Quilrith Vambash ran a scaly hand across her forehead, rubbing it as she sat against a wall at the docks. Boats were very much a new experience for the young dragonborn, and the constant motion of the sea against the hull disoriented her. She planted her quarterstaff into the ground and tried to steady herself, watching the ground. Quilrith began to sweat a little, concentrating hard on keeping down her lunch. After a few minutes to regain her composure, she finally felt like she was standing on solid ground. Looking around, the gravity of the situation she had found herself in sank in again. Patting at her pack, she felt the letter left by her father. What should be a negligible burden to anyone else had become a hefty weight to her. The letter, which must have been drafted at least ten years ago by Quilrith's guess, spoke of an unseen threat to her family. Something beyond the comprehension of her father. Something beyond her own comprehension. She would have to conquer this threat if she wanted to reunite her family, she presumed, but in order to do that, she had to know what the threat even was in the first place. Her father took no expense to elucidate this enemy to his children, something that concerned Quilrith greatly. Perhaps it had to do with those bandits that attacked that night? Of course not. If her father was involved, there was no way the rest of the clan wouldn't be involved. She'd already considered the possibility several times, but the thought stuck to her mind on a frequent basis.

Clearing her throat, she closed her eyes for a moment and rotated her fingers on her forehead once more. Finally, her sea sickness had departed... She hadn't been alone in this having been the first trip on a boat, it seemed. Several of the people who were filtering throughout the docks looked like they had yet to get their sea legs. Quilrith, for just a brief moment, contemplated whether or not anybody in the crowd could read minds. She envied them; watching all of these people and seeing so many faces made her curious as to what everybody was doing here. Of course, there was the promise of riches definitely played a role in their decision to come here, but she wondered how many of them had a secondary purpose, like her. Who was here to visit a loved one? Who was here to prey on those who had arrived with visions of grandeur? Who was here to explore the untamed lands? Who here had some obscure and strange reason to come here? She decided to guess which one of those categories everybody fell into as she walked past them to the Tavern. Quilrith wasn't quite interested in whether or not these were true, she just thought it would make a fun little game to pass the time as she tried to navigate through the crowd.

As Quilrith made her way through the crowd and came near the bartender, she noticed a large board behind the bar, covered in leaflets nailed to the cork. Each leaflet featured a charcoal drawing, a rough approximation of a face. Below the image, in large, boldly written words, the leaflets proclaimed the size of the bounty and the reason for the posting. There were as follows:



There was no further information on any of them, but perhaps the name and promise of gold was enough for a bounty hunter worth his salt.

Passing the bar, Quilrith noticed that bartender present a patron with a filet of cod and a tall mug of dark beer, and her nostrils were met with the overpowering smell of fish. It was not from the dish, however.

She felt a shove as two burly men, local laborers by the look of them, pushed past her and moved to the front of the crowd. They moved forward with purpose, pushing patrons out of their way as they advanced. These two had not come to engage in drunken revelry or listen to music, but they moved inexorably toward the halfling flutist at the back of the tavern. He stopped playing as the pushing became shoving, and what had initially seemed to be a pair of rude patrons became potential instigators of a bar brawl. Flute lowered from his lips, he posed a question.

"What's this about?"

"That's 'im!" the first man shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the four foot tall flutist. "That's that sod who tupped my wife!" A quiet fell over the tower as the shouting started. The crowd backed away suddenly with a few cries of surprise as these two fish-scented interlopers drew iron clubs from their waist belts and advanced, clearly intent on beating the living hells out of this halfling. The lutist backed up, but found his back against the wall. He turn his head to the crowd, his look imploring, as if begging someone to jump to his defense. The bar's patrons did not answer.

Quilrith frowned. Not even a proper night into the town, and things were already going sour. She didn't know who these two men were, or who this flutist was, but she could definitely feel the animosity against the small one. In times like these, she had always been taught to act on her instinct, and in this case, her instinct was to hopefully try and diffuse the situation. She stepped by the halfling, holding out her palm towards the brutes as if she were constructing an imaginary barrier separating the two opposing forces. Looking around, Quilrith could feel her courage falter a little, noticing the lack of assistance for the flutist. Perhaps she was making a mistake...

