Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [14]
The halfling scrambled down from his perch and over to Corran. “Thank ye, sir,” he said, removing his red knit cap and sweeping into a bow that revealed the start of a bald spot in the center of his thin brown curls. “Nottle’s the name. Purveyor of the finest equipment and goods in all Myth Drannor.” He straightened. “An’ who might ye be?”
“Corran D’Arcey, Defender of Tyr. These are my companions, Durwyn, Kestrel, and Ghleanna Stormlake.”
“Well met!” Nottle bowed again in greeting, then stooped to retrieve his merchandise. He hung the frying pan back on the wagon and picked up a quarterstaff from the floor. “Usually I can fend off the beasts m’self, but t’night they got m’staff away from me.”
“This happens all the time?” Kestrel asked. “Why do you stay?”
“Business is good here, m’dear,” he said. “Adventurers comin’ and goin’, all thinkin’ they’re gonna strike it rich, then discoverin’ they ain’t as prepared as they thought they were. That’s where I come in. Actually, the place has gotten a little less dangerous lately-them dreadful alhoon and phaerimm creatures have left this part of the city. The baatezu, too. ‘Course, now we have the drow and undead to put up with, so it’s not exac’ly paradise. Say, are ye needin’ anythin? I’ll cut ye a deal, seeing as Corran here saved my wagon just now.”
“Drow?” Ghleanna asked.
“Indeed, m’dear. They mostly stay below, in the dungeons, but I’ve seen a few here on the surface. At night, a’course.”
Kestrel shuddered. She’d never encountered a drow before, but she’d heard tales of the ruthless subterranean elven race. They were said to have dark skin, shockingly white hair, and no mercy.
“An adventuring band was killed today not far from here,” Corran said. “Did you ever do business with them?”
“Athan’s band? Sad thing, that-them gittin’ killed. I hope they weren’t friends of yers?” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Word is, the scarred mages got ’em.”
At the mention of scarred mages, a tingle raced along Kestrel’s collarbone.
“Who are the scarred mages?” Though she asked the question, she wasn’t sure she wanted to learn the answer. “No one knows fer certain. We jes’ started seein’ ’em one day. I think they got somethin’ to do with the goings-on at the castle. Dunno why they killed yer friends, but I might be able to find out.” He paused, a mercenary glint creeping into his dark eyes. “That kinda information… it don’t come cheap.”
“They weren’t our friends,” Kestrel said. Corran looked at her sharply, probably ready to accuse her of betraying the heroes’ memory or some nonsense like that, but she didn’t care. This little guy was a talker, and if the ill-fated party had disfigured wizards after them, she didn’t need word spread around town that friends of the dead adventurers had come to avenge them. “We just saw them lying in the street and wondered.”
“Curiosity ain’t generally healthy in Myth Drannor,” he said. “But I owe ye for scarin’ off those zombies, so if ye find yerselves needin’ information, come to me. If I don’t know the answer, I can usually find out.”
“Have you heard anything about a Pool of Radiance?” Durwyn blurted.
Gods! If he hadn’t been wearing armor, Kestrel would have kicked the big, dumb warrior for being so obvious.
Nottle scratched his head. “Can’t say as I have.” He pulled a canvas tarp over the wagon. “That some sort of landmark round here? You wanna to talk to the elves up at the shrine-coupl’a Mystra clerics, Beriand and Faeril. They can maybe tell ye more.” He lifted his staff and muttered a word Kestrel couldn’t discern, apparently securing his goods for the night.
The peddler turned back to the group. “The shrine’s hidden in a big tree stump. Head down the street-ye’ll see it.” He patted the many pockets of his oversized vest, then reached inside one to withdraw a scroll. “Ye’ll be needin’ this. Study the word on it afore ye git to the shrine.