The Find 11.

Autumn.

Down in The City of Ruins. During the morning.
Tovis the war engineer looks up and down the busy street on what's a cool morning, down here in The City of Ruins.
He's in one of the towns, not far from the base of one of the ramps, that comes down into the giant hole.
Within which is the ancient city of Dalphene, or as it's more commonly called, The City of Ruins.
The young engineer, who hails from the kingdom of Druvic. Who is now the commander of one of the engineering crops in the armies of Farque.
Glances sideways at a trio of goblins who hurry by the end of the lane, where he's standing.
The war engineer wonders if they're wild goblins, those who live in tribes throughout the nooks and crannies of The City of Ruins.
And in the walls that surround it, and beneath it too. Which are all riddled by the tunnels dug out by the wild goblin population.
Tovis suspects these goblins are domesticated, or at least to say civilized.
As their attire is better than the descriptions he's heard of the wild goblin tribes.
Down here in the giant hole in the ground, which is The City of Ruins.
The fact that they're chatting away to one another, in more than passable common.
Confirms that they're not wild goblins of The City of Ruins.
The war engineer who previously served in the army of a baron Harkonin.
In the east of his homeland, the kingdom of Druvic.
Looks down the street again to his left, he's tall enough to spot who he's looking for.
And he sees the more than six foot tall, cleric in the half plate armour. Who is of a similar height as himself. Walking this way down the busy street, in one of the many towns to be found, here at the southern end of the pit.
Where towns and villages have been built over the centuries, at the base, and near the foot, of all the giant stone ramps, that lead down to ancient city of Dalphene.
"Anything?" asks Tovis the war engineer when he's joined by Beldane the cleric at the end of the lane.
"Nothing" is the reply of Beldane the cleric, who then asks "You?".
"Nothing" replies the young engineer, who holds the rank of captain in the armies of Farque.
The powerful cleric originally from the kingdom of Nastell grunts as he looks up and down the busy street.
Then the member of the church of Glaine, a god predominantly worshiped in the north of his homeland of Nastell, says "Heard something interesting".
"Oh, what's that?" asks the war engineer, who like the fighting cleric, is speaking in the elven language.
"There's an old building nearby, one of the actual ruins" says the churchman in the halfplate armour, who follows that with "Off a nearby town square".
The young Druvician engineer nods, and the powerful spellcaster tells him "Mercenary companies from everywhere are using it as a recruitment place".
"Think they might of joined up?" quietly asks Tovis the war engineer.
"They might of" says Beldane the cleric, who follows on from that with "What other reason is there for being down here in the pit".
The fighting cleric from the kingdom of Nastell continues with "It's to search for treasure".
He briefly pauses before adding "And by the looks of it, most people do that in mercenary companies".
The commander of one of engineering crops in the armies of Farque, nods in agreement.
Then Tovis the war engineer says "Might as well go over there and check it out" he then adds in a slightly dry tone of voice "Beats going into every chandlers, supply shop, stables, tavern and inn that they've got in this town".
Beldane who isn't in the armies of Farque, for good reason, he's a cleric. But who is a member of the group that travels with lord Farque, even though he is a cleric.
Grunts in agreement with the young engineer who hails from the kingdom of Druvic.
Then captain Tovis says "Lead the way". The member of the church of Glaine nods, then steps out onto the busy street, with the young engineer right next to him.
It doesn't take the two of them, that long to find the town square. And the ancient building off the south side of it.
A building far older than those elsewhere in town. Definitely one of the ruins of the ancient city of Dalphene.
It's an open building, without walls, a pavilion really. As it has four large columns holding up it's pointed roof.
And though it's probably a couple of thousand years old, it's in relatively good shape.
Inside are a number of tables, all apart, with either one or two people sitting behind them.
Recruitment officers for various mercenary companies. Who are seeing a steady stream of people going into the pavilion like building.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tovis the war engineer spots a pair of dwarven warriors.
Who are about to cross the square to the pavilion. No doubt to check out what the various mercenary companies are offering.
He sees them stop, and look up into the morning sky as they start chatting to one another in their language.
"What?" asks Beldane the cleric when the young Druvician engineer nudges him.
"Something in the sky" quietly says Tovis the war engineer, who follows that with "Approaching from the southeast".
The powerful spellcaster from the kingdom of Nastell senses in that direction, then quietly says "It's not an airship, i can't sense one in that direction".
The member of the church of Glaine looks around, and he too spots the pair of dwarves.
One of whom is now pointing away to the southeast, the direction that Beldane has just sensed towards.
A few moments later, the two of them spot a winged creature come flying over the edge of the pit, as it heads northwards over The City of Ruins.
"Wyvern" quietly says the fighting cleric who is originally from the kingdom of Nastell.
"Messenger rider?" adds the churchman in the halfplate armour.
"Maybe" says the captain in the armies of Farque who then adds "Though no colours of a city-state or kingdom, that most nation's messenger riders wear".
They watch the wyvern, quite a large one of the species. Drop down in altitude, as it wings it's way north over The City of Ruins.
"The rider looks more like a merc than anything else" quietly says the war engineer who hails from the kingdom of Druvic.
"No surprise really" quietly says the powerful cleric, who then adds "Considering where we are".
Tovis nods his head in agreement with the fighting cleric. Then the two of them cross the square to the ancient pavilion like building, and enter it.
The war engineer and the cleric split up. Going to either end of the row of eight tables. Behind which are recruitment officers, or agents for various mercenary companies that are operating here in The City of Ruins.
"Looking to join up?" says the recruitment officer who was looking bored with his work this morning, until Tovis stepped forward to his table.
"No" says the young engineer who is originally from the kingdom of Druvic, who then adds "You couldn't afford me".
That's no idle boast from the Druvician who is now a captain in the armies of Farque.
He knows any mercenary company would have to pay him an arm and a leg if they wanted to hire him on.
As his skills as a war engineer is relatively rare. Not to mention the amount of experience he's already had, and he's only in his early twenties.
"What makes you say that?" says the grizzled looking recruiter sitting behind the table, who now has a scowl upon his face.
"Because I'm a war engineer" says Tovis, who follows that with "Out of Druvic, who's been designing and building war machines since i was a teenager".
The recruitment officer for one of the mercenary companies operating down here in the pit, sourly smiles then says in a tone to match his smile "You're right, i can't afford you".
As he knows he'd have to let go at least a third of his company, just to hire on someone like the young engineer from the kingdom of Druvic.
Gesturing at the other tables along the line, he tells the war engineer "None of this lot can afford you either".
The recruiter follows on from that with "A few of the large companies up in the neutral zone might be able to afford you".
He then adds "After all, they've got catapults and the like they use in battle".
The commander of one of the engineering corps in the armies of Farque just nods to that. And makes sure he remembers that little tidbit of information about the large mercenary companies further north in the so called neutral zone of The City of Ruins.
"So what can i do for you?" says the recruitment officer for one of the more modest sized mercenary companies based here in the ancient city of Dalphene.
"I hope you're not going to waste my time" adds the recruiter, who follows on with "I've got others i could be hiring while I'm gabbing to you".
Quieting his voice, Tovis says "Hardly any of this lot is worth your time, and worth hiring, unless you're after cheap bodies to throw at the enemy".
The young Druvician engineer continues with "The only ones worth your time are those two dwarven warriors over there, hire them and consider it a good day's work no matter how much you end up paying for them".
The recruiter nods, then says "What about that big fellow who entered with you?" followed by "The one in the steel halfplate armour down at the other end, looks like a church soldier of some kind".
"You definitely can't afford him" quietly says Tovis the war engineer, who then adds "He's a cleric, and a pretty powerful one at that".
The recruitment officer winces, then mutters in a dry tone of voice "Yeah, i definitely can't afford him".
As he'd have to pay even more to hire a powerful cleric than the war engineer.
He'd have to get rid of at least half of the company just to hire on such a person, let alone pay them a weekly amount. And his company commander would not be happy with that.
The recruitment officer grunts, then says "So what is it you want my expensive fellow i can't afford?".
Tovis smiles at that, then from an inner pocket of his cloak that he wears over his hardened leather, smock like vest, that ends low beneath his waist.
The war engineer who is a captain in the armies of Farque, takes out a rolled piece of parchment, and places it on the table after he unrolls it.
"Have you ever seen this person?" asks the young engineer originally from the kingdom of Druvic, where he served in the army of a baron Harkonin, who then adds "I'm looking for them".
"Can't say that i have" says the recruitment officer, who then adds in a murmur "Good drawing though".
He turns on his bench seat, and waves to one of the people sitting along the back edge of the pavilion like building.
"My runner" explains the grizzled looking recruiter, who when his runner joins him at the table, he asks him "Seen this person at all Delm?" followed by "This fellow is looking for them".
"Can't say that i have" is the reply of the teenage runner after he looks at the illustration on the piece of parchment.
"Doesn't mean they're not down here" adds the young mercenary runner, who follows that with "Lot's of people down here, even in the cooler months".
"I'd say more" says the recruitment officer, who continues with "Everybody thinks it's busiest during the summer, but that's just the visitors from down Eweteets way".
The recruiter then adds "It's too stinking hot during the summer to get a lot ot digging done" followed by "That's why it's the autumn and spring is busier" he continues with "We definitely hire on more during this time of the year".
Tovis the war engineer nods, then he rolls up the piece of parchment paper, and says "Thanks for that".
"And thanks for the tip" replies the recruitment officer with a nod of his head in the direction of the pair of dwarven warriors.
The young Druvician engineer moves to the next table along after the man sitting there finishes speaking with a potential hire.
The commander of one of the engineer corps in the army of Farque shows the next recruiter the illustration after he's chatted to him for a bit.
That recruitment officer, along with his runner. Also hasn't seen the person that Tovis and the rest of the group are searching for.
The war engineer and the fighting cleric meet outside the ancient building after speaking to all of the recruiters.
"Any luck?" asks the young engineer who hails from the kingdom of Druvic.
"None" replies the powerful cleric who is originally from the kingdom of Nastell, who then adds "You?".
"Nothing" says captain Tovis with a shake of his head.
The war engineer continues with "Pretty much all of them admired the quality of the illustration though".
"Same" says the member of the church of Glaine as he looks around the town square, then quietly adds "Busy place".
Tovis nods, then quietly says "It really is a city down here" followed by "Though i suspect things aren't so busy the further north you go".
"More dangerous though" quietly says the fighting cleric, who then explains "I'm sensing spells being cast all the time away to the north" followed by "Starts about three quarters of a mile away to the north of town, gets more active the further north you go".
Beldane briefly pauses before he adds "Mostly destructive spells too".
"Can't wait" dryly says the war engineer in the armies of Farque.
As the plan is for them to head north once they've searched through the towns and villages. Down here at the southern end of the pit.
"Come on then" says Tovis who continues with "Best we keep asking around to see if anyone's seen them".
Beldane nods his head in agreement, and the two of them set off across the town square.
Here in one of the towns down in the southern end of the giant hole in the ground.
Within which is the ancient city of Dalphene, or The City of Ruins as it's more commonly known as . . . . . .