No, she was doing the right thing. If no one was going to stand up for this man, she had to. Steeling herself, she announced her intent to the two men. "You're not going to do anything unless I say so," Quilrith warned. Even if the Halfling had "tupped" one of the wives of the two men, it wasn't up to these two to declare judgment on this man. Hopefully her words would scare the men straight enough to at least quell their anger, so everybody can be heard out.

Tergo recoiled at the sudden stench of fish and looked towards it's source, his face contorting with annoyance as he watched two large, and less than cheerful men push their way through the crowd of patrons that occupied the center of the inn. As they reached the musician and the one man hurled his accusation at the halfling, Tergo stood up and made his way through the crowd to get a better view of the scene.

He had reached the center of the crowd just in time to see a dragonborn woman standing between the men and their target. He sighed and stepped forward, taking position at the dragonborn's side. "Good day, sirs!" He said, bowing respectfully. "My name is Tergo Orryn Pip Veris Scheppen, it is a pleasure to meet you. Though, we seem to be meeting under less-than favorable circumstances." He allowed himself a smirk, and continued. "I'd like to know, if you wouldn't mind me asking, exactly why you've interrupted our fine evening?"

"You're not going to do anything unless I say so," Quilrith warned.

Tergo . . . allowed himself a smirk, and continued. "I'd like to know, if you wouldn't mind me asking, exactly why you've interrupted our fine evening?"

"Halfling tupped his wife," the second man--the one with the untupped wife--answered Tergo, voice almost puzzled. This one seemed much less interested in the brawl after Quilrith's intervention. "Ye didn't hear 'im the first time?" he asked, pointing his rod at the first man.

The first man, though initially stayed by the dragonborn's threat, found himself bolstered by the reminder of his wife's infidelity. "Oi then, if you want to stand by 'im, I'm 'appy to beat you down too!" he shouted, and went to take a swing at Quilrith with the iron rod.

Roll Initiative!

It was the last patrol of the night. The last time he passed the Tavern while on duty. The last time he had to resist the call of the mead that lay within. But for the past several hours of his shift, Durwith Bronzebeard had been passing by the tavern over and over and over and over again. Needless to say, his will had been seriously tested. And now that he was so close to the finish line, Durwith's will was stretched to the breaking point. This always happened when his patrol route took him past any of the city's drinking establishments. Sometimes he'd be able to resist. Other times though, he would cave in and risk getting himself in trouble by stopping for a drink. This time, it seemed like Durwith was going to cave. "I'll only go in for a moment" Durwith said to himself "Just to make sure nothing bad is happening in there. Not to buy a flagon of mead". With that said, Durwith made his way towards the Tavern's door and opened it. Upon witnessing the scene inside the tavern, all thoughts of mead promptly vanished. Durwith knew the initial embers of a bar fight when he saw them. He quickly closed the door and ran 15 feet in the opposite direction. He then pulled out his horn and sounded the call for reinforcements.

"Well, so much for diplomacy." He sneered, already incredibly disappointed with his first day in Teres. Tergo reached for his hammer, held it above his head and jumped at the ruffian striking at the dragonborn, bringing it down hard towards his hip.

Quilrith winced as soon as she realized that this wouldn't be a peaceful discussion. Conflict was present everywhere int he world, but she had hoped she'd be able to avoid it at least for today. No matter, she thought to herself. At least she wasn't going to be fighting alone. In an instant, she retrieved her quarterstaff and swung it down as hard as she could to intercept the man's blow. Although she had missed her original mark, her blow struck true when she hastily readjusted her aim to injure the man's legs. A resounding crack could be heard as she broke the man's leg, watching as he collapsed onto the ground. Wincing a little, she withdrew her quarterstaff and held it at her side. Maybe she went a bit too far... The man probably wasn't a massive threat to her or the halfling. Maybe if she'd been a little lighter in her delivery, he would have gotten the point. In any case, though, the threat had been dealt with. A prideful, and somewhat relieved, grin crossed Quilrith's face as she looked down at her assailant. "I thought I said that you weren't going to do anything unless I say so," she pointed out, shaking her head. With a frown, she shot a glare to the man's compatriot. She doubted he was going to cause any trouble, but she was hoping this was enough of a clue to show him what a defender of the forest was capable of.

