The Northmarch was as far from the civilized world as one could hope to wander. Though the lords of Valador had long claimed it as a territory under the Kingdom, Northmarchers bent the knee to no one save the local counts and barons. The Dukes of Teres have maintained that distant relationship with the Crown during even the most centralized periods of the Kingdom’s power, historically speaking, and have been content to rule in relative isolation. As a result, the Northmarch is a wild land, undeveloped, untainted, a font of natural beauty at the roughest edges of the world. And at the roughest edges of the world, there is adventure.

Northmarch has long been a popular destination for mercenaries, adventurers, pilgrims, and merchants, all hoping to strike gold in the ruins of long dead empires or in the queer avenues of trade of these northern reaches. Ancient towers nestled in the depths of the Great Forest, the bones of the fallen Vieric Empire of millennia past, hold great treasure, and great danger. Under the Forgewall Mountains, the dwarves delve deeper and deeper towards the roots of the world, hoping to unearth the lost city of Thandkarakh. Men and women, paladins and priests of the One God, Gyaal, travel from the far corners of the world to pray for the blessing of the Lady of Lac Myr. Entrepreneurial types, trappers and hunters, come north to Pinewater Lake and beyond to break into a swiftly growing fur industry.

Whether you come for gold, or glory, or in the service of a god, you first come to Teres, the Old City and the northernmost port on the continent.

---

Artimeres Briyazh swept his hat from his head and took a deep bow, reveling in the applause of his adoring audience. The dark elf was arrogant, and knew it, but his performance had been exceptional, and the applause was as well earned as the coin he collected in his hat as he made his way through the crowd. He went from table to table, giving thanks for the gold, silver, and copper pieces as he went. He poured them into his coin purse as he reached the exit, and stepped out into the cool spring night and onto the streets of Teres.

It was a beautiful city, in its own way, centuries-old white stone architecture illuminated by the light of the moon and the hanging lamps. Teres was home to over twenty thousand souls, making it a large city, though not nearly the largest across the Kingdom of Valador. It was certainly the largest settlement in the Northmarch, however, and by some measure; Stoneport, the second largest, had a population of no more than eight thousand, if that.

Artimeres, drunk off gold and liquor, smiled, and struck out into the night, leaving the Tavern behind.

The Tavern had no other name. There were other taverns in Teres—quite a few, in fact—but none were confused with the Tavern. The Tavern, instantly recognizable by its mononym, its size, its simple, stout construction, was the largest drinking establishment in the city, as well as the oldest. The owners claimed that their ancestors had built the tavern over thirteen hundred years ago, and that it had operated under the family for that entire period of time. Though newcomers might doubt the truth in their claims, no Teresian contested this history.

The Tavern was the first place many newcomers visited when arriving at Teres. It was located right near the docks and had a more welcoming atmosphere than the dockyard taverns like the Oarsman and the Groghouse. An eclectic mix of drinkers could always be found within, no matter the time of day, as well as a host of entertainers, lutists, poets, and singers alike. Among these ordinary tavern goers is the opportunity for adventure.

A City Watch bounty board promises rewards for such things as goblin thumbs, bugbear teeth, and the capture (or the heads) of wanted criminals. Prospectors, eager to find riches in the depths of the dangerous wilds, look for armed guards to escort them. Herbalists seek adventurers to find rare mosses and flowers under the enchanted eaves of the Caegwenn Forest. A student at the Teresian College of Wizardry pours over the notes of his research while a barmaid pours him a mug of ale.

A good place to start for a new party of adventurers, perhaps.

In one of the Tavern's shadier corners, a human sat alone at a table and watched as the arrogant dark elf accepted money from the tavern patrons. His name was Graham Douglas. He was a criminal. And while he couldn't exactly be called a master criminal, he wasn't dead yet, so that counted for something. As he watched the elf make for the door drunk off of equal parts gold and liquor, Graham decided he wasn't about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Rising to his feet, Graham made his way to the exit and began tailing the elf, doing his best to keep a low profile as he did so. As he followed his mark, Graham was soon joined by a tiefling woman. Her name was Melancholy. Graham had met her a few days ago. She was a highway robber from overseas who was fresh off the docks and was looking to ply her trade in the Northmarch. The poor girl had no idea what she was trying to get herself into. The adventurers would have chewed her up and spat her out like a piece of halfling chewing tobacco. Fortunately for her, Graham took pity. Once he'd warned her of how dangerous the roads were for the honest criminal, Graham offered to help her acclimate to her new surroundings for a modest 50% cut of the ill gotten gains and first pick of the loot. "He performed well, so he'll have a heavy coin purse" Graham told Mel in infernal "And he's drunk, so he won't be at his best if we get into a fight with him. We're in for a bountiful harvest tonight".