The Find 10.

Autumn.

The City Of Ruins. Early in the morning. Before dawn.
"Why are we up so early?" asks Lisell Maera the scout who yawns as they walk to the nearby ramp that leads down to The City of Ruins.
"And why are we searching down at this end of the pit?" adds the attractive looking young woman who hails from the city-state of Brattonbury, who continues with "Since we're not going to find them down at this end".
After Lisell Maera or Lis as she's more commonly called by the others in the group, mutters "Hope i don't fall into the pit in this darkness".
Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy says "Information that's why" followed by "If we find the whereabouts of them, then we can either eliminate the northern half of the city, or the countryside to the north of the pit" he then adds "Then we can concentrate on either one or the other".
Lis who is in the scouts and rangers division of the armies of Farque grunts, as she knows all this.
What she is wanting to know, is why they're setting off so early. Just a short while later, she finds out why.
"Hell, it's busy already" murmurs the scout Maera as she and the elven spy approach the ramp that's goes down into the giant hole in the ground.
The elven spy, who is from the principality of Alínlae, where he served in one of the more prominent noble houses of his homeland, nods his hooded head in agreement.
As people are already heading down into the pit, and it's still no where near dawn.
Lisell Maera and Dalinvardèl Tanith, both of whom are in the scouts and rangers division of the armies of Farque.
Are heading down this ramp to the east of the town of Hilsons Point. While others in the group are going down some of the other ramps, here at the southern edge of the giant hole in the ground.
Within which, is the ancient city of Dalphene, or The City of Ruins as it's more commonly known as.
"Head down the edge on this side, looks to be way quicker, and there's far less people there" quietly says Dalinvardèl Tanith or Dalin, as more often than not, he's called by those who know him well.
"And fall off?" says the attractive looking young woman from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury, who then adds "Hell no".
As there doesn't seem to be that many torches lit down the edges of this ramp.
Say compared to the one, over to the west of the town of Hilsons Point.
"You're not going to fall off" dryly says the elven spy who holds the rank of captain in the armies of Farque, and is a company commander in the scouts and rangers division.
"I'll walk near the edge, you on the inside of me, it'll be fine" adds Dalin, who gestures at those heading down the ramp and says "Beats getting in line behind all this lot going down the middle of the ramp".
Lisell Maera nods, then yawns again as she follows the elven company commander in the armies of Farque.
The two of them get onto the nearly a hundred and fifty foot wide stone ramp that goes down into the giant hole in the ground.
The attractive young woman originally from the city-state of Brattonbury can't imagine the effort it took to build the ramp. Which is one of many dotted along the south side of The City of Ruins. And this isn't even one of the largest ones.
But she sees that Dalin is right, as there's very few people walking along the right edge of the ramp.
A ramp that goes almost five hundred feet down into the massive hole in the ground, within which is the ancient city of Dalphene.
A city originally from the otherside of the world. That was brought here by the Greater Dragon Kor.
Who quickly forgot about it, as the transfer here, destroyed a lot of the city. Killing most of it's inhabitants.
Since then, it's been the home of the largest treasure hunt in the Southlands.
Where people from right across the Southlands, and beyond. Come to seek the treasure that's hidden here in the ancient city of Dalphene.
And over a couple of millennia, more and more of the ancient city is dug up, revealing more of it's hidden treasures.
Both Lis and Dalin have been warned what to expect down in the pit. Here at the southern end, where villages and towns have been built to accommodate those who come down into The City of Ruins.
Particularly the towns and villages built near the base of the ramps.
Things are more or less civilized. Mirroring what's happening up on the edge of the pit. In towns such as Hilsons Point and Peacesmith.
It's once you start heading further north in the pit, the more volatile things become.
Where running battles between large mercenary companies isn't uncommon.
And though towards the middle of The City of Ruins, there's a so called neutral zone.
Though the scout Maera and the spy Tanith have been warned it's pretty much just as dangerous as other places in the pit.
While at the northern end of the giant hole in the ground. Is the most dangerous place of all in the pit.
As that's the least dug up place in The City of Ruins. Where more than likely there's a lot of hidden treasure that's yet to be found.
Only the brave and fool hardy are found up there.
And both Lisell Maera and Dalinvardèl Tanith suspect their's and rest of the group's search for the person they're looking for.
Will lead them to the dangerous northern end of the giant hole in the ground.
Within which is the ancient city of Dalphene, or as it's more commonly called, The City of Ruins.
The scout originally from the coast of the Southlands. Whose mother was a prostitute on the poorer streets of Brattonbury.
And whose father, a man she never knew, or for that matter, met. Was a sailor, who plied his trade upon the Great Western Ocean.
Is now rather glad there isn't too many torches lighting the way down the ramp.
For the simple reason, every so often they pass one of the lit torches. Lis is able to glance down, and see how high they're up. And how far down The City of Ruins is.
Lis is just glad her vision isn't as good as Dalin, who know doubt, with his naturally enhanced eyesight.
Is able to see down into the pit through the darkness. And see the ancient city of Dalphene below.
Though for all that, Lisell Maera is glad they've gone this way down the right edge of the ramp.
As she wouldn't have to shuffle along with all of those heading down the middle of the stone ramp.
Where you're likely step on some kind of animal shit as you head down the ramp.
As there's just about as many livestock, along with horses and donkeys hauling carts and wagons.
That are heading down with all the people making their way into the pit at this early time of the morning, before dawn.
There's very few people coming up the ramp at this time of the morning. As most who come up from the pit, do so late in the afternoon, or during the evening.
The scout Maera keeps to the inside of the spy Tanith, who walks fairly quickly down the ramp.
"Not as cold down here" quietly says Lisell Maera, who follows that with "Cool, but not cold like up top".
Dalinvardèl Tanith nods his hooded head in agreement, then quietly says "Helps being down in this hole i guess".
Gesturing northwards, the spy who previously served in one of the more prominent noble houses of his homeland, the elven principality of Alínlae, adds "I guess the further north you go, the more the weather from up top takes an effect".
The company commander in the scouts and rangers division of the armies of Farque, then adds "Especially at the very northern end of the pit".
Lis nods at that, as she's been told the pit isn't particularly deep at that end.
You can easily walk up in places, as at the northern end, where The City of Ruins is still being dug up.
Unlike here, ten miles south. Where digging hasn't occurred all that much in centuries.
And the only time it is done, is to build and expand the towns and villages that's popped up down here, at the base of the ramps, here at the very south of the gigantic hole in the hole in the ground.
Once they're down off the ramp, the attractive young woman from the city-state of Brattonbury looks up into the sky and sees the darkness is starting to lighten up.
As false dawn approaches, just before dawn breaks upon this part of the very north, of the central regions of the Southlands.
"That town to the right, is the one we're starting with" says Dalinvardèl Tanith who then quietly adds "Keep alert, for even though they say this part of the pit is pretty civilized, I've already spotted a few unsavory sorts eyeing us both up".
The scout Maera nods, and once again she's glad she's been teamed up with the quick thinking, and highly observant elven spy from the principality of Alínlae.
The fact he can see and hear a hell of a lot better than any human can possibly hope to, has a lot to do with it as well.
Lis follows Dalin into town, which at this time of the morning, just before dawn, is a bustling place.
With a lot of people out on the streets, starting off their day, here in The City of Ruins.
The attractive, tall, lithe and athletic, young woman from the coast of the Southlands.
Sees that there's as many trades people and workers, as there are adventurers in town.
Which isn't surprising, as mercenaries, adventurers and treasure hunters.
All need places to live, get things fixed, and other things made. As well as food prepared and cooked for them.
No wonder it's so busy here before dawn, Lisell Maera thinks to herself, as she realises most of the treasure seekers and the like.
Are about to head north, deeper into the ancient city. To find anything of wealth that could be hidden in the ruins of Dalphene.
The scout in the armies of Farque quietly asks the spy Tanith "Where to first?"
"Chandlers and supply shops" is the quiet reply from the company commander in the scouts and rangers division of the armies of Farque.
"You do all the talking" quietly adds the elven spy who hails from the principality of Alínlae.
"Me?" says Lisell Maera in a tone of surprise as they cross a busy street, when Dalin spots a chandlers across on the otherside, and further down it.
"You" says the spy Tanith, who continues with "Most of the people here are human" followed by "And you've got a pretty face, so".
The elven spy leaves it unsaid at what he thinks.
And Lis sourly smiles, as she knows exactly what he's referring to.
"Well, a pretty face for a human" adds Dalinvardèl Tanith with a twist of his lips to stop himself from grinning, as he looks sideways and down at the Farqian army scout walking beside him.
"Jerk" mutters the scout Maera, who can't help it, but grins as she sees that the company commander in the armies of Farque is teasing her.
Dalin gestures at the shop, with it's side sliding doors open, where a couple of workers are unloading a wagon.
As the sky above The City of Ruins, slowly gets lighter with dawn taking effect, as the sun starts to come up over the horizon to the east.
"Common" murmurs the spy Tanith to the scout Maera as he leads the way through the front door of the chandlers shop.
A shop that already has a handful of customers in it at this time of the morning.
Both Dalin and Lis pick them to be new arrivals to the ancient city of Dalphene.
And wonders how long they'll last. They both suspect some of them won't even last their first day here in The City of Ruins.
As the spy Tanith wanders through the chandlers, pretending to look at the supplies.
But actually watching the people in the shop, both customers, and those that work in here.
The attractive young woman from the coastal city-state of Brattonbury, who is now in the scouts and rangers division of the armies of Farque.
Goes up to the counter after one of the customers pays for his goods, then exits the shop.
"I was wondering if you could help me" says Lisell Maera in the common language, switching from the elven that she and Dalin have been conversing in.
"Of course" says the chandler, who continues with "That's what we're here for" he then adds "What are you looking to buy?".
Lis remembering what the spy Tanith said out on the street as they approached the shop, flashes a smile of gratitude to the shopkeeper, a man in his early forties.
Who stands a little taller behind the counter, and puffs his chest out, when the attractive young woman originally from the city-state of Brattonbury smiles at him.
"Why thank you" says the scout Maera, who takes out a folded piece of parchment from an inner pocket of her cloak, as she adds "Well, I'm not looking for something to buy, more like I'm looking for someone".
Lis opens up the piece of parchment paper, and puts it down on the counter top, and says to the chandler "You wouldn't of happened to seen this person have you?".
The chandler looks quickly at the piece of parchment in the lamp light, and shakes his head, and thinks about telling the attractive young woman, to stop wasting his time. Either buy something, or leave his shop.
But he decides not to, as she smiles at him again, and points at the piece of parchment paper on the counter top.
A piece of parchment that has a life like drawing of a face of the person, the young woman says she's looking for.
"I can't say that i have" says the chandler, who briefly pauses, before adding "I could ask the lads if they have".
"I'd appreciate that" says Lisell Maera the scout, who once again flashes a smile in gratitude for the benefit of the shopkeeper.
Who starts calling over his workers, to see if they know, or have seen the person illustrated on the piece of parchment paper.
As Lis and Dalin, begin their, and the rest of the group's search down here in The City of Ruins. For the person they've traveled here to find . . . . . .

