A tall, tattooed, barely dressed and very attractive Northwoman ran up to an elf dressed in browns and greens. She held a parchment in her hand, and affection in her eyes – the elf’s eyes aloof.
“Look Belemir, my cousin Torhilda made it west safely,” the woman said, holding up the letter. “She’s in Vesh, and tangled up in some dispute over an old jar. Sounds like some of our old adventures – meeting other traveling adventurers, her companions not believing her superiority till they open their eyes, messages from the gods.”
The elf looked over at the woman, lifting a naturally arched brow further. “That doesn’t sound like our adventures, Valda.”
“Well if you read my annotated adventure diary, it would,” the Helliann sorceress said with a shrug. She then gave the elf a smile, “I’ve given you plenty of hints to take a look in my diary, Belemir my dear.”
“I still don’t understand the significance in reading your diary, or looking through your bags,” the elf looked confused.
Valda looked through the letter further, ignoring his confusion.
“This priestess sounds worth meeting, I’m curious about her strange skin pattern… maybe it’s a new kind of tattoo – but all over her body would have been a very intense procedure. And more effective than our old friend Jean Tannin. The elf… you would probably get along with him. Not one for crowds. This Boswell… I hope Torhilda learns to work with him, not against him – they would make a good team. I wonder if the dwarf could handle Fire Whiskey.”
“I remember Jean…” Belemir said, a thoughtful look on his face.
“The cleric who would not heal,” Valda sang, laughing. “I hope Torhilda fares well in her quests. Now come along, we have work to do.”
And the sorceress dragged the clueless druid along in her own planned path for their life together.