The Inn of the Last Home rested high in the boughs of a vallenwood tree-- as did most buildings there, for Solace was a treetop town. Worn steps wound around the massive tree trunk. A polished bar wove about several living branches, and the mouth-watering smell of Otik Sandath's spiced potatoes drifted from the kitchen to mingle with the high-quality ale he sold.

    A low murmur of voices filled the Inn as more people drifted in for a drink or a meal. Otik Sandath, the owner and operator of the Inn of the Last Home, stood behind the bar and wove at Tika to get her attention. He gestured at the table where Seeker Hederick, Theocrat of Solace and leader of the Seekers in the town, sat with an old man. An odd looking boy sat between the bar and Hederick's table, looking around and taking in the sights.

    "You know what to do. Keep it overflowing, if that's what he wants," Otik said to her.

    Tika knew Hederick as someone who turned mean when he'd had too much to drink-- and since he was powerful, Otik believed in keeping Hederick's mug full until he had to be carried out. The old man was unfamiliar to her, but he had been in Solace for several days, telling stories and performing tricks for the children, and, at least for this afternoon, discussing Seeker theology with Hederick. The young boy, at least she assumed he was young, with his mass of swirling silver hair, flashed pale purple eyes at anyone who passed him, watching with a childlike curiosity. He'd shown up out of nowhere, wearing peculiar clothes, yet acting perfectly courteous. Right now he was paying attention to Hederick and the old man.

    Hederick, as was his wont on slow days, had been drinking for most of the afternoon, and he was at the stage where if his mug wasn't full, he turned nasty. When his mood did turn, he called upon his force of Holy Guards; then people got arrested for thinking impure thoughts (usually those consisted of Hederick's own thought directed at attractive females), coveting another man's belongings (usually Hederick saw something he wanted, and it was always the person with the coveted belonging who is arrested), and for just not looking right (usually because Hederick wanted to display his power and authority). Hederick had called the Holy Guards three times that day already upon the young boy, who simply smiled, nodded, and said something to the Guards. And all three times they left him as he was. Hederick had given up by that point.

    "If you ask me," the old man said as Tika filled Hederick's mug, "I think it might be easier if you go to a temple of the old gods. They're probably still out there, you know."

    "Blashfemy," replies the intoxicated Hederick. "The gods turned their backs on the world when they punished the world with the Cataclysm."

    "Well, we already talked about the Cataclysm, and we know we can't agree on why that happened. But if you ask me, the mortals turned their back on the gods, blaming them for the Cataclysm where they should have blamed themselves. And now, maybe both gods and mortals are sulking to their respective corners, each waiting for the other to--"

    "This discushion is getting foolish, old man. Letsh ashk the girl-- letsh see what the salt of the earth has to say." He turned to Tika. "What do you think, girl? Do you think the old godsh are waiting out there for shomeone to give them a hug and a kish and say all is forgiven, or do you think the Seekers are the onesh who will move the world forward on its journey to shpiritual enlightenment and perfection?"

    Tika sighed, shaking her head, telling herself to not get worked up. Her head of fiery curls bobbed slightly. "I believe you are right, Seeker Hederick. The gods turned their backs on us, and now the Seekers are the ones to whom the task has been left."

    By Hederick's self-satisfied reaction, Tika knew she had said the right thing. She was getting better and better at humoring the drunk.

    The old man leaned back in his chair, giving Tika a wink. "Smart girl," he said. "I still say you're wrong, Seeker. So there." Amazingly, the old man stuck his tongue out at the Theocrat.

    Hederick sputtered about the proper forms of debate, and the old man laughed. Their discussion continued, until Tika asked something of the old man.

    "Sir, what's your name?"

    He tipped his hat at her. "Fizban, lately of the beautiful town of Solace, but originally from... well. Hmm. Everywhere I guess!"

    Tika supressed a laugh, and smiled at him. Her attention was pulled elsewhere when a voice beckoned.

    "Miss, excuse me?"

    She turned, looking at the speaker. It was the odd boy. His purple eyes were now glinting with a friendly light as he smiled. Such a strange accent, she thought. The boy merely smiled more, as if he'd heard her thinking.

    "Could I have more of this stew? And another potato, if it's not any trouble."

    Tika nodded, walking up to Otis at the bar. "Another stew and potato for the... strange one."

    "You're quite strange yourself, girl," Otis grunted. But he hid a smile as he turned to the stove. He knew how much Tika disliked being called a girl. She considered herself a young woman now. Otis ladeled another bowlful, setting it on a plate with a half-loaf of bread and a potato.