The Find 9.

Autumn.

The Quick Gull. Just outside of Hilsons Point. Morning.
"What's all that about?" asks lord Farque with a nod of his full helmed head at Dorc da Orc in a midships.
"You don't want to know" dryly says Mira Reinholt the mage, who shakes his hooded head as the large ork sits down, grumbling and mumbling to himself in his own language.
The undead warlord rolls his eyes as the ork warleader hisses like at angry cat at his bitter rival, sir Percavelle Lé Dic.
The former paladin who is on the port side of the Quick Gull, scowls at his bitter rival sitting against the starboard side rail in a midships.
"You're right" says the large, heavily armoured deathlord who then adds in a dry tone of voice "I don't want to know".
Then looking at the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel who is standing next to the once powerful mage.
Lord Farque, or Draugadrottin as he's also known by to the people of his lands, asks "You get anything from that trader?".
"I did" replies Helbe the elven thief, who follows that with "A not so accurate map".
The highly talented elven magic user briefly pauses before adding "And a history book about the ancient kingdom of Gilbanath, which that trader swears has the most accurate map of that short lived kingdom in it".
"That's something i guess" mutters the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
Who then looks at Mira Reinholt the mage, Helbe the elven thief, and Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, and tells them "You three down in the captain's cabin".
The lord of the death realm continues with "Let's see what this book has to say".
The undead being, who has the elven name of Des'tier, which translates to, The Destroyer.
Looks forward and calls out "Tam!" followed by "Meet us down in the captain's cabin".
The young field commander who is standing in the bow with his lover Saanea the witch, nods his head and starts making his way aft.
While the lord and ruler of the lands Farque leads his three personal councilors to the nearest ladder, then below deck, to the captain's cabin of the Quick Gull.
In the aft, or captain's cabin of the small, dark, sleek looking, single masted airship, that was formerly in the air fleet of the Sultanate of Dreese.
A nation that lies all the way on the otherside of the continent, the far east coast to be exact.
Axe the undead wardog lifts his head up as his master enters the cabin, followed by three of his councilors.
The massive canine puts his head back down, yawns, and rolls on his side after Tamric Drubine the field commander enters the cabin, and closes the door behind him.
And though it looks like Axe is sleeping, the undead wardog has one eye slightly open, watching what's going on in the aft cabin of the Quick Gull.
With a pair of current maps of The City of Ruins, the surrounding towns and villages, and countryside beyond them, open on the large table in the captain's cabin.
Helbe the elven thief unrolls the map he purchased earlier this morning in the town of Hilsons Point.
Then after he takes out the old, leather bound book he also purchased.
Which he quickly flips through, and opens to the middle, and puts it down on the table next to the map, that he got from the same trader's shop.
The five of them standing around the table look at them in silence for a little while.
Then it's lord Farque who breaks the silence with "Well" followed by "Thoughts".
"Not that similar really" says Mira Reinholt the mage, who then adds "Apart from where it bisects through the northern half of the pit".
The pit, along with the hole, being the most common terms to describe The City of Ruins.
Nodding his hooded head in agreement with his fellow spellcaster the Vexilian mage in exile.
Helbe the elven thief says "I suspect that's the only likely accurate bit on the map".
Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, who is standing on a chair, so that he can see things on the table, nods his head in agreement.
As does Tamric Drubine, the young noble originally from the feudal kingdom of Sarcrin, who is now a field commander in the armies of Farque.
The large, heavily armoured deathlord nods too, then pointing at the map that the highly talented elven magic user purchased this morning, he says "Roll that up, it's no good to us".
As to the north of The City of Ruins, it doesn't show anything in particular. And is only vague with the actual landscape in that direction.
As the young elven noble who is the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel rolls up the map.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque says "That map in the book is another matter".
The lord of the death realm adds "What do you know about the book?". As he looks at the elven master assassin who puts the rolled up map in the open locker with a pile of other maps.
"Not that much" says the highly talented elven magic user, who continues with "Just that it was written by a church scholar from Eweteets after the war".
"Oh?" says Draugadrottin who suddenly gets interested at the mention of the war.
For though there's been hundreds, if not thousands of wars, that have happened across the Southlands over the last five thousand years or so.
There is still only one known as The War, and that's the invasion of the Southlands by the Holy Norstran Empire. Which is when lord Farque died.
"Who?" asks the undead warlord, the elven masterthief flips to the front of the book, and on the title page inside the cover, it shows the name of the tome, and the author.
"Never heard of him" says the large, heavily armoured deathlord.
"Same" says the grandson of Prince Raendril of Laerel.
"Mira?" asks the elven master archer looking at fellow spellcaster, the mage who is in exile from the city-state of Vexil.
The mage Reinholt snorts in derision, then says "As if I'd ever read anything written by a churchman".
The mage, who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, is a confirmed atheist. Though deep down, in some hidden memory he's never been able to crack. He suspects the gods of Volunell are actually real.
The elven princeling from Laerel then looks at lord Farque, and in particular the hilt of the massive sword sticking up over the undead warlord's left shoulder and head.
Des'tier as he's known in the elven language notices the look from the elven princeling, and he falls silent for a few moments.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque shakes his full helmed head no after he silently communicates with the Sword of Power, Ryn.
"Maybe Beldane has heard of him" says Tamric Drubine the field commander gesturing at the old leather bound book.
"Maybe" says prince Helbenthril Raendril, who then adds "I'll just ask him".
Mira Reinholt the mage, as well as lord Farque's eyebrows lift in surprise as they sense the spell that the highly talented elven magic user casts.
After a moment, the young elven noble who is a member of the royal family that rules the island principality of Laerel, says "He doesn't know".
In an accusatory tone, the mage Reinholt demands "How the hell did you do that?".
As what Helbe the elven thief just did, shouldn't of been possible.
For he cast what sensed like a mindspeech spell. Though for a mindspeech spell to work, the practitioner of magic casting it has to see the person they're wanting to talk to into their minds.
"It's just a variant of a regular mindspeech spell" says the elven master assassin, who then adds "No big deal".
"A variant" snorts the spellcaster, who was once the most powerful mage of his generation, to be found anywhere in the Southlands.
"No big deal he says" sourly adds the Vexilian mage in exile, who shakes his head, before adding in a rather acidic tone of voice "You just invented another spell".
The elven magic user shrugs his shoulders, and doesn't really care, as he's invented dozens of new spells over the years.
When most other spellcasters will never invent, or create a new spell during their lifetimes, at all.
"Range?" asks lord Farque who immediately sees the benefit of the new spell the highly talented elven magic user just created.
As it's very similar to the power of the mindspeech of the undead that he has.
"Not sure, that's the first time I've been successful with it" is the reply of the elven princeling who is the envoy for the armies of Farque.
"And it only works on other spellcasters" explains the elven masterthief, who follows with "I've done some experimenting on non spellcasters, and it doesn't work".
"Experimenting on who?" suspiciously asks Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit.
With a grin upon his youthful looking face, the elven masterthief tells the halfling former air sailor "You".
Then looking at field commander Drubine, prince Helbenthril Raendril adds "And you Tam".
The elven master archer continues with "And everyone else in the group who doesn't know magic".
"Dorc?" asks Mira Reinholt, which causes the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel, to say "Yeah, I'm not going to do that".
"Who knows" says the spellcaster who was the youngest ever member of the mage council of Vexil, who continues with "Not seeing him, might mean his immunity to mind spells might not work".
"I'm not falling for that" sourly says the highly talented elven magic user, which causes his fellow spellcaster the mage Reinholt to chuckle, then say "It was worth a try".
Then the lord and ruler of the lands Farque interrupts his two councilors who are masters of the arcane arts, and says to the elven masterthief "Keep experimenting with that".
The large, heavily armoured deathlord continues with "See how far you can go with it" followed by "It'll be useful you, Mira, Saanea and Beldane to keep in contact with one another over long distances".
"Will do" says the grandson of Prince Raendril of Laerel.
"Then maybe you can teach it to me" says the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil, who is also a highly skilled swordmaster.
The elven master assassin looks at his fellow spellcaster, and says to him "In all seriousness, i don't think you can".
Helbe the elven thief continues with "I don't think you have the skill or ability to cast it" followed by "Infact i know you don't".
Then holding up a hand to forestall anything the mage Reinholt might say, the elven princeling tells him "It's got nothing to do with how much power you have or don't have".
The elven envoy then follows that with "You just don't have the subtlety or the skill" he then adds "As it is already, when you mindspeech with someone you shout, and you were even worse when you had all your powers".
Nodding his head, Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit says "I agree" followed by "Every time you do that to me Mira, i jump in fright because you're yelling in my mind".
The halfling, who isn't what he appears to be, adds "And it was even worse years back before you went missing, before you lost your powers".
The mage Reinholt winces, as he can't deny that. And knows his fellow councilors are correct.
He's never been subtle, as mages have no need to be. And though he's learnt to be patient, and be more creative since he lost the vast majority of his powers.
He'll never be skillful enough to learn some of the spells that Helbe the elven thief has created over the years.
The Vexilian mage in exile just nods in response to what prince Helbenthril Raendril and Jarjin Littlefoot just said.
Then he looks at the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who returns to the topic at hand.
The undead warlord gestures to the elven master assassin to turn back to the middle of the book, where there's a map of the ancient kingdom of Gilbanath across the center pages of the old leather bound book.
Tracing along the dotted line that bisects The City of Ruins, from northeast to southwest.
Roughly cutting the ancient city in two, with most of the northern half of the giant hole in the ground, being part of what once was the kingdom of Gilbanath.
The lord and ruler of the lands Farque says "If we find them in the pit, it'll be up in that part of the ancient city".
Draugadrottin continues on with "They might not be there at the moment, but they will be by the time we find them".
The lord of the death realm briefly pauses, before saying "That's not what I'm worried about".
He gestures to the north of The City of Ruins on the map in the book, then says "It's up there that I'm worried about" followed by "They could be fucking anywhere up there".
"How far do you reckon that is?" asks Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit.
"I'd say nearly forty miles if you compare it to the new maps there" replies Helbe the elven thief.
The others all nod in agreement with the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel.
Then the exiled Vexilian mage says "They were right about it not being a particular big kingdom" followed by "It's more the size of a small city-state" he then adds "No wonder it's existence was short lived".
Nodding his full helmed head, the deathlord of Farque says "A lot of ancient kingdoms weren't that large".
Des'tier continues with "And the rise of the city-states has only been over the last one thousand years or so".
Pointing at the ancient kingdom of Gilbanath in the middle pages of the old leather bound book, the undead warlord says "So it's no surprise it was only so big".
Draugadrottin briefly pauses, before continuing with "Though it's still fucking big enough that we could spend ages wandering around trying to find them".
The others all nod in agreement to that, then Mira Reinholt the mage asks "So what do we do first?".
Gesturing at the map in the book that Helbe the elven thief purchased earlier this morning.
The spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil, who is also a highly skilled swordmaster says "Search down in northern half of the pit first?" followed by "Or up in the countryside to the north of The City of Ruins?".
"That's why you're all here" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who after a brief pause, adds "To help me plan what we'll do" . . . . . .