The battle now over, she looked over towards the others that had stood beside her. A Dwarf and a Gnome had come to the flutist's aid, a great display of luck in the terrible times behind her. She gave them a small smile and a quiet nod of appreciation, before crouching down to the Halfling's level. "Are you alright?" she asked, then paused for a bit. Quilrith remembered the man's accusation and shuddered. The rush of victory from disarming an opponent in a single blow had immediately disappeared, as a very uncomfortable quarter-smile appeared on Quilrith's face. "Did you... You didn't actually 'tupp' this man's wife, did you?"

"I have no idea who this man is," the halfling answered excitedly,"never seen him in my life! You have my great thanks, Madame Dragonborn," he continued, and gave her a deep, theatrical bow. "Ladies and gentlemen, kindly give my protectors a round of applause!" he requested, and they obliged, though not with any great enthusiasm.

All the while, the man on the Tavern's floor groaned and cursed them.

The City Watch arrived a few minutes later, and though at first glance the scene was not favorable for the dragonborn, the testimony of the various eyewitnesses there was enough for them to cart the assailant away and leave the dragonborn and the gnome unharassed. His companion slinked away into the crowd after answering a few questions, clearly not happy with the situation but not at all interested in pressing the matter further against the dragon-woman who had shattered his friend's knee with such ease.

As the matter resolved itself, a City Watchman, a dwarven woman Durwith was acquainted with by the name of Inga Ironpike, approached the dwarf. She was shaking her head exasperatedly.

"Got news from the gates," she said in greeting, "goblins just raided another caravan down from Whitewood, kidnapped a little girl not half a league from the city. And the captain--may that man be thrice damned--still won't send us after them." Captain Gerald Mott of the Teresian City Watch had his reasons, of course. There were too few watchmen to send them off beyond the city walls and into the wilds to chase goblins through the woods, but that made it none the better. Keeping the rule of law was a bitter business, and it showed on her face.

---

Graham Douglas pushed the door of Coria's Inn open and entered, stepping across and into the Dockyard District brothel. Coria, a beautiful tiefling who was neither young nor old, greeted him with a typical, flowery welcome, suggestive of the pleasures he could find within the walls of her establishment. But he was here on business.

"I need to speak to One-Eye," he answered curtly, and she nodded, dropping the facade of charming madame.

"Same room as always," she said. Graham nodded, slid her a silver half-mark, and made for the stairs.

Coria's Inn was not a high end establishment. He would never find a nobleman in here, nor any nobleman's daughter, but Coria had a sense of decor. The red, white, and pink satins and silks that decorated the brothel gave it a plush, rich feeling. You could almost forget it was by the Docks, were it not for the faint smell of the sea that could never quite be kept out of the buildings in this area of the city.

He passed several women of the night onn his way to the last room on the left and opened the door. There, he found One-Eye.

Jaska Selley, wanted for highway robbery, theft, and on suspicion of murder, stood at the dresser, quite naked save for the black patch over his left eye. A woman lay in the bed, fast asleep under silken sheets, head laid on a fine feather pillow. He was pouring deep red wine from an elaborate looking glass decanter into a goblet of fine Yvennese ceramic.

"Graham," he greeted him. The highwayman averted his eyes. Jaska set the decanter down and dressed himself for his guest's sake, at least up to the waist. Graham looked up to look him in the eyes--or the eye, at least. Jaska was a handsome half-elf, his one good eye sky blue, his ears coming gently to points, his face clean shaven, or rather devoid of any facial hair at all save his eyebrows. With a hat on, it was the only indication that he might be anything but human.

"Jaska, I have a favor to ask," Graham said. "I've got a job, with some good pay in it for any men you can spare for it."

"What kind of job?" Jaska asked, voice dripping with disinterest. Graham explained the situation, about the dark elf in the alley, the quest, the key. And at the end of it Jaska shrugged and drained his goblet of wine. "You mean to tell me," he started, pouring another glass as he spoke, "that an invisible elf in an alleyway gave you a quest, to go on an adventure deep into the Boarwood to recover a key, and your reward for completing this task is . . . whatever you find?" he says, clarifying. Graham nodded slowly. "That's a shit job, Graham."

