Ash is tall for an elf, and someone clearly most at home in nature. He carries a massive greatbow (carved from very wood he is named after), and although somewhat shy otherwise, is prone to showing off his excellent marksmanship, frequently firing more than one arrow at a time. His keen senses makes him unusually perceptive and coupled with an innate wisdom provides him with deep insight towards the motives and intentions of others.
Were you born in Lockenport, or elsewhere?
I was born in a forest to the north, far beyond the Torgen mountains.
Do you have a big family? Do you stay in touch with them?
Of our family only a few scattered ashes remain. I grew up amongst the Fey.
What are your religious beliefs?
Not one for dogma, I tend to follow the path of Melora. In the same way that a fox or cricket would.
Do you have any famous ancestors?
We travel with a light step, and attempt to leave no footprints.
What sort of education or training have you had?
The Elders showed me where to start, but the Earth Mother shows where to go.
Do you have a trade (other than “adventuring”)?
I am an explorer, the adventure seems to follow.
Do you have many enemies?
Not many, no.
What style of clothes do you favour?
In the Feywild even trained monkeys wear noble hats. It's better to choose quiet armor, sensible boots, and a cloak that provides both shelter and stealth.
Have you ever killed someone?
What is your opinion of the Lockenport authorities?
I have no opinion of them yet, ask me again later.
Suddenly we're in Lockenport, a big sprawling city all the way on the South coast. At least we're out in the open again, and close to the sea. Living underground and those freaky metal minotaurs were really starting to get to me. For now a fresh ocean breeze and seemingly plenty of opportunity awaits.
Undead approaching. Joy. And although no bronze bovines, I've already noticed some kind of iron mechanoid stomping around. Dwarven, by the craft of it, but who knows what is really in control? Not a dwarf. Certainly not a sober one.
Not that there is any shortage of strange creatures here at the Guild. Come to think of it, I haven't seen such a bizarre mix since we visited that dodgy market in Thunderspire. They seem to employ just about anyone, and those that survive come back for more. Is this mistress Tarn in it for the money? The glory? Or does she just like keeping a paid-for army around? No wonder this Greshtik wants to know more.
Meanwhile the Frost Prince grows bolder, his arctic chill leading us straight into the Feywild. Usually these spots are so much harder, and altogether more pleasant, to find. At least we got to to visit the Court of the Winds.
Traveling with new companions was a bit odd to start with, but once past the veneer, getting to know the flaws and virtues, they invariably become a lot more likable. But high impact opera? Who would have imagined that such music exists! Requiring from the voice the same skill an auctioneer might employ. Endurance, with a good cutting edge.
It must be an acquired taste.
Damn, Petru didn't make it back, and Corrin nearly bit it too. All because two clueless brainiacs wanted to steal some gizmo from the Horde. They may know a lot about magic, but clearly at cost to the more common sensibilities.
Our fallen comrade is probably already in service of the Lich Lord, luckily Ubu took something for the clerics to work with, as I understand the Guild covers one raise dead on credit. Bonus? Maybe.
Hold on, I wonder if that means that the merry Shadar-Kai will encounter his zombie self on the battlefield? Freaky.
My various gods, what a city. Undead approaching, and, oh yes, this here bottomless pit in the back yard.
Bottomless pit my foot, a pit without end is a tunnel. I wonder where to. Or more to the point, from.
The Shadowfell remains every bit as dreary as I remember - stepping through the portal and it's as if all the colour and joy is leached from your being, and replaced with feelings of dread and despair; an awful place filled with barbaric creatures whose only delight seems to be the pain and suffering of others.
The reason for our visit is that Greshtik, or rather the Guild at the behest of Greshtik, wanted us to investigate a curious assassination that proved to be as fatal to the assassin as it did to his target. As an added twist we discovered that the assassin himself was in fact the intended target, his victim merely convenient collateral, a plan executed with all the guile and duplicity that only a dragon could muster.
I wonder how the cultists fit into all of this. Oh, and Greshtik of course - somehow I suspect that his cunning surpasses even that of a shadow dragon.