The Find 8.

Autumn.

Hilsons Point. The edge of The City of Ruins. Morning.
Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit looks back to where Helbe the elven thief said the bakery stood.
Where there's now just an empty gap, close to the edge of the giant hole in the ground.
Down within it, lies the ancient city of Dalphene, or as it's more commonly called, The City of Ruins.
The halfling former air sailor who is originally from the Sultanate of Dreese, which lies on the far east coast of the continent. Shares a look with the elven masterthief beside him.
"This can't be good" quietly says Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel, nods his hooded head in agreement with him.
"Mira's that way" says Helbe the elven thief who has sensed where his fellow spellcaster, Mira Reinholt the mage is.
"Dorc is probably with him" adds the highly talented elven magic user, who then nods at Narladene the ground pixie to go that way, and see what's happening.
The naturally magical creature who is on the right shoulder of the elven masterthief she's attached to.
And who is only visible to him at the moment, and a mangy looking dog that slinks across the dirt packed street infront of them.
Takes off, and wings her way to where she too can sense the once powerful mage.
Who like Helbe the elven thief and Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, is a member of the personal council to lord Farque.
The halfling former air sailor who isn't at all what he appears to be. And the elven master assassin, head to where the highly talented elven magic user can sense the mage Reinholt.
They don't get far, before they start to hear something with their naturally enhanced hearing.
The two of them stop and share a look, then Jarjin Littlefoot quietly says "That doesn't sound too good".
The hobbit, who is really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra, by the name of Zubutai Timaginson.
Who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of Jarjin Littlefoot.
Then dryly adds "That pretty much sounds like a certain somebody having a tanty".
"Yep" says the young elven noble who is the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel.
"Come on, let's see what's happening" adds the elven master archer.
The two of them set off again through the town of Hilsons Point.
One of the many towns and villages along the southern edge of the giant hole in the ground. Within which is The City of Ruins.
And like all the towns overlooking the ancient city of Dalphene. It's fairly busy this morning, on what's a cold autumn day, here in the very north of the central regions of The Southlands.
As they turn onto another street, Narladene the ground pixie lands back upon the right shoulder of the elven masterthief she's attached to.
The elven princeling from Laerel rolls his eyes, and sourly smiles. And doesn't even bother asking the tiny winged creature what's happening.
Besides she's too busy, bent over in silent laughter to answer anything he might ask her.
The two councilors, Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman, and prince Helbenthril Raendril.
Turn right onto another street, where they hear the yelling, shouting, growling, not to mention things being smashed, are coming from.
The halfling former air sailor, and the elven master assassin come to a stop.
Just infront of them stands Mira Reinholt the mage and Shur Kee the monk.
While a crowd of locals have gathered along a fair chunk of this street.
Which Helbe the elven thief sees is a pretty new street, as are the buildings on it.
As this part of town, wasn't even here, the last time he and the group at that time, was here nearly twenty years ago.
There's a few scared and anxious looking people standing outside one of the shops.
The shop that all the commotion is coming from. As a roar can be heard from inside it, followed by something being smashed.
"I gather that's Dorc bakery?" asks Jarjin aka Zubutai Timaginson as he and Helbe the elven thief stand beside the once powerful mage, and the short, statured monk.
"Ah not quite" says Mira Reinholt the mage, who briefly pauses, before he adds "Well it is kinda" followed by "Though not really as well".
"Oh this should be interesting" murmurs the halfling former air sailor who was once in the air fleet of the Sultan of Dreese.
"You can say that again" dryly says the mage who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil.
The human spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster says "You see where Dorc's bakery once stood?".
Both the hobbit and the elf nod, then the mage Reinholt tells them "The ground started giving away beneath it as it was so close to the edge".
Nodding his hooded head at the bakery that has a rampaging ork inside of it.
The spellcaster, who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands.
Until he was stripped of most of his powers, when he went offworld through a rift/void spell that he accidentally cast a number of years ago.
Says to the halfling former air and the elven magic user "They moved here about twelve years ago, when this part of town was being built".
"The former owner, the baker who Dorc brought the place off, suddenly died about eight years ago, and his son took over" continues the exiled Vexilian mage, who then adds "He drove the business into the ground in less than two years, and he sold up to become an adventurer down in the pit".
The swordmaster Reinholt follows that with "Even though the bakers still working here from nearly twenty years ago, told him he couldn't sell it, as it belongs to the big, green monster that brought it off his father".
The once powerful mage shrugs as he says "He didn't listen, and said that, the monster hasn't been seen for years".
"Now the monster is back" says Jarjin aka Zubutai the son of Timagin.
"Yep, he sure is" says councilor Reinholt as a loud crashing sound comes from within the bakery.
"And i guess that lot bought the place?" says the halfling former air sailor as he nods to small group of people on the street, infront of the shop that's being torn apart from the inside.
"Correct again" says Mira Reinholt, who continues with "They were warned at the time by the bakers who were working here when it got sold, who it was that actually owned the bakery".
"Those bakers all left, and this lot didn't listen" says the Vexilian mage in exile, who gestures at the bakery within which is Dorc da Orc, and he adds "And now we've got this".
The spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, continues with "That fat oaf being the food snob he is, isn't happy with the quality of the cakes and pastries in there, compared to what the old bakers used to make".
The once powerful mage then dryly adds "He's more annoyed at that, than he is at it being sold to someone else".
"Well, technically it still is his if you think about it" says the hobbit from the far east coast of the continent.
"You sure you weren't a lawyer in one of your lives?" dryly says prince Helbenthril Raendril with a sideways look, and down at his fellow councilor, the halfling former air sailor.
Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman sourly smiles up at the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel.
Then the hobbit from the Sultanate of Dreese, says "Well, someone better do something about that big, raving lunatic in there before the local authorities turn up".
Both the spellcasters, Mira Reinholt the mage and Helbe the elven thief snort when they hear that.
Then the elven master archer says "What authorities?".
With the Vexilian mage in exile adding "There's no authorities here, or any of the towns and villages around the pit".
The practitioner of magic, who was the youngest ever member of the mage council of Vexil continues with "You should of learnt that from that fight last night over in Peacesmith".