"Well, he seemed convinced there'd be a good payout for doing it," Graham replied, but his voice was uncertain even as he tried to justify his choice.

"No, he convinced you there'd be a good payout for doing it," Jaska One-Eye said cuttingly. "You're free to go chase this key or whatnot, but I'm not wasting my men's time with anything of that nature. If you'd like a real job, though, you know, the kind that pays in coin instead of promises, I've got an alternative offer."

"Oh?"

Jaska smiled. Well, it was more of a smirk. Jaska did not smile. "A heist for the history books."

Graham was interested.

Tergo straightened himself out, and slid his hammer back into his belt, glad that no one appeared to have noticed him completely miss his swing. He returned the nod and smile to the dragonborn and then looked to the halfling with more than a hint of doubt in his eyes. Whether or not he had tupped the man's wife, didn't matter now, but Tergo still wasn't sure he believed his plea of innocence.

The dwarven woman's comment made his ears prick up and he smiled, "Goblins? Why it just so happens that I am in the business of goblins!" He was clearly excited, "Is there anyway I could help?" He was practically beaming with energy, his recent embarrassment entirely out of his mind. With an outstretched hand he introduced himself, "I'm Tergo Orryn Pip Veris Scheppen, nice to meet you."

"Is there anyway I could help?" He was practically beaming with energy, his recent embarrassment entirely out of his mind. With an outstretched hand he introduced himself, "I'm Tergo Orryn Pip Veris Scheppen, nice to meet you."

The dwarf considered the gnome for a moment before shaking his hand. "Watchman Ironpike, at your service," she introduced herself, her grip strong. "And if you're in the 'business of goblins,' Tergo Orryn . . . Scheppen," she answered, stumbling over his name, "in the sense that you kill goblins, maybe you could be of service to the realm. Follow the Searoad half a league north and you'll find the caravan. Might be there's hope for that little girl after all."

When Durwith had summoned reinforcements, he thought there'd be a full on tavern brawl going on by the time other watchmen arrived. But instead of wading into a roiling mass of violent drunkards, Durwith and his backup walked in on little more than the aftermath of a minor scuffle. Needless to say, Durwith felt rather sheepish about jumping the gun like that. After being lightly needled over his mistake by the other watchmen, Durwith soon had a free flagon of mead in his hand, courtesy of a bartender who took pity on the dwarf.

Just as he finished his drink, Durwith noticed a familiar face approaching. Durwith prepared himself for a rant as Inga began talking about the recent goblin attack and the captain's lack of action. "You know why that is, Inga" Durwith replied "The city needs us here. If we sallied forth into the wilderness everytime a caravan gets jumped, who'd be left to keep the peace in the city? Besides, if the goblins took a child then the adventurers will be on them like flies on crap before the week is out". The moment he finished speaking, Durwith's point was proven by the arrival of an adventurer. "Like I said. Flies on crap" Durwith told Inga once she finished speaking "I'm going to finish my rounds. See you at the watch house". With that said, Durwith made to leave the Tavern and resume his patrol.

Quilrith quietly scratched the back of her head, still having not quite recovered from the events of the past few minutes. What a bizarre way to start off her search. She was a bit dissapointed in knowing that the man she'd defeated was most likely just a random drunkard harassing the flutist. In the back of her mind, though she knew it was probably impossible, she hoped that her first day would prove to be successful in finding those who had wronged her clan. She and her siblings had very little information to go off of, barring the letter written by their father. She didn't even know what happened to him, or if either of them were still alive. If she could get her hands around the fiends that abducted her mother... In any case, she needed to find some way to probe into the whereabouts of the people that took her mother. That was, after all, why she came here in the first place. She took a mental note of the halfling's face and features: he might be able to help her. If somebody had stopped by that might be important to finding her enemies and the flutist had seen it, he could relay the information to her. Besides, the small man did owe her for protecting him from that drunkard. Quilrith did feel a little bad hanging that justification over his head, but she needed all of the help she could get.

Before she could approach, however, the mention of a kidnapping caught her ears. Quilrith turned to face the dwarf woman and gnome, approaching them. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," she said. "It is my duty to help those in need. Allow me to offer my assistance in retrieving the girl."

