swear to me, on your oaths," He looked at the two presumably honest priests in particular. "That in your multitude of travels to honor Shaundakul. By all means, I do not suggest replacing your Morninglord... but when partaking in the activities of the Rider....Speak his name openly, Say a prayer or offer tributes when appropriate. Do this, and Shaundakul and his priests will relinquish any claim on the arm."

He hooked his thumb towards Elric "If you are as well traveled as this one says... Getting the name of Shaundakul on the minds and tongues of people again would be worth a hundred shoulder pieces."

He looked up toward the windghost, and the visitors noticed that two more had joined them in the room.

"As you say, we are not enemies... and since you seem to share the same interests as the god of this temple... I'd hate to have impede your quest."

"There is no need for threats," the priestess stated, her warm expression changeless even in the face of the two additional windghost 'toughs'.

The man could hardly be blamed for his lack of social skills considering he likely spent most of his time either alone or here in the demon infested ruins with nothing but sentient dirigibles as companions. These things however seemed much more dangerous than the peculiar gnomish contraptions that were just as likely to crash and burn killing all aboard, than to complete a successful journey... At any rate, Ashara figured to cut this priest a little slack.

Standing, she strode confidently over to the man and clasped his forearm.

"As sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, you have my word that if you will aid us in our quest, then wherever I travel, from Calimshan to the Spine of the World, the wind will hear the name of Shaundakul spoken aloud once again. This I can swear to you.

"However," she interjected quickly, "we will need to hear more about this hezrou before we're able agree to the task of slaying it. Not one of us would take issue with sending it back to the Abyss, but the Dawnspire is on borrowed time... Do you know where we can find this tanar'ri?"

The man smiled widely. "Oh yes, and it's not far from here... This particular creature has minions though. Scrags i believe. I don't know how many... but I know there are fewer then when they raided my home here!"

Elric's eyes shot open. Scrags?? Sea trolls... They've fought trolls before, first thing they'd found in the city actually... Just a couple days ago... Those were busy days he thought in amazement. "Scrags work with demons?" He asked hoping to clarify.

"Ohh yes." Shamus said with a chuckle. "Myth Drannor has always been about different races coming together for common purpose. The loss of 'good' citizens hasn't changed anything. Many of the most evil denizens here all have their own servants... slaves... the relationship differs with the master, but the result is the same."

Elric cringed at the perversion that the City of harmony had become. The thought of racial unity being twisted in such a way literally made him nauseous. Scrags were notoriously difficult to kill, needing fire, but soaking wet... He shuddered at the task ahead of them. Add a demon or two and it was about to get interesting. His eyes once again went to the trail of blood and water leading into the room with the wet crumpled corpse.

Or did it lead it out?

"How long ago was this raid?" he asked suspecting the answer was obvious.

"Recent enough for me to have thought you were in league with the trolls." His guess confirmed, Elric looked back out the southern door. "They were fought off by the windghosts, but at least one managed to escape with a few choice treasures.

"Belkanz has a lair established Not far from here..." Shamus explained pointing out a building just a few houses to the south on their map. "That is where you will find the Hezrou, and also where you will find our... your pauldron. If you wish to claim it, that is where you will have to go. I take your oaths as our bond that you will honor the name Shaundakul and I renounce any claim to the artifact in question." He spoke solemnly and precisely and the others knew he was sincere. Suddenly a distracted look overtook the rugged face.

"Unfortunately, there are strict rules about what I myself can... and can not do. The windghosts do not leave the temple. I myself have many responsiblities that require my more immediate attentions. I wish you well on your endeavors, and should you require any divine aid, feel free to seek me here. Otherwise go with the blessings of Shaundakul." He held out his hand and with a few murmured words Elric felt a tingle go through him that was similiar, though different than the other blessings he was used to.

Ashara tilted her head to the priest in thanks, then glanced over to her husband with concern etching her brow. Trolls were repulsive things but not usually too much trouble unless they came on in large numbers. Her biggest worry was traveling deeper into the old city. Moving in closer to Castle Cormanthor and the horde of demons that were said to wrestle for control over the place! There was little to be done for it though. If the pauldron was to the south, than to the south they would go!

Reaching into one of the side pouches of the Haversack, the priestess pulled out one of the saddle bags she'd used for Himbar and started filling it with a few hundred gold from the chests dug up by the naga. They weren't carrying much in the way of spare equipment, so this would have to do for tribute.

Once the bag was filled and set aside, she began to gather various items that the man himself could use. Some dried foodstuffs...fish, mushrooms, jerky. Herbs and seasonings for cooking, spare bandages, healing herbs and one of three of her precious stitching needles.

"Speaking of masters and slaves," she began, lifting her eyes toward Shamus again. "Twice since we've been in the city, we've encountered groups of mixed humanoids...once with undead though with no obvious priest or necromancer among them, and once led by a molydeus. They seemed to be mentally controlled somehow but not magically so since we were in a magic dead area the second time. Their eyes were glazed over and they did not react to pain or taunting or their comrades falling around them. They didn't react at all in fact!

"Have you encountered such a phenomenon in your time here? Or perhaps a being who is able to do these things?"