"He should of" says the elven masterthief who then dryly adds "Except he spent nearly all of it cowering under a table".
Jarjin aka Zubutai Timaginson turns red with embarrassment at that. As he can't deny it in anyway. Because he did spend most of that fight under a table.
"Fisticuffs really isn't this body's strong suit" says the halfling who is a member of the personal council to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"That's for sure" dryly says the grandson of Prince Raendril of Laerel, who then adds "But you're right, it's probably for the best if someone stopped the raving lunatic".
The highly talented elven magic user looks at his fellow spellcaster, and says "Mira?".
"Nah, just let him wear himself out" says the mage Reinholt in reply to the enquiring look from his fellow practitioner of magic.
"Dorc?" says the elven masterthief in an incredulous tone of voice, followed by "Wear himself out?" after a slight pause, he adds "In a bakery?".
"Good point" dryly murmurs the once powerful mage, who then quickly says "Pass".
After rolling his eyes at that response from the exiled Vexilian swordmaster.
The elven master assassin looks at the short, statured monk and asks him "Shur Kee, you want to try?".
"Ah" says Shur Kee the monk, who then tells the elven masterthief "That is alright with you friend Helbe, i would rather not".
"Wise man" murmurs the elven princeling from the island  of Laerel.
Then looking down at the halfling former air sailor, Helbe the elven thief asks him "You want to give it a try?".
"Are you fucking nuts?" says Jarjin aka Zubutai the son of Timagin, who follows that with "I just told you this body isn't up to scratch in any physical confrontation".
The hobbit then sourly adds "Especially against a raving lunatic like Dorc, who is probably stuffing his face in there, as he smashes the place up".
"I wasn't serious with you" dryly says the elf who is a member of the royal family that rules the island principality of Laerel.
"I was trying to include you in the group, so you don't feel left out" adds the highly talented elven spellcaster.
"Thanks" sourly says the halfling from the far east coast of the continent.
"You're welcome" says Helbe the elven thief with a wide smile upon his face.
Who then walks towards the bakery, and the group standing infront of it. To afraid to go into their own shop, because of who is in there.
While the crowd along the street gets larger, as more people come to see what all the commotion is all about.
"They told you he'd be back" says the elven master assassin as he walks by the current baker and his apprentices.
Before they can say anything, Prince Helbenthril Raendril walks through the front door of the bakery.
Or what's left of the front door, as it's been ripped off, and lies outside on the street.
While pretty much the entire door frame, and bits of the surrounding front wall are gone.
The elven practitioner of magic murmurs "Colourful" as he looks around at the mess inside the front of the bakery.
What's essentially the shop, as all the actual baking is done out in the back half of the building.
The elven masterthief winces as he hears a loud roar from the back of the shop, followed by something crashing down.
Helbe the elven thief glances at his right shoulder, and Narladene the ground pixie murmurs to him "He's in a mood".
"No kidding" murmurs the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel.
Who then makes his way through the ruins of the front of house, and heads to the kitchen and bakehouse, at the back of the building.
The elven princeling notices in the ruined shop that although a lot of the product has been thrown about.
It looks like an awful lot of the cakes, pastries, bread and other delicacies are missing.
More than likely eaten by the rampaging ork warleader who is more than a little unhappy with the situation concerning his bakery.
The highly talented elven magic user steps over some broken shelving, and steps through a large hole in the wall, into the back of the building.
Looking around at the kitchens, the elf who is the envoy for the armies of Farque.
Sees that one of the large wall ovens has been destroyed, the brickwork all collapsed.
And the only reason the other one is still intact, is because it's still warm. Even though there's a large ork glaring at it, as he stands amongst the ruins of some of the work benches back here.
"Dorc" says Helbe the elven thief, who refrains from grinning as Dorc da Orc grunts "Huh?".
And turns to look at him, and the ork warleader's face is smeared with chocolate.
Well, the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel hopes it's chocolate.
He's certain it is, for if it was the large ork's own shit, it would reek like hell.
"What are you doing?" asks the elven masterthief.
"You see what these cunts done to Dorc's bakery?" says the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world.
"The cunts say they fucken own it" continues the ork weaponsmith, who follows that with "Not just fucken that, the fucken stuffs here not as fucken good as the last time".
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name. Forgets an awful lot of things over the years.
But some things he's got the knack of remembering perfectly. Like the quality of cakes, pies and bakery goods, from a single visit nearly twenty years ago.
"Look at this fucken shit" growls the warleader of the ork race.
Who steps over to one of the benches he hasn't destroyed yet. Where there's a row of freshly made cakes that were about to go out to that front of the shop.
"Gots fucken bits of fruits on all of them" growls the large ork who is a general in the armies of Farque.
"They look pretty good" quietly says the elven master assassin as he eyes the cakes.
"You would say that, you fucken fruits eater" mutters Dorkindle, who then smashes his right fist down onto bench, breaking it and sending bits of cake flying in all directions.
As the elven master archer steps to one side to avoid the flying debris.
The ork general quickly licks his fist that's covered with cream, cake and slices of peaches.
He may hate fruit, but that doesn't stop the weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks from eating any of the cakes and other bakery goods in here.
"You know, this is still actually your bakery when you think about it" says Helbe the elven thief, when the large ork goes back to glaring at the oven, that's too warm for him to get close to.
The big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world, grunts, then blinks in surprise, before looking at the elven master assassin, and saying "It is?".
The elven envoy nods his hooded head, then says "The son of the baker you bought it from had no right to sell it, so technically I'd say it's still yours".
The ork warleader mulls that over for a few moments, then he grunts and says "Fuck yeah".
A short while later, and the elven princeling and the ork general step outside.
Where Dorc da Orc who is covered in powdered sugar, and has chocolate smeared all over his face.
Throws a pouch of gold coins at the feet of the current baker, and tells him "Fucken fix that place up".
The ork weaponsmith follows that with "And make better fucken stuffs, no fruits!".
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world adds "Me will be back one day soon to make sure all the fucken stuffs is good".
Dorkindle briefly pauses before he continues with "If not, me will fucken smash the shit out of this place again".
Then the large ork along with the elven masterthief go and join Mira Reinholt the mage, Shur Kee the monk, and Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit.
The five of them then walk away, heading to the west of town, where the Quick Gull is waiting for them . . . . . .