"You should go by the college tomorrow morning, they have officials who can point you in the right direction," The gnome, Fillion Flexner, had told him. And now he stood in a queue in the Cildran Hall, along with a veritable host of other prospective students. When he had gotten up this morning, after spending a rather uncomfortable night in a farmer's hayloft, he never imagined he find himself faced with so much competition. Not in a place as remote as a frontier city, like Teres.

The lined moved on and at least it was his turn. He approached the admissions clerk with air of self-doubt and nervousness. "Gre..ahem..Greetings," He managed to stammer. "Arathys Menenon here for admission..."

He shot Durwith a dirty glance in response to his 'flies to crap' analogy and then turned back to the guardswoman. "Well, yes, killing them is sometimes necessary, I suppose." He said, reluctantly. "But, I'm more in the business of studying them, how they live, what they eat, who their leaders are, etcetera."

After the dragonborn had offered her assistance in rescuing the girl, Tergo looked up at her (as best he could, she was nearly twice his size after all) and let a friendly smile form, "Well, looks like we'll be working together, if you don't mind, that is." He said, very glad that someone else had volunteered to find the girl, he wasn't exactly confident in his ability to handle the job on his own.

Quilrith looked town at the gnome and nodded. "Of course not," she said with a small grin. "So long as we are both working to ensure the safety of others, I hope you don't mind if I come along." While she couldn't quite get a feel for the gnome's capabilities against the goblins, she was caught a bit off guard by his desire to study them. While it was true that there was certainly power in knowing one's enemy, and thus it was a good idea to have information about the little beasts, Quilrith had a feeling his research was for a different purpose. The only time she'd ever studied the little pests was when she was tasked with helping her clan route them out of the forest. Maybe the purpose of his study was to find out the best way to keep them under his thumb? She wasn't too sure. "Tergo, was it? A pleasure to meet you. My name is Quilrith Vambash." Sticking out a hand, she decided to awkwardly meet the gnome halfway and crouch down to his height, extending a hand.

While they were at it, she supposed now was also a good time to find out about the gnome's interest in goblins. "If I may ask, is there anything in particular that interests you about goblins?" Quilrith asked, curious about Tergo's intent. "Most people I've spoken to seem to have a very negative, very murderous opinion of the creatures."

"Gre..ahem..Greetings," He managed to stammer. "Arathys Menenon here for admission..."

Cildran Hall was a cavernous building, the university’s largest, with an open view of the ceiling some seven stories above the ground floor. From his vantage point, Arathys could see people, no less than a hundred, he thought, moving from room to room on the floors above.

Cildran was the only university building open to the public, which meant that the people of Teres were welcome to explore its halls, visit its classrooms, and browse the tomes of its library. The Cildran Archives were not nearly the size of the Stacks under the Tower of Terwen, which held some ten times ten thousand books, and possessed not nearly the same depth of content, but it was certainly something. People from all over Northmarch came to avail themselves of its resources.

It was a busy morning on Cildran's first floor, with dozens of prospective students crowding the halls alongside the mix of arcanists, current students, and upper class Teresians with the leisure to visit. The admissions clerks, three of them, sat behind a long, tall desk, about chest high to the visitors, and each one was busy processing the enrollment of the incoming students. It was nearing the end of the month, Arathys overheard, and the College's enrollment period would soon end. This must have explained the number of people present.

The admissions clerk, a wiry woman of sharp features and pale complexion, considered the mage from above through a pair of over-sized spectacles. She pushed them up her nose. “Well, you’re just about on time. Open enrollment lasts through the 32nd of Kindling.” It was the 28th of the month that day. “Are you already registered, Mr.. . . ?” she asked, prompting him for a name.

"M..Menenon," He replied. "Arathys Menenon. And no, I'm not registered" His mouth was dry and his hands were clammy. He couldn't believe that he was so late in the enrollment cycle. But then, when he'd arrived in Teres, it hadn't exactly been his intention to enroll at all. It was more or less a whim, at the direction of his old master, that he stood here now. Now he only hoped that he didn't bungle it. "So, how does this this work?" He asked nervously. "Is..is there some sort of test, or..."

