Having at last struck down the fiends that dared ambush her companions, Tirnel found herself reunited with Johan, Jenelle, and Dasyra. Though their method for disposing of the fresh corpses met with her distaste — potato sacks left in the open for prying eyes to see — she held her tongue that they might continue toward their objective: the house of healing.
Stepping inside the dimly lit residence, the band were greeted by several of the rescued victims of the ghoul attack Tirnel’s companions had interrupted on the road and by the woman who had taken it upon herself to bring them back to health. There was much discussion of prophecy and Johan’s importance which, to be perfectly frank, Tirnel neither comprehended nor gave much thought. There finally emerged, however, a new quest from that morass of obtuse conversation: to find interpreters to better understand the prophecy, Johan and the rest would have to travel to Ambercross in the wetlands of southern Ontalar and seek out a pair of seers. Giving the healer a final reassurance of Johan’s safety, Tirnel and the rest bade her goodbye.
Returning to the market district, Johan and Jenelle sought out the merchant who had offered them employment previously as caravan guards and negotiated a sizable retainer. Tirnel, her mind on other matters, paid these negotiations their due attention and swiftly made her way to the Drowned Beaver Tavern. Partaking of the fruit of the vine, she engaged the half-elven proprietor in a most… subtle conversation. It was common knowledge that as one traveled south the reception of most humans to most elves would dim, and so unwilling to relinquish her great dignity Tirnel sought another means to enter Ambercross and points beyond. The publican gave her the name of one Brekkon Gladdenstone in that city, and instructed her to introduce herself with the imprimatur of Jenonna, promising that he would be able to assist the elf given the right incentive.
Sadly, our heroine was less attuned to the practices of subterfuge than she had thought, and found her purse light of coin when the time came to settle her accounts with the tavern’s mistress. Tirnel is assured of enough coin come daybreak to more than compensate the woman, but will eager whispers find unfriendly ears before the payment is rendered? That, my readers, must wait for the next edition of Brother Maynard’s “Chronicle of Tirnel, Dervish of the North.”