The Find 7.

Autumn.

The town of Hilsons Point. On the southern edge of The City of Ruins. Early morning.
"This it?" asks Mira Reinholt the mage, who then adds "It looks vaguely familiar".
The once powerful mage briefly pauses before continuing with "It's gotten bigger, that's for sure".
"This is definitely it" says Helbe the elven thief, who follows that with "And yeah, they've expanded a bit haven't they".
The young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel looks back and says "Look familiar Dorc?".
"Yeah, me fucken think so" says Dorc da Orc, who has been muttering, and complaining about missing out on the rumble last night in the town of Peacesmith.
"Can't fucken 'member where it is" adds the large ork as he and the others look around as they enter the town of Hilsons Point.
Which is the town along the south of the giant hole in the ground, that The City of Ruins is down in.
That's closest to the edge, so much so, that over the last couple of centuries it's been in existence.
Some of the buildings have fallen into the giant hole, where the ground gives way in some places.
As parts of the edge, not just here to the south. But right around the giant hole that's six miles wide at it's widest, and over ten miles in length.
Isn't exactly stable, definitely not stable enough to build on. But all the same, people do.
"I'm pretty sure it's that way" says the elven masterthief as he points to the east.
The grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel, continues with "There's that tavern with the porch right up to the edge of the hole, just a couple of buildings away from it".
Nodding his hooded head, the mage Reinholt says "I remember now".
The spellcaster who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil, then adds "We'll met you at that tavern afterwards".
"Will do" says the elven master assassin, who along with Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit.
Watch the once powerful mage, and the large ork walk way after the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, says "Come along Dorc, let's find that bakery of yours".
The young elven noble who is a member of the royal family, looks to the right and quietly says "Keep an eye on them".
"I will friend Helbe" is the quiet reply from Shur Kee the monk.
Who heads after the Vexilian mage in exile, and the large ork from the southern polar region of the world.
Who has gone back to muttering and complaining about missing that fight last night in the town of Peacesmith.
The elven master archer looks down at the halfling standing beside him.
"Know where it is?" asks Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, who like the highly talented elven magic user, as well Mira Reinholt.
Is a member of the personal council to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"That merchant in Peacesmith gave pretty good directions to that trader's shop here" says the young elven noble who is the grandson of Prince Raendril of Laerel.
The elven master assassin glances at his right shoulder, and after slightly nodding his hooded head, he says to the halfling former air sailor "It's there".
"Good" mutters the hobbit, who isn't exactly what he appears to be.
The halfling, who is originally from the Sultanate of Dreese, which is all the way over on the far east coast of the continent, says "Let's get there".
The hobbit, who is really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra, by the name of Zubutai Timaginson.
Who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of Jarjin Littlefoot.
Then says to his fellow councilor "Didn't think it got this cold this far north". As he wraps his cloak around himself tighter, and adds "And it's only autumn".
Nodding his hooded head as he sets off, the elven princeling says "It's the winds coming from the south, off not just one mountain range, but two".
For though the Colevar Mountains and the Sunreach Mountains are over three hundred and fifty miles apart.
And The City of Ruins is about two hundred and fifty miles north of the Colevar Mountains, which is the closer of the two giant mountain ranges.
The prevailing weather, and winds come north from those mountains.
Cooling the lands for a few hundred miles north of them, during the autumn, and especially during the winter.
It's the other way round in the spring and summer, where up here in the very north of the central regions of The Southlands, it can get extremely hot and dry.
"Last time we were here, it was the end of summer" says prince Helbenthril Raendril as he leads the way through the town of Hilsons Point.
The highly talented elven magic user continues with "And it was stinking warm then".
As he and the halfling former air sailor turn onto another dirt packed street in the town that's already bustling at this early time in the morning.
The elf who is a member of the personal council to lord Farque, quietly adds "Though not as hot as it was in the desert on the otherside of that portal down in The City of Ruins".
Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman nods, then he looks back behind them, in the direction of the giant hole, in which is the ancient city of Dalphene, or The City of Ruins as it's more commonly called.
"Can you see it from here?" quietly asks the hobbit who is a former air sailor in the Sultan of Dreese's fleet.
"Not really" says Helbe the elven thief, who points up and adds "If we were about five hundred feet up we could see it".
The elven master archer continues with "It's about four and half to five miles away" followed by "Near the center, where it's basically a neutral zone where people live like in any other city".
The elven councilor who is the envoy for the armies of Farque, momentarily pauses, before he continues with "Well it was a neutral zone, who knows if it is nowadays".
Jarjin aka Zubutai the son of Timagin nods, then his fellow councilor prince Helbenthril Raendril tells him "Around the corner to the right" followed by "Third shop along".
As they go in search of a trader in ancient maps, here in the town of Hilsons Point.
On what's a cold autumn morning, here in the north of the central regions of The Southlands.
When they get onto the street they're looking for, the two of them immediately spot the shop they're searching for.
"Let's hope they've got what we're looking for" says Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit.
Helbe the elven thief nods his hooded head in agreement with his fellow councilor. Who he leads into the shop, where the trader who owns in, deals in maps, and other histories of this area of the north, of the central region of The Southlands.
"There's the tavern down there" says Mira Reinholt the mage, who continues with "Looks familiar" followed by "I know where we are now".
Next to the once powerful mage from the city-state of Vexil, the ork warleader grunts.
While following behind the two of them, Shur Kee the monk nods, as he too recognises the tavern that's right up against the edge of the giant hole on the ground. 
"It's a couple of buildings further along the bend, beyond that tavern" says the spellcaster who is also a highly skilled swordmaster.
Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle, which is his given name. Not that anyone calls him that, with the exception of lord Farque, who on a occasion will call the large ork that.
Frowns as he isn't too sure about it as they approach the rear of the tavern.
As they walk around the back of the tavern, as the front of it is almost right up against the edge of the giant hole in the ground.
The ork weaponsmith grunts as he finally realises that they're in the right place.
As the back of the tavern, and the surrounds are something he's seen before.
As they round the southeast corner of the tavern that's so close to the edge of the giant hole in the ground.
A giant hole, that has within it, the ancient city of Dalphene.
Or The City of Ruins as it's been called for more than fifteen centuries.
The mage Reinholt is in the middle of saying "Should be just around". When he falls silent and comes to a stop.
Beside the exiled Vexilian mage, the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world comes to a stop and grunts, and draws in a sharp breath, that he hisses out.
Behind the two of them, the short, statured monk steps to one side, and looks around them.
"Oh" says Shur Kee the monk when he sees what the mage Reinholt and the warleader of the ork race are looking at.
There's a few moments of silence, which is broken by Dorc da Orc saying in a baffled tone "The fuck?".
The weaponsmith from the wolf tribe of orks then says in a growl "Where the fuck is it?".
"Seems to of gone" says Mira Reinholt, who instantly regrets saying that, and winces when the large ork standing next to him, growls at him.
"Me see that cunt" says the growling ork warleader, who then adds "So where the fuck is Dorc's bakery?".
It's Shur Kee the monk who answers with "That is easy friend Dorc".
The acolyte in the philosophical order of Bru Li points as he adds "With the state of the edge there, it is obvious they have had to of moved".
The angry scowl upon the broad, green, feral looking face of the large ork disappears, and he grunts before he says "Little monkey may be fucken rights".
The ork who is a general in the armies of Farque grunts when the once powerful mage says "We'll just ask someone where it is now".
The spellcaster, who was the youngest ever member of the mage council of Vexil.
Until he was kicked off it, and sent into exile. For betraying his homeland during the Battle of Vexil.
Then says "Even better Dorc, why don't you sniff it out" the highly skilled swordmaster continues with "Sniff around for some cakes and the like".
Then the practitioner of magic, who is a member of the personal council to lord Farque, recalls what the large ork likes the best, and he tells him "Or for some chocolate".
"Oooh Dorc likes choc-o-late" says the warleader of the ork race in a tone of delight.
Then the son of the previous matriarch of the wolf tribe of orks, starts breathing heavily in through his wide nostrils, and tries to sniff out the current location of the bakery he purchased nearly twenty years ago, here in the town of Hilsons Point.
"Hmmm" murmurs the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world as he continues to sniff.
Then the large ork who is a general in the armies of Farque starts to drool, and he points and says "Fucken thataway".
They set off, and the ork weaponsmith says "Dorc smells cakes and breads".
Both Mira Reinholt the mage and Shur Kee the monk nod. As they suspect the bakery Dorkindle has located, is busiest first thing in the morning.
"This the only thing you've got about it?" asks Helbe the elven thief.
"And a map, that i wouldn't call accurate" says the trader who has just opened his shop for the day.
"The one in the book is supposed to me more accurate" adds the shopkeeper pointing at the book on the counter he's got down from one of the shelves.
"They say it was written by some crackpot churchman from down in Eweteets about four hundred and fifty years ago, just after the war" adds the trader, referring to the invasion of The Southlands by the Holy Norstran Empire.
"From what i can tell, I'd say it's the best thing ever when it comes to Gilbanath" says the shopkeeper, who follows that with "Says in there it was a kingdom in these parts for just thirty two years, which most historians have never heard of".
Both the elven masterthief and the halfling former air sailor nod to that.
Then after the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel quickly goes through some of the pages in the old book, he says "We'll take it" followed by "And that inaccurate map as well".
The elven master assassin pays for them, as he does he asks the shopkeeper "You wouldn't happen to have any magical tomes dealing with time do you?" he then adds "A friend is looking for something about it".
The elven princeling already knows the trader doesn't, as he's read the man's mind.
"No, don't deal with the arcane arts" says the shopkeeper, who then adds "There's a store down in the pit, right next to our town's ramp, where you might find something like that" followed by "Old Marstell sells magical books and scrolls".
"Thanks for that" says prince Helbenthril Raendril, who picks up the book and rolled up map, and along with Jarjin aka Zubutai Timaginson exit the shop.
Out on the dirt packed street, on this cold autumn morning, the hobbit from the far east coast of the continent, quietly asks in the elven language as he gestures at the book his fellow councilor is holding "What do you think?".
"Better than nothing" replies the highly talented elven magic user, who continues with "Best thing about it is that map in the book is quite specific".
The elven princeling briefly pauses before adding "It shows the southern border of that short lived kingdom, cuts through The City of Ruins".
"Meaning we won't have to search through all of it" says Jarjin Littlefoot.
"Exactly" says Helbe the elven thief, who then adds "Come on, let's find the other three and tell them what we've found".
"Maybe Dorc has found that bakery of his" says councilor Littlefoot, who then dryly adds "At least he won't be moaning and bitching about missing out on that fight last night if he's stuffing his gob with cakes and pastries".
The elven masterthief laughs as the two of them set off to find Mira Reinholt the mage, Shur Kee the monk and Dorc da Orc . . . . . .

The Find 6.

Autumn.