"Hm." The admissions clerk pulled open a drawer and drew from it a small stack of parchment, which she passed to him across the desk. "Please fill this out, legibly. I will see if we have someone on hand to interview you." With that, she got up and left, walking through a door behind the desk into a back office of some sort.

The paperwork was not particularly interesting. It involved basic warranties and representations about the applicant's name, age, race, place of origin, and so on, the stuff of a bureaucrat's design. There was a section that requested a description of the applicant's magical aptitude, which was more interesting, and a few lines that requested a brief "statement of interest," which Arathys could correctly deduce invited some comment on why he was applying to the Teresian College of Wizardry and what he wished to accomplish here.

Durwith left the Tavern and proceeded along his patrol route through the Dockyard District. Durwith kept his eyes peeled as he walked the darkened streets. He encountered danger more commonly during the nighttime leg of his shift, so he was always on the alert when the sun went down and the world turned grey. Sure enough, Durwith soon encountered trouble. A trio of humans were attacking a fourth human in an alley way the dwarf was passing by. Durwith made his way into the alley, his battleaxe and shield ready to dispense justice upon the guilty. "What's going on here?!" Durwith barked as the trio turned to face him.

Tergo returned her smile and gladly shook her hand. "Well met, Quilrith Vambash." He said. "Happy to have you along, as you could probably tell from my lackluster performance in that brawl, I'm not much of a fighter." He joked, idly scratching the back of his neck. Tergo's face once again lit up as the topic of conversation shifted to goblins. He began to speak quickly, "Well, I've always been interested in goblins, they're quite interesting creatures, when you take the time to get to know them. You see, I'm a scholar who specializes in the study of goblins!" He said, his voice booming with pride. "While my knowledge of goblins is quite extensive, I know very little about the clans that inhabit this area, and as far as I know there is little to no written works covering the goblins that live here. That's why I've come to the Northmarch, I hope to be the first goblinologist to write an extensive history of the goblinoid peoples of the area!" He finished his short speech and smiled, finding himself out of breath and realizing that he had somehow managed all that talking without taking a single breath.

Quilrith nodded as she listened to the gnome, shaking his hand. Come to think of it, Tergo was the one who had come to the aid of the halfling, wasn't he? She hadn't paid too much attention to where he had gone after the battle, but she did remember his attempt to ward off her attacker. It was certainly an attempt. One fluke does not a warrior make, though, according to her sister Esphora after a particularly embarrassing defeat. Though that might have been to make Brenfan's victory in their training session lose value, rather than to teach the spectators a lesson. The fond and distant memory only solidified the great weight of her quest and her purpose for being here, bringing her back to where she was at the moment. "Well," she said with an encouraging smile, "at least you're willing to stand up for what you believe in. Not all battles are won with blades and broken bones."

After shaking the gnome's hand a few times, Quilrith withdrew her hand and placed it on her chin. A scholar who studied goblins? Not only that, but somebody who was interested in finding out their methods of living and what their society was like? What a curious field to study. Though Quilrith's own education was very limited due to her upbringing, the closest thing that they had to proper books were tomes about the local flora and fauna surrounding her clan's forest. Of course, they several other books as well, though Quilrith struggled to wrap her head around them, and thus she dismissed them. How many books were there really on goblins? A frown crossed her face, which she quickly covered up by her hand. Perhaps it may be a good idea to briefly change the subject.

"You're a goblinologist?" Quilrith asked. "I, uh, can't say I've met any goblinologists, but it's good to see that it's a growing field. I'm what's called an astronomer, myself. I think it's really fascinating, seeing things that are so high in the sky at night. The stars, they feel so close to us, but yet they remain just beyond our grasp." She smiled for a second, letting her hands drop to her side. After an uncomfortable bit of silence, she cleared her throat and turned her gaze back to the gnome. In the back of her mind, she was curious to know what would happen if they were the ones who had ransacked the caravan. What would be done if they took the life of the girl's parents? What if they killed the girl? Concern crossed Quilrith's face as she considered the growing possibility that either of these were happening right now. "Anyways, I guess it's a good thing one of us knows how to converse with goblins," she pointed out with a concerned smile. "Perhaps we might be able to resolve this without violence." She doubted it, but as long as she was willing to give it a try, it was certainly possible.