    Tika picked up the meal, and brought it to the stranger. He fished around in an unusually sized sleeve, then pulled out several gold pieces. He handed them to her with a hand wrapped in a strange material. She was about to object the money, saying it was far more than the meal cost, but he closed her hand around it. "For your troubles," he said with a wink. Then he proceed to eat the stew with two small sticks in one hand.

    Meanwhile, Sturm was catching up with Caramon and Raistlin, swapping tales about their journeys. In his familiar fashion, Raistlin was describing a particular spell he used in some perilous situation. Without surprise, it had saved the day. Caramon laughed his booming laugh, then went into a story about how he nearly hadn't survived an encounter with a black dragon while traversing a swamp.

    As they talked, they noticed a tall, broad-shouldered man enter the Inn with two shorter ones. They delivered a message to Tanis, who had been talking with Gilthanas and Laurana, and left immediately. A man at the next table leant over closer and said, "Them there hooded men have been asking around about a Blue Crystal Staff. Maybe your half-elf's gonna get himself a reward."

    Tanis, Gilthanas, and Laurana were sitting at their own table, nearer the fireplace than the Innfellows. Now, Laurana had been nursing a crush on Tanis, and Tanis had been trying to deny the feelings he had for her-- someone who would live far longer than he and who was as a sister to him-- ever since he had left Qualinesti. Further, Gilthanas was aware of the mutual attraction between them, and although he respected Tanis, he didn't want his sister involved with a half-elf.

    Tanis looked carefully from one to the other. "So you say you've come north to investigate rumors of war?"

    "We're on our way to the Lordcity of Haven," Laurana told him.

    "Abanasinia's capital," Gilthanas finished.

    Laurana saw this as a perfect opportunity to spend some time with Tanis. "Perhaps you and some experienced friends should come along. The journey would be less difficult in numbers."

    Gilthanas opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, rubbing his chin. As much as he disapproved of Laurana's feelings, her judgement didn't suffer the same observation. He made his mind right then.

    "Laurana--"

    He trailed off, seeing Laurana was already walking away from the table. She had caught sight of Flint, speaking with a pair of plains barbarians across the room, and she remembered the dwarf from years ago when he made toys for her in the city of Qualinost.

    "Tanis Half-Elven?" a gruff voice demanded.

    Tanis turned to look over his shoulder. The man who spoke was clearly a warrior, his dark cloak poorly hiding his plate mail and longsword. Behind him were two short men, their features hidden by cloaks, though it was clear they also were armed. "Yes, I am Tanis," he replied.

    The man laid a small scroll case made of polished wood on the table. "I was asked to bring you this messge." Without any further commentary, he and his companions tried to leave the Inn.

    "Hold on a moment, what is this for?" Tanis asked them, placing himself between them and the exit.

    They simply shook their heads, trying to ease out of the situation as quickly as possible. They had no other knowledge of any use. After discovering this, Tanis stepped aside, allowing them to leave. He walked back to the table, sitting next to Sturm. Opening the small case, it was found to contain a note written on a thin piece of parchment. The bold handwriting visible on it was familiar, for it was that of Kitiara uth Matar, Tanis's old lover and adventuring companion. The note was brief and clear: Business in the north had detained Kitiara and she could not attend the reunion. She offered her deepest regrets.

    Sharing the news with the others, Tanis watched their expressions shift. Sturm was not surprised. He had met Kitiara briefly a couple of times after they had parted ways in southern Solamnia. The last time they crossed paths, she was working for a powerful warlord in the east, although she would never say specifically who exactly it was.

    Flint Fireforge, an elder Hill Dwarf and Innfellow, caught the news as he was walking past, on his way to speak with the two plains barbarians. He looked over the note, sighing. "That's done it," he said. "The circle is broken, the oath denied. Bad luck." He shook his head. "Bad luck."

    Sturm clapped a hand on Flint's shoulder. "Don't think such things, Flint. It is a shame she could not come, but we're sure to meet her in the near future."

    The dwarf shrugged it off. Casting a wary look about the Inn, his sight stopped on the silver-haired boy sitting quietly alone. He appeared to be wrapping his hand in some sort of fabric. The boy's pale purple eyes shifted upwards from his task. He gave Flint a friendly smile as he nodded politely. The boy returned to wrapping his hand.

    Flint looked over to two plains barbarians sitting together. One was Riverwind, whom he intended to go talk to. He walked over, taking a slow pace so he could measure up Riverwind's golden-haired companion. She cradled a buckskin-wrapped staff with a blue crystal tip. The look of love she had as she gazed upon him made it clear that the fair woman had a certain fondness for Riverwind. Riverwind himself appeared more gaunt than the last time Flint had seen him.