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Ludendorf, Lamordia.
December 10, 756.
D
ruinor d'Yantra stepped out of the
carriage, adjusting the slight crumples
on his shirt. His suit exuded
sophistication, a bit uncommon for
someone thirty-two years of age. He was also
meticulous about his brown hair, usually tied to a
neat ponytail, but this time he left it hanging
untied. Without thinking he pulled out a small
piece of folded parchment from his coat pocket
and re-read the unusual note written within.
MIDWAY HAVEN:
I AM INGRID HUNTSCHWEILLER, A SEAMSTRESS. A MAN
CLAIMING TO BE A MONK ENTERED MY SCHOOL AND TOOK UP
RESIDENCE IN ONE OF THE BUILDING'S UPPER ROOMS. HIS
MIND SEEMS TO BE DELUDED, YET HE CLAIMS EVERYTHING
HE "SAW" WAS REAL.
MY STUDENTS HAVE TEMPORARILY TAKEN LEAVE. PEOPLE
ON THE STREET ARE TALKING. I COULD FEEL THE KARGAT
WATCHING ME ALL THE TIME. I HAVE NO ONE ELSE TO TURN
TO BUT YOU. PLEASE COME IMMEDIATELY.
HUNTSCHWEILLER WEAVING SCHOOL
115 KRUEGSTADT STREET
LUDENDORF
Letting out an indifferent sigh he
shoved back the paper into his pocket. It was his
first time to be in Ludendorf, and he already
hated being here. The weather was freezing cold,
he had a tight travel budget, and he had more
important things to do back in the Observatory.
Kruegstadt Street was a bit far from the
city center, seven miles away from the main port.
Except for the imposing white building in front
of Druinor, it could have looked like any other
cramped, cobblestone walkway in any other city.
Already the ground was wet with melted snow,
and little flakes began to fall on this dank, cloudy
autumn morning.
Druinor looked up to the white building
and easily spotted the numbers "115" on the
ornately carved chestnut door. "Well, this the
place," he concluded, putting up a gloved hand to
rub his goatee, "you might as well come out
now."
"Hold on a moment," replied a clear
feminine voice from the carriage, "let me fix my
hood."
A tiny smirk formed on Druinor's face
as he turned back around. "How many times
must I tell you, you don't need the hood. Nobody
would notice you. There's no wind, the weather's
fine," he lied further, "and besides I want
everybody to see how lovely you look."
A slender woman wrapped in a black
coat emerged from the carriage. Maegan
Rumwall stood two inches shorter than Druinor,
with white skin and hair so black it almost gave a
hint of blue. Her features were angular, a
heritage from her elfin father, but her eyes were
large blue orbs, a gift from her human mother.
"You, my dear sir, are becoming a master of
flattery."
"And you, my lady, are more than
worthy of receiving such." he mused. Druinor
took her hand as she alighted from their fifteenhour
ride from Vallaki, in Barovia. "I think it's a
welcome sight to finally see some snow,"
remarked Maegan, looking up to the gray,
overcast skies overhead, then looking back to
Druinor, "the weather back south bores me."
"I'm sure the snowflakes will be loads
of fun for you, but you know what Thuri says:
business first before pleasure." He quickly gave
Maegan a quick smack on the cheek, a strand of
his brown hair blown to his face by a slight
breeze.
Maegan raised an eyebrow. "Quite so,"
she replied, "who passed on the note to you,
anyway?"
Retrieving the parchment back from the
depths of his coat pocket Druinor gave a slight
shrug. "I don't know," he replied, "Dermott
handed it to me. Said it came from one of the
patrons in the Goat Bar."
"The Goat Bar," Maegan smiled slightly
as she took the note Druinor handed to her,
"what a rowdy place to get a drink in." She
unfolded the paper and briefly scanned the
etchings written on it. "I can't believe you can
will yourself to actually go there night after night
and still come back with your sanity intact."
Druinor shrugged again as she handed
the note back to him. "Personally I think it's a
good social habit. You get to meet a whole lot of
people from a wide array of backgrou--"
"Oh don't get me started with the
people," Maegan interrupted, giggling with a
smile that Druinor loved so much, "and, yes,
they come from different backgrounds alright.