Peacesmith at the southern edge of The City of Ruins. Evening in an inn. A confrontation.
"Oh so what is it then?" asks Helbe the elven thief.
"More like an ultimatum" replies the younger of the two mercenaries, the one wearing a mix of armour.
"Is that so?" says the young elven noble who is from the island principality of Laerel.
"Exactly" says the talkative of the two mercenaries, who follows that with "You lot can either join us".
The mercenary pauses for a moment, before he adds "Or else".
The elven master assassin nods his hooded head, then turns his back on the mercenaries, and looks across the table at lord Farque, and lifts a questioning eyebrow.
The elven masterthief faintly smiles as he sees through the eyeslot in lord Farque's full helm. The undead warlord roll his eyes.
"Well?" asks the younger of the two mercenaries, as the common room has fallen pretty silent, as most of the customers watch the confrontation in the quiet corner of the room.
The fact that nearly half of the customers in here, are part to the mercenary troupe the two mercs confronting those at the two corner tables, belong to. Also has a lot to do with how quiet things have become.
"Well, what?" asks the elf who is a member of the royal family that rules the island principality of Laerel.
"Well, have you decided?" asks the mercenary doing all the talking.
"Oh yeah" says the elven masterthief who is a member of the personal council to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
Who still with his back to the mercenaries, and after a few moments of silence, continues with "Like i said earlier, we're not interested".
The two mercenaries standing near the corner table share a look. Then the older of the two, the grizzled looking fellow, wearing a steel breastplate.
Turns then nods his head, and makes a beckoning motion with his right hand to those at the table he and his fellow mercenary were sitting at.
He didn't actually make a beckoning motion to any of the other mercenaries sitting at that particular table.
He was making a beckoning motion to the mercenary sitting on the floor next to that table, the troll.
As the troll gets up off the floor, the highly talented elven magic user who has his back to the rest of the common room.
Quietly says in the elven language to the other three at the table with him "Would of been good if Shur Kee was here, no one would expect that little guy to beat the shit out of a troll".
"It would certainly make an impression" quietly says Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy from the otherside of the table where he sits next to the undead warlord.
"Don't look at me" mutters Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit when the elven master archer glances at him.
"Fine, i guess I'll do it" dryly murmurs the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel.
"Better hurry" murmurs the spy Tanith, who quickly adds "Looks like Percy will if he gets the chance".
As at the other table, Tovis the war engineer has clamped a hand on the left arm of sir Percavelle Lé Dic.
As the large, heavily armoured knight is about to get up and confront the troll who is making it's way over to this corner of the inn's common room.
"I'll do it" says lord Farque, who gets up from the corner he's been sitting in.
The large, heavily armoured deathlord, walks around the corner table as the two mercenaries back away as their comrade the troll approaches.
The undead warlord is the largest, not to mention tallest human here in the inn by some margin.
With only the elven spy, Dalinvardèl Tanith anywhere as tall as him.
But even so, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who stands closer to seven foot tall, than six and a half foot tall.
Is dwarfed by the near ten foot tall troll, whose head almost brushes the ceiling, here in the common room of the inn, one of the largest inns in the town of Peacesmith.
The troll, who is wearing mismatched leather armour, that barely covers him in places.
And has a giant club strapped to his back, a club that resembles a small tree, without any branches more than anything else.
And has a human sized two handed broadsword on his belt, that looks like a shortsword on him.
Growls as he walks straight at lord Farque. The large troll, who must weigh in excess of a thousand pounds.
Doesn't try to hit the undead warlord, as now everyone in the common room, including the innkeeper behind the bar, as well as the serving maids watch the confrontation in what was the quiet corner of the room.
The troll mercenary, goes to grab the large, heavily armoured deathlord to fling him out of the way.
As it does, the lord and ruler of the lands Farque moves, and throws a punch.
The undead being, who is also known by the name of Draugadrottin to the people of his lands.
Doesn't move as fast as he can, nor does he throw the punch as hard as he can.
Infact, to those at the two tables, who know him, and travel with him. Would say, he's hardly trying at all, and they would be right.
Nevertheless, the deathlord of Farque's punch hits the large troll square in the chest.
The sound of the hit can be heard by everyone in the common room of the inn.
So can the breath of the troll exploding from it's mouth, as well as the strangled grunt of pain, as it's lifted off the floor, and thrown backwards to where it came from.
The two mercenaries who first confronted the group at the two tables in the corner of the room.
Are to one side, and avoid getting hit by the troll that goes flying backwards through the air.
Not so, the other mercenaries at the table twenty five feet away, that the troll was sitting next to.
The troll with it's arms and legs flailing about, smashes into that table, and most of the mercenaries sitting there.
Bodies, bits of broken benches, and the shattered table go flying as the troll comes to a sudden stop.
There's groaning from the mercenaries who aren't killed by the impact.
While the rest of the common room is silent, as they look at the troll, lying on the debris of that table and benches.
With his leather armour vest ripped to shreds, and his chest torn open, with shattered ribs sticking out of it in all directions.
From where he was punched by the large, heavily armoured deathlord. Who walks back around the table, and takes his seat on the bench. And pours himself another skop from the bottle of mead that he brought earlier.
In the silence, it's Helbe the elven thief who speaks up, as he turns on the bench he's sitting on with Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit.
And says to the pair of stunned looking mercenaries who confronted the group "Like i said, we're not interested".
As most everyone is looking at the dead troll, looking at it shock at the state it's in.
Then the older of the two mercenaries screws up his face in anger.
"Oh here we go" mutters Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit, followed by "That fucking did it".
Then just as the elven princeling from Laerel dryly murmurs "Well, guess we've got ourselves a fight".
The grizzled veteran of a mercenary, who along with the younger one who did all the talking, is the co-leader of the mercenary troop.
Shouts out to his fellow mercenaries "Get them!".
"Fight!" yells Tovis the war engineer, who let's go off sir Percavelle Lé Dic's arm.
The large, heavily armoured knight doesn't need an invitation, he's up and moving.
Just as Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy leaps over the other table.
Which the halfling former air sailor from the far east coast of the continent, Jarjin Littlefoot. Quickly scrambles under.
As Tamric Drubine the field commander gets to his feet, after muttering "Fucking hell".
Followed by the war engineer, from the kingdom of Druvic, Tovis. And Lisell Maera the scout.
As there's a momentary pause, just before the mercenary troupe, almost as one, rush the two tables in the corner of the common room.
As they do, Saanea the witch prepares to cast.
While the grandson of Prince Raendril of Laerel, has already cast, as he's disappeared from where he was sitting.
As the fight breaks out in the common room of the large inn. With sir Percavelle Lé Dic shouting "Saint Mar-che!". As he runs head first into a number of the oncoming mercenaries.
Lord Farque moves his head to one side, and a bottle of wine thrown his way, smashes into the wall next to him.
The undead warlord picks up the skop of mead he's poured, turns his head and looks into the corner, as he lifts up the faceplate of his full helm, then drinks the mead.
As all around him, the group are fighting about thirty or so mercenaries, from a single troupe, who are here, in the common room of the inn.
"Not much in the way of fucken food" grumbles Dorc da Orc as another platter is put down before him.
It consists of mostly cheese and cold sliced meat. As the tavern they're in, only has a small selection of food in the evenings.
"The beer is fine, and it's cold too" says Mira Reinholt the mage, who then adds "So, at least that's something".
The large ork grunts in agreement, then with two hands, shovels everything on the wooden platter, into his mouth.
While the once powerful mage grimaces in disgust as he watches the ork warleader stuff his face.
The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world, puts the platter to one side. It's the fifth one he's had.
Then with a mouthful of food, Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name.
Picks up the barrel of beer on the floor beside him, and starts gulping it down.
As he sits there, the ork weaponsmith downs at least half of the medium sized barrel.
All the while, every customer in the tavern watches him in silence. As none of them have ever seen an ork before.
The large ork loudly burps, which breaks the silence. And the other customers slowly go back to their meals, drinks and conversations.
"Anything else to eat?" asks the serving maid when she walks over.
"Nah" replies Dorc da Orc who then adds "Just another one of these cunts" as he gestures at the half empty barrel of beer.
The serving maid nod as she scoops up the gold coins the warleader of the ork race puts on the table.
Then she heads back to the bar to get another barrel, and someone else to help her roll it over to the table the ork weaponsmith, and the once powerful mage are sitting at.
"We'll go that way in the morning, and check the towns out there" says the mage Reinholt a little bit later, as he points away to the east after they exit the tavern.
The large ork who is a general in the armies of Farque, who has the unopened barrel tucked under his right arm, grunts.
And does so again, when the mage who is in exile from his homeland, the city-state of Vexil, adds "That bakery you bought all those years ago is obviously in a town that way".
Then the spellcaster, who is also a highly skilled swordmaster, leads the ork weaponsmith away from the tavern, which Shur Kee the monk exits behind them.
The practitioner of magic, who was once the most powerful mage of his generation to be found anywhere in the Southlands.
Until he was stripped of most of his powers, when he went offworld through a rift/void spell he accidentally cast a number of years ago.
Leads the way, westwards through the town of Peacesmith, to the inn a few streets away that lord Farque was going into, when the exiled  Vexilian mage, and the ork weaponsmith left him earlier in the evening.
As they get closer to the where the large inn is, the mage who is a member of the personal council to the lord and ruler of the lands Farque. Sees the ork general tilt his head to one side, no doubt listening to something.
"What is it Dorc?" asks the highly skilled swordmaster.
"Fight" is the one word reply of the big, burly ork from the frozen bottom of the world.
"Oh hell" mutters the Vexilian mage in exile, who picks up the pace, and walks faster.
A short time later, and the two of them, followed by Shur Kee the monk round a corner as a couple of people go running by them.
They're greeted by the sight of a number of bodies lying on the street infront of the large inn, that lord Farque entered earlier.
With sir Percavelle Lé Dic astride a man on the ground, a mercenary by the looks of it.
Who the former paladin, is punching the shit out of. With his gauntleted fists pummeling the mercenary into unconsciousness.
And as other people run down the street that leads to the nearest ramp, that goes down into The City of Ruins.
Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy is on the front porch of the inn. Where he spins around, and kicks another mercenary in the side of the head, sending the merc tumbling off the front of the porch.
To hit the dirt packed street, unconscious and unmoving, like the other bodies lying about are.
Then Tovis the war engineer comes hustling out the front door of the inn. The doorway really, as the door has busted off it's hinges.
The young engineer from the kingdom of Druvic has another mercenary in a bear hug, and he runs with him off the front porch of the inn, and dive tackles him into the ground.
Just then, a body goes flying out through a window devoid of it's shutters.
It's another mercenary by the looks of it. And by the speed, and force he's moving at. And the fact he ends up landing on the otherside of the street, infront of another building, where a couple of other mercenaries lie, either unconscious or dead.
It's obvious he was hit by a spell of some kind.
There's a moment of silence after Tovis slams a forearm into the face of the mercenary he slam tackled into the ground.
Then the voice of Helbe the elven thief can be heard from inside the inn, calling out "That's all of them!".
"Fuck!" shouts Dorc da Orc, who after a slight pause, adds in tone of disappointment "Me miss out on all the fun" . . . . . .

The Find 5.

Autumn.