The night was young, the atmosphere good, and the the drink fine for Melancholy as she sat outside the Tavern where she was looking over a rendition of her appearance on a petty wanted poster of herself. She sighed to herself, not really like the rendition as the artist had managed to get her nose completely wrong and her horn were too angled to the side for her liking. It just was not fair to her to public figure if she her wanted posters looked nothing like her, but she did suppose it was for the best that she lay low. Melancholy’s grey body leaned back in her seat before gazing up at the stars before realizing that the music had stopped.

The tiefling had wanted to contemplate on how to get her ring back, but that seemed to be a bit less likely when her mood had been killed so easily. So, she had decided that it may be better to head inside, though the darker atmosphere outside agreed more with her nighttime senses, as it was far easier to look into the darkness for her than say a human. However, as she drew near the door, it came open and out walked a drunk dark elf. The sight of a drunkard was hardly a surprise for her but what was a surprise was Graham coming out of the tavern soon after, speaking to her in infernal.

Speaking in a tongue so strange would get them both caught, so she responded in the more common tongue with a hiss, ”You speaking like that is going to get us caught easier.” They had to act natural, and she was doing that far better than Graham was doing, arrogant fool that treated her like a child who didn’t know how to be a trained criminal. She saw the drunk go down an alley after a while of them trailing him and decided that a plan may be a good decision here. ”Listen, I’ll make sure no one comes in, you get the goods and try not to kill ‘em, we don’t want the city guard to get all riled up,” she commanded, an infernal accent in her voice as she spoke.

Artimeres struck out down Water Street, black leather boots clicking on the cobblestone road as he went. He's an odd fellow, and not just in terms of dress. His flamboyant outfit--feathered hat, flowing scarlet cloak, rapier in a jeweled scabbard, golden jewelry in the form of a half dozen heavy rings, earrings, and necklaces, his lute over his shoulder--are complemented and outdone by a confident swagger that is part of either his personality or drunken state. Possibly both.

Artimeres turned toward an alley, and for the briefest moment he made eye contact with Graham. Though the dark elf's tail may have felt a twinge of concern as the two locked eyes, it would have been fleeting, as the dark elf seemed to pay no attention to him. He pushed through a crowd of a few locals on their way to the tavern and disappeared down the alley.

With Melancholy on post outside the alley, Graham crept up behind the elf, flail ready. He pulled his hood up to conceal his face, and struck. He swung, and though the strike was true, the head of the flail passed through the elf and crunched loudly against the cobblestones. Artimeres turned, flashing a brilliant smile, and was suddenly gone, as if into the air itself. As he disappeared, it may have occurred to the would-be mugger that Artimeres's boots made no sound against the stone in the alley.

"Almost," came a voice from behind him, chiding. "I can't blame you two," the voice continued, seemingly from nowhere. "In fact, I admire your entrepreneurial spirit. Rather than kill you, I might even be so inclined as to make you two a proposition in a fashion, if you're interested. What do you say?"

Tergo allowed himself a sigh of relief as he stepped onto the docks of Teres, glad to be finally off that damned boat. He had always hated sailing, it made him sick, so a month and a half long journey across an ocean was certainly not what he would call a fun experience. He looked over his things, checking to make sure he had grabbed all his luggage (most of which was carefully shoved into a backpack) and began walking towards where he had been told he could find a tavern.

He made his way across the busy dockyard and down the dimly-lit streets of Teres, finally finding his way to the Tavern, as it was apparently called. Tergo scoffed at this, muttering to himself, "Not a very creative name." But, at least is was a warm place to sleep, bland name or not.

He raised an eyebrow as he watched a drunken dark elf stagger off down the street, a man and a tiefling woman close behind him. He shrugged to himself and paid it no mind, stepping into the tavern, a smile on his face.

He took a seat at a booth and relaxed, enjoying being able to sit down without being jostled by angry waves. After savoring the comfortable feeling that solid ground provided for a moment, he raised a hand to beckon a serving maid over, realizing just how hungry his journey had made him.

