|Lord Pelindar Filmarya|
In the shadow of the High Tower of Thalivar, the abandoned mage spire in the center of town, sat Lord Pelindar Filmarya’s at the Table. The Table was a converted and reinforced stone cottage that functioned as the seat of leadership in the northern town. Flanking the small structure are stables that were likewise reinforced and rehabilitated in to militia barracks and exercise grounds.
Lord Pelindar Filmarya listened to his captain of his Lances with growing interest and deep concern. The Lances of Leilon cavaliers of Tyr, The Just god, whose spirit has never faltered even after the Time of Troubles or the attack from the Island Kingdoms. Their bond aligned with Pelindar's own, the safety and prosperity of the hard working people of Leilon.
Many folk dismiss the small mining and fishing town because it does not have any port to speak of, but these are the opinions of the short sighted and individuals with narrow vision.
“These Waterhavians claim there is an armada of diverse vessels out to sea heading south; furthermore these travelers maintain that there is a pending attack on Waterdeep,” said Marquis Randoer.
Marquis is a captain in Leilon’s elite cavalry and gunslinger apprentice. He gained this prestigious post through strict discipline and the high expectations he places with his men. Despite the complaining from some of the lances that Marquis drives them to hard, the Lances of Leilon has lost remarkably few battles and suffered only minor injuries—before the attack last spring.
“Sir.” It was Thorvid Miles a remarkably agile individual for a man of his size; he served as scout and adviser to Lord Pelindar. “I have verified the traveler’s claim, moreover it seems the Waterhavians have taken to the skies to meet this threat head-on.”
“Are they fools?” came a question from the rear of The Table. It was Selim Abu-bin Sujah friend of Lord Pelindar and visitor from the South. “Four against what is likely a pirate fleet supported by Northmen Longships and Luskan warships? The impudence of Waterdeep nobility knows no bounds.” Sujah said with obvious distaste.
Selim Abu-bin Sujah was the best horseman anyone in Leilon had ever seen and was renowned in his home realm for victories against rival tribes. While his services here were appreciated, his real purpose in the North remained a mystery.
“They seemed capable enough,” said Marquis coming to the quick defense of the travelers. “Two of them bore guns,” he finished with pride.
“Nevertheless,” Lord Pelindar interrupted producing a quill and parchment. “We must send word to the Knights of the Firelance.”
After a moment of writing he continued, “Selim I need you to select the best horse in our ranks for Thorvid who will carry this message to Piergeiron.” He handed over the sealed missive and as he did dire ghostly moans tore through the evening silence like dull axe.
The four men filed out of The Table where they witnessed dozens of residents fleeing from The Orc’s Tusks taproom. When they arrived at the entrance of Manyclaws Alley the scene before them briefly shook their faith.
Dancing in a rough ring, slaying everyone that wandered to close were nine lively corpses whose mouths hung open in eternal silent howls. Each wore rotting vestments of a purple hue reeking of disease and rot. In the center of their dance of death was a dark little girl covered in strange runes who was pointing at each person trying to escape. The girl seemed to hold sway over the undead.
“To arms!” Lord Pelindar exclaimed. Then there was the sound of swords being freed from the confines of their scabbards.