The town of Peacesmith. The southern edge of The City of Ruins. Early evening.
And Dorc da Orc says "Hmmmm don't fucken think it's here" the large ork then adds "What you think killer?".
"I think you're right Dorc" says Mira Reinholt the mage, who knew it wasn't here.
As he's pretty certain it's in one of the other towns further to the east of here.
"We'll try again in the morning, in one of the other towns" says the once powerful mage, who gestures away to their right, and adds "Look, there's a tavern down the street, we'll go and get a drink and something to eat".
The ork warleader who was so excited to find his bakery, and was feeling glum that it wasn't here in the town of Peacesmith.
Brightens at the prospect of some booze and food. The big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world loudly murmurs "Get some".
As he and the spellcaster from the city-state of Vexil start making their way to the tavern down the street.
The ork weaponsmith and the mage who is also a highly skilled swordmaster.
Are followed by Shur Kee the monk, who lord Farque has asked to keep an eye on Dorc da Orc and Mira Reinholt.
Meanwhile, on the west side of town, Tamric Drubine the field commander is saying "Wonder how far it is?".
As he looks down into the giant hole in the ground, within which is The City of Ruins.
"At least five hundred feet" says Tovis the war engineer, who follows that with "And that's just here, it's deeper in other places".
Although it's early evening, there's enough lamps, torches, and even fires that are lit to see by, down in the ancient city below.
Not to mention, away to their left. Is the first of the stone ramps, that go down into The City of Ruins.
And even now, people are either going down into the ancient city, while others are coming up the ramp.
That is lit with torches, that are on either side of it, all the way along it's length.
The young war engineer and the young field commander. Are with Lisell Maera the scout and Saanea the witch.
And they watch as everyone from children on carts, pulled by their parents, to mercenary companies, hundreds strong.
Head down the stone ramp to The City of Ruins, down in the giant hole in the ground.
Peacesmith, like any of the towns close to one of the ramps. Is a bustling place, even at this time of the night.
The four of them then look away to the north, where about a mile away, there's a flash of light down in the ancient city.
Followed by a few moments later, of a dull thud of an explosion from that direction.
"Lively place" dryly says Lisell Maera the scout.
The other three nod in agreement with the attractive young woman originally from the city-state of Brattonbury.
Then all four of them turn, as Dalinvardèl Tanith the elven spy walks up to them, and says "There's an inn a couple streets back".
The elf, who hails from the principality of Alínlae, and is now a company commander in the armies of Farque, then adds "The lord is there".
Tamric Drubine, Tovis the war engineer, Lisell Maera, and Saanea the witch, follow the spy Tanith, walking away from the edge of the giant hole in the ground.
Lord Farque, who has got one eye on sir Percavelle Lé Dic, making sure the nobleborn knight from the kingdom of Druvic doesn't cause any trouble here in the common room of the inn.
Looks up, and sees Helbe the elven thief, and Jarjin Littlefoot enter the inn.
The undead warlord, who senses five others in the group, heading this way to the inn.
Watches the elven masterthief and the halfling former air sailor. Thread their way through the busy common room.
To the table in the quiet corner, where the heavily armoured deathlord is sitting.
"Bit of luck" quietly says Helbe the elven thief once he and Jarjin Littlefoot are seated at the same table as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"A merchant here in town, says there's a trader a couple of towns over, who deals in ancient tomes and maps" continues the young elven noble from the island principality of Laerel.
"Probably the best hope to find out about the ancient kingdom of Gilbanath" adds the grandson of the ruling prince of Laerel, who follows that with "Especially here, along the south of the hole".
Nodding his full helm head, lord Farque says "The same town i seem to recall Dorc's bakery is in".
The heavily armoured deathlord continues with "Go with Mira and that fat fuck in the morning, and see what you can find out".
"Where are those two?" asks Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit as he looks around.
"In a tavern a couple streets away to the east" says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, who follows that with "Shur Kee is with them, keeping an eye on the two of them".
Both the elven master assassin and the halfling former air sailor, who are two of the members of the personal council to lord Farque, nod when they hear that.
The deathlord of Farque, who also has the name of Draugadrottin that his people know him by.
Senses the group of Dalinvardèl Tanith, Tamric Drubine, Lisell Maera, Tovis the war engineer and Saanea the witch about to enter the busy inn.
And he says to the highly talented elven magic user "Get rid of those two sitting at Percy's table".
The two customers sitting at the next table with sir Percavelle Lé Dic, suddenly get up, and move off, much to the annoyance of the large, heavily armoured knight, who was in the middle of telling them one of his adventures he's got up to in his life.
"How rude, wot" says sir Percavelle Lé Dic with a shake of his head in disgust as he watches his two table companions walk away.
The nobleman who hails from the kingdom of Druvic, looks at the three sitting at the corner table next to his, and says "I say, did you three see the shocking behaviour of those two?" he then adds "Just got up, and rudely left, wot".
"No" replies lord Farque, followed by "No" from Helbe the elven thief, and a "No" from Jarjin Littlefoot the hobbit.
The member of the order of The Knights of Saint Mar-che grunts in disappointment that he can't vent to the three at the next table.
Then he sourly smiles, as the lord and ruler of the lands Farque, and the elf and hobbit, who are two of his councilors.
Go back to their conversation in the elven language, a language the nobleman from the kingdom of Druvic doesn't understand.
Dalinvardèl Tanith or Dalin as he's more commonly called by the others in the group. Leads the others with him into the inn.
The spy who previously served in one of the more prominent noble houses of his homeland, the elven principality of Alínlae.
Sees how busy the common room of the inn is. And though a full on fight might not break out anytime soon.
The tight confines, and the amount of people in here, there's bound to be some arguments and scuffles in here if one isn't careful.
The spy Tanith leads the others through the crowd, to the only quiet corner in the common room.
As he slips between customers, people of all races, from old men, to dwarves and halflings, and even a troll of all things.
Dalin hopes none of the male humans try anything on with either Lisell Maera or Saanea the witch.
As the attractive young woman from the city-state of Brattonbury would more than likely gut the first person who touches her inappropriately.
While the pretty looking hillwoman would likely turn someone into a puddle of goo, if they try to grab her.
It's with some relief that the spy Tanith gets the others to the corner tables where lord Farque, Jarjin Littlefoot, Helbe the elven thief and sir Percavelle Lé Dic are, without any incident.
The elven spy sits at the corner table with Draugadrottin and two of his councilors.
While Tamric Drubine, Lisell Maera, Tovis the war engineer and Saanea the witch sit down at the next table, with sir Percavelle Lé Dic.
"Busy place" says Dalin as he joins the conversation at the table.
The elven spy who is a company commander in the scouts and rangers division of the armies of Farque, then adds "Not just here in the inn, but the town itself".
"It sure is" says Helbe the elven thief, while at the next table, field commander Drubine waves to a passing serving maid to get her attention.
Dalinvardèl Tanith looks around, then asks "Where's the mage and Dorc?" he follows that with "And councilor Kee too?".
"In a tavern a couple of streets away" is the answer from the young elven noble who is a member of the royal family that rules the island principality of Laerel.
"Not safe for Dorc to be in here" says Jarjin Littlefoot, who isn't what he appears to be.
"It isn't?" asks the elven spy originally from the principality of Alínlae.
"Not for them" dryly says the halfling from the far east coast of the continent, nodding his head to a table closer to the counter.
Dalin nods in understanding when he spots the pair of dwarves at the table.
"Nor that troll" adds the hobbit, who is really a hordes outrider from the southern tundra by the name of Zubutai Timaginson.
Who just happens to find himself inhabiting the body of the halfling from the far east coast of the continent.
Again the spy Tanith nods as he sees the troll warrior, sitting on the floor, next to one of the tables that a group of mercenaries and adventurers are at.
They're part of largest group in the common room of the inn, taking at least five of the  tables.
While more of their company are standing around, either in the more open areas of the floor, or at the countertop of the bar.
"Got a bit of a lead" says prince Helbenthril Raendril after Dalin orders a wine from the same serving maid who took the orders of the others at the table with Percy.
And when the elven master assassin informs him that the drinks here are of fairly high quality, the food not so much.
The elven spy nods his head after councilor Raendril explains to him what he and Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman found out about a trader in one of the other towns, here along the southern edge of the giant hole in the ground.
Within which, is the ancient ruins of the city of Dalphene, or as it's more commonly known as, The City of Ruins.
After his wine is delivered, the spy Tanith who has been looking around at the customers in the inn.
He quietly says to the others at the table "We're getting a few looks directed at us".
"We know" says Helbe the elven thief, who follows up with "From that large group of mercs".
Dalinvardèl Tanith nods, and wonders if it might have anything to do with sir Percavelle Lé Dic.
As the large, heavily armoured knight from the kingdom of Druvic is being his usual, loud boisterous self at the next table.
But the elven spy originally from the principality of Alínlae is wrong, for the elven master archer quietly tells him "That lot are wondering if we should join up with them before they go down into the hole tomorrow morning".
"They're hiring eh?" says the elf who is a company commander in the armies of Farque.
"They are" is the reply from the highly talented elven magic user, who then adds "And they tend to get what they want by the looks of things".
"Tough shit for them then" says lord Farque, who pours himself another skop of meade from the bottle at his elbow.
The undead warlord turns his head away, to the corner and lifts the visor of his full helm to take a drink from the small glass vessel.
He's closed the faceplate of his full helm before he turns his head back to look at the others at the table.
"Try not to cause any trouble if you can help it" quietly says the deathlord of Farque, who has the elven name of Des'tier.
Which translates into the common language as, The Destroyer.
"Who me?" asks the highly talented elven magic user in a tone of innocence.
"Yes, you" dryly says the lord and ruler of the lands Farque.
"Company" quietly murmurs Jarjin aka Zubutai Timaginson.
"I know" is the quiet reply from the young elven noble who is from the island principality of Laerel.
Who then turns on the bench he's sitting on with his fellow councilor, Jarjin Littlefoot.
And says in the common language "Sorry, we're not interested". To the mercenary who has just pushed through the crowd, to get to the quiet corner of the common room of the inn.
The mercenary, a young man around the age of Tamric Drubine, is about to say something.
But instead he just nods, then turns around, and shrugs his shoulders as he looks at some of the others in the large group of mercenaries, who are sitting at a table.
As the young mercenary walks away, councilor Littlefoot quietly says in the elven language "Looks like some of that lot at that table aren't too happy".
"Told you they tend to get what they want" quietly says the elven princeling from Laerel.
"Now I'll have to cast on a bunch of them" mutters the elven masterthief who is the envoy for the armies of Farque.
"You could just make an example of them instead" quietly says Dalinvardèl Tanith.
"And if you do, word will spread throughout the other mercenary companies here in Peacesmith, and the other towns to leave us alone" adds the elven spy, who previously served in one of the more prominent noble houses of the principality of Alínlae.
The elven master assassin looks over at lord Farque, who sighs in an annoyed way, before nodding his full helmed head.
"Company again" murmurs Jarjin aka Zubutai the son of Timagin.
"I know, you don't have to keep telling me that" mutters Helbe the elven thief.
The highly talented elven magic user turns on the bench again. And before sir Percavelle Lé Dic can respond to one of the two mercenaries who have just walked over from the nearby table, and said to the nobleborn knight "You lead this group here?".
Helbe the elven thief says "He doesn't" followed by "What can i do for you?".
The mercenary who spoke, the younger of the two, in his thirties in a mix of armour, turns and looks at the elven masterthief.
While his companion, a grizzled veteran in his mid forties, short and muscular, who wears a breastplate and little else in the way of armour.
Watches the group sitting at the two tables in the quiet corner of the inn's common room.
"We're looking for others to join up with us before we venture down into the hole" says the younger of the two mercenaries.
"Thought you lot would be interested" adds the mercenary doing all the talking, who continues with "Looks like you lot could handle yourselves in a scrap".
"We can" says prince Helbenthril Raendril who briefly pauses before he continues with "But we're not interested in your offer".
"It wasn't exactly an offer" says the talkative mercenary, who puts a hand on the hilt of his sword that's on his left hip.
"Hell, here we go" murmurs Jarjin aka Zubutai the barbarian hordesman . . . . . .