He took a seat at a booth and relaxed, enjoying being able to sit down without being jostled by angry waves. After savoring the comfortable feeling that solid ground provided for a moment, he raised a hand to beckon a serving maid over, realizing just how hungry his journey had made him.

After the dark elf's performance, the Tavern was filled with music yet again as a halfling flutist took the stage at the front of the tavern, playing a merry tune that greeted Tergo Scheppen as he entered. It was a lively night at the Tavern, with a strange and varied assortment of travelers. Humans, elves, halflings, dwarves, even a few kobolds could be found across the bar, patrons of the establishment enjoying its food and drink. From across the tavern, Tergo may even have spied what looked like an old kenku hunched over an ale, sitting across from a hooded man with a longsword sheathed at his side. There was even what looked like a party of adventurers sitting around a table, considering a map laid out between their mugs of ale.

The serving maid, a young half-elf with a cheery smile and a shapely face, came over to Tergo's table, a bounce to her step. "Good evening, sir gnome, welcome to the Tavern. What can I get you tonight?"

"It might have drawn attention back where you came from" Graham said in common "But infernal isn't all that suspicious here. Teres is kind of a cosmopolitan city. You have all kinds of weird things there. Weird languages included". When they arrived at the alleyway, Graham nodded when Mel mentioned not to kill the mark. Then he slipped into the alley and things took a turn.

Graham cursed as his flail flailed right through its target, who then vanished from sight. The mark knew magic. And considering he could turn invisible like that and make attacks go straight through him like that, it was safe to say he was pretty good at it. "We'll here you out" Graham said "But don't go making too outrageous a demand, otherwise we might remember there's two of us and only one of you".

"We'll here you out" Graham said "But don't go making too outrageous a demand, otherwise we might remember there's two of us and only one of you".

"I'm shaking in my boots," Artimeres answered, the smirk evident in his voice. "I like your attitude. But, no I don't have a demand. I have an opportunity." From the nothingness Graham and Melancholy heard a snap of two fingers, and Artimeres materialized into existence. He was leaning against the alley wall to Graham's right, one leg up and a thin, vicious looking rapier in hand, pointing menacingly in Graham's direction. "If you want to earn some coin with that flail of yours, I can point it in the right direction."

He sheathed the blade, swept his hat from his head and offered them a bow. "Artimeres Briyazh, musician and mischief maker." Righting himself and returning his hat to his head, he extended a hand, palm up, and a key manifested itself as one of his rings flashed golden-yellow, floating delicately above his open palm. "This is what I want. I know where it is, and I know that there will be more than a coin purse of gold buried with it. All yours and your partner's, if our venture is a success. What do you say?"

Tergo marveled at the diverse grouping of people that filled the tavern, his eyes lingering for a moment on the Kenku man, glad to finally be able to see a member of the strange avian race in person, rather than just the depictions he had seen in his books on the races of Arann.

He smiled at the woman, trying to match her cheerful attitude with his own. "I'd like a fillet of cod with a side of potatoes, and a glass of white wine." He ordered quickly, he always ordered the same thing when he ate at places like these, it made things easier, and the simplicity of the dish made it less likely they'd screw it up. "Oh, and do remember to bring some bread." He added politely. With a nod of his head he indicated that his order was finished and turned his attention to the halfling fellow, humming along to his melody as he patiently waited for his food.

Part of Graham suggested taking another swing at the elf. Said part of Graham was swiftly silenced by the rest of him. He narrowed his eyes at Artimeres and his offer. The fact that he was willing to let them have all the gold raised quite a few flags in Graham's mind. He didn't like it. If he wasn't after the gold, what was he after? And if they helped him, would Artimeres try and screw his help over. As much as he didn't like it, Graham remembered the elf mentioning that he was making them this offer rather than killing them. That probably meant refusing would lead to a fight he might not be able to win. "Where is this key exactly?" Graham asked.

Melancholy had waited patiently for the mugging to go successfully, then it didn’t go as successfully from what she heard going down behind her. Of course, she tuned and simply stared at Graham with an eyebrow raised in a look of disappointment, expecting more from her partner than to fall for something like this. ”I think you misunderstand what the idea of mugging is. The intention is to not let the guy get the jump on you,” she stated, in a much annoyed tone before looking over at the dark elf, scanning him up and down.

”Now I don’t know what went down, but I am damn certain that you were drunk a few moments ago,” she continued in a more confused tone now, uncertain of what to make of the situation that was unfolding in front her. After all, she was certain that someone like him wouldn’t have been able to recover so easily from being drunk, or maybe he was not even drunk to begin with. However, she put her weight onto one hip and looked at the key the man produced with a skeptical eye, hearing his offer with even more skepticism. Then as she was about to speak, she heard Graham speak up.

At that point she was just flabbergasted that the man was seemingly taking up the offer. ”Hold up, hold right the oftc up,” she began making a timeout signal with her hands, ”I refuse to go along with a mysterious magic man on some quest to get a key. This must be a trick, especially if this man is a trickster.”

"My flail went through him like he wasn't even there and then he turned invisible" Graham said in response to Mel's words "Negating attacks and turning invisible is some pretty advanced stuff. And since he said making us this offer rather than killing us, I'm pretty sure we'll have a fight we won't be able to win on our hands of we say no".

"Oh, and do remember to bring some bread." He added politely. With a nod of his head he indicated that his order was finished and turned his attention to the halfling fellow, humming along to his melody as he patiently waited for his food.

The serving girl, who introduced herself as Brielle, was happy to oblige, and provided the new gnomish patron with a glass of local white wine sourced from the vineyards at Norring Hill, and a decent enough filet of cod, along with the bread and potatoes Tergo requested. The food at the Tavern was nothing to write home about, but the wine was good and the music was even better.

The halfling minstrel, one Elliot Flammel, finished his song with a bow, and upon the request of the dragonborn seated at the adventurer's table began a flute rendition of the Lay of Sir Florian. Though traditionally a lutist's tune accompanied by sung lyrics, Flammel proved a competent musician again, and the audience, impressed at his skill, gave him some scattered applause as he got to it.

---

"Where is this key exactly?" Graham asked.

”Now I don’t know what went down, but I am damn certain that you were drunk a few moments ago . . . I refuse to go along with a mysterious magic man on some quest to get a key. This must be a trick, especially if this man is a trickster.”

"I get that a lot," Artimeres answered Melancholy with a wink and a smile, "but let me tell you it is very difficult to earn your keep on the lute if you play drunk. Gotta learn to hold your liquor if you want to make it as a minstrel. And trickster might I be, but your friend here seems like he's got a good swing behind that flail, and you seem to have your wits together. The two of you strike me as a useful pair of cutthroats, and at this moment I happen to be in the market for just such a pair of cutthroats. Savvy?"

"So, now, where is it exactly? I'm not going to tell you that," Artimeres now answered Graham with a laugh, dismissing the illusion of the key with a wave of his hand. "I'd like you to have a reason not to slit my throat while we're on the road, you see, and what would you need me for if I told you exactly where you needed to go?"

"I'll tell you this, though. We'll be going north about a day's journey, off the road and into the Boarwood. Not a safe place up there, plenty of goblins and the like. We may want to find some more adventurous types like yourself to come with us. Now I already know you're not going to like the idea of splitting the pie up more than you have to, but here's my two copper for your consideration," the dark elf says, punctuating his words with flamboyant gestures as he speaks, "what good is the loot if you don't live to spend it, eh?"

"So what do you say?"

"If you want more people than just the two of us, I can help with that" Graham said once Artimeres had finished speaking "I know a guy. With a word to him, he can make it known to the more trust worthy side of the Teresian underworld there's treasure to be had".

"If you want more people than just the two of us, I can help with that" Graham said once Artimeres had finished speaking "I know a guy. With a word to him, he can make it known to the more trust worthy side of the Teresian underworld there's treasure to be had".

"Pleasure doing business with you," Artimeres says with a broad smile. "We'll leave tomorrow, eh? Say, ten in the morning as the bell tolls? You'll find me at the Tavern by the bar. And do be prepared for a trip. We're likely to be camping out a bit on the road, two, maybe three days to get there and back again. I hope you two are fans of the outdoors."

And with that, Artimeres struck out for the street, leaving the two behind. As he stepped onto Water Street, he spoke a barely audible word and seemed to split into two indistinguishable copies of himself, with one Artimeres Briyazh walking left, the other walking to the right. And with that, the dark elven minstrel disappeared into the Teresian night.

The trip to Teres had been hard on Arathys Menenon. He'd spent nearly the entirety of the voyage with his head hung over the side ship of the ship, retching his guts up. As soon as they had made landfall and docked, the gang plank dropped and the voyage at its end, he'd rushed of the accused vessel as quickly as he could, and even then he'd not taken more that two steps on dry soil, than he was doubled over, retching upon the ground. Regaining his composure, he'd made his way to the Tavern, the friendliest alehouse he could lay eyes on. Now he sat alone in a dark corner booth, nursing his brandy and pondering over a certain letter.

"You will find what you seek in Teres..." The letter had said. But as to the meaning of it, Arathys could not say. Leave it to Mytharion to speak in riddles. He smiled briefly as he remembered his old mentor, and the happy times he'd had as his apprentice. Those day were long gone, and now his fate was his own. "You will find what you seek in Teres..." The trouble was, he didn't know what it was he was seeking. He knew not what his master was playing at, but whatever it was, he was certain that would be found in the Teresian College of Wizardry. To that end, he was determined to enroll there as a student, no doubt the library would contain the answers he sought, and no doubt a more formal education would do him some good.

As luck would have it, a student of said magical institution was at the bar even now, nursing his ale and pouring over what appeared to be research notes. Finding his courage, Arathys finished his brandy, and made his way over to where the student sat.

"hel...Hello..." He said nervously. "Might I sit down?"

Finding his courage, Arathys finished his brandy, and made his way over to where the student sat.

"hel...Hello..." He said nervously. "Might I sit down?"

The gnome looks up, pushing his reading glasses down his nose to regard the human with quizzical curiosity. He is dressed as a mage, in the flowing blue robes of the Teresian College of Wizardry. He sits with an open book of lore, some arcane marks scrawled across the pages, a spellbook, and a mug full of a strong dwarven stout. He's young, with a full head of hair and a golden mustache and goatee, and smiles cheerily. "I don't see why not, friend," the gnome says, gesturing to the seat across from him. "Fillion Flexner, how do you do?"

"That went well" Graham said once Artimeres had vanished into the night "We're both still alive and now we have an opportunity to make some gold. Welp, now's not the time to stand around idly. If we're leaving tomorrow we'll need to find my guy before we retire for the night. He's usually made his way to Coria's Inn around this time, so we'll have to hurry if we want to see him before he buries himself under a mountain of women". With that said, Graham made his way out of the alley and set a course for Coria's Inn.

"Arathys Menenon," He replied, taking the seat offered. "a...A pleasure to be...to be sure."

Stop stuttering you dolt! He chided himself. Why did he always have to be so awkward around people? He adjusted his own travel-worn robes, and signaled for the tavern wench to bring him a drink. As soon as she did so, he took a good, long pull from his mug to steady his nerves.

"Ahem..." He began, clearing his throat. "I am Arathys Menenon, student of Mytharion Amontel, a wizard of no small reputation amongst the High Elves."

He continued. "And you, Mr. Flexner, judging by your robes would be a student of the Teresian College of Wizardry. Am I right?"

He paused, as if waiting for a response, but then hurriedly continued speaking. "Oh, what I am saying, of course you are. Well, have come a long way to attend your fine institution, and I was wondering you could direct me toward the admission office?"

He took a long breath, chiding himself for his continued awkwardness. To much exposition, and far to wordy for a simple request. But he couldn't help him himself. He talked when he was nervous, and he was nervous almost all the time.

"Well, have come a long way to attend your fine institution, and I was wondering you could direct me toward the admission office?"

"Oh, well, it's very nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Menenon! It's always a pleasure to meet another student of the arcane," the gnome said warmly. "You should go by the college tomorrow morning, they have officials who can point you in the right direction. You will have to pass an entrance examination to receive an acceptance, but I wouldn't worry about that. An accomplished wizard like yourself should have no issue with it."

Fillion described the location of the Teresian College of Wizardry, which Arathys would be able to find in the Sea District, north of the Tavern and Dockyard District and overlooking the World Sea. The Tower of Terwen, a tall, white stone tower that any sailor and traveler arriving at Teres has seen before, was the center of the College, but Fillion explained that Arathys's first stop should be Cildran Hall, which was open to visitors. He suggested that he stop by tomorrow morning.