Lythandriel and Fyraa, of the elves remained clustered about the shadows within the fringes of the flickering lights from the small camp fire that was nestled in the center of the gathering.  Lythandriel, who was perhaps one of the elven lands more esteemed representatives saw little point in remaining as the group of chosen heroes began to mingle.  Iseldra, he noted, at least seemed to be making a gesture of friendship, or at least comradery, and to his amusement it seemed to have been accepted.  So he waited until their eyes would meet and with practiced ease his hand flowed into a pattern of symbols and gestures that the elves frequently used to communicate amongst themselves when silence seemed appropriate.<i>Fair winds and safe travels to you Iseldra.</i>Before the crystal clear melody of his voice would rise and catch the attention of all. "Go with grace and may a star shine upon you all in your time of need." They bowed their heads and although their faces were hidden by shadow it was clear that they left with same sternness and solemn countenance that they had arrived with.<br/><br/>The tribal escorts who remained took a moment to watch the elves vanish silently into the tangled depths of the forest before they moved from where they sat, leaned, or stood.  One by one they made their way around the gathering of heroes, wishing them well on their journey and dispensing with parting words of wisdom.  Most of it was your typical, standard forms of farewell, but some of what was spoken perhaps had value to those who received the messages.<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="18963" data-username="@TheCorsair" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://bluemoonroleplaying.com/community/members/18963/">@TheCorsair</a>"I have heard that Mordacious can spit a stream of acid twice as far as a man can throw a spear."  The dire warning came from the lips of a middle aged barbarian with a thick tangle of deep red hair named Dokoto.  He settled his hand over Galls shoulder before glancing back ot the open canvas where the dwarven forged steel was on display.  "Make sure to take a shield.  It might save your life."<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="20459" data-username="@LeaT" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://bluemoonroleplaying.com/community/members/20459/">@LeaT</a>The other dwarf that had remained largely silent moved his stunted barrel shaped body towards Iseldra and craned his neck to look up to her with a skeptical smile.  "Never met an elf before but my father did.  Name's Keld, second son of Furd.  He traveled with an elf many years ago who bravely met his end in the mountains north of our home."  Keld paused as he plucked his hand into a pocket and pulled out a small well polished coin purse that was tightly tied shut by a length of twine.  "He wanted you to have these, they belonged to him, to Morien a pair of adamantium arrowheads that my father said would pierce even a dragons hide."<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="18515" data-username="@BennyQ" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://bluemoonroleplaying.com/community/members/18515/">@BennyQ</a>"There is a small clan of trolls that roam the lands to the north of the dragons realm."  The words were spoken from a lean and wiry man who was twice the age of Voran.  "I would not be surprised if the dragon has managed to force one or two of them to serve under the shadows of its wings."  He stopped and leaned over to gather up a netted bundle of hollowed out gourds that had been sealed with wax.  "They say fire or acid is needed to truly kill a troll.   There are half a dozen vials of swamp fire.  Once the liquid touches the air it will be set ablaze and burn furiously for a short time before it goes out.  It is tacky enough that it can even be put upon a weapon so long as it can handle the heat."  His eyes drifted over towards the metal point of his spear.<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="37107" data-username="@Shiva the Cat" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://bluemoonroleplaying.com/community/members/37107/">@Shiva the Cat</a>Few if any seemed to stay long when they came upon Etoya and Alo to say their farewells.  But nestled in the midst of the quick smiles and well wishes was good old Shaman Na'Took.  He had leaned over to once more put a hand upon her shoulder, doing his best to ignore any unsettling noises Alo might make as he shared a quiet word.  "I have heard in the past from souls that have long since went to rest that a dragon has a second stomach."  His eyes looked over to the blanket.  "They say that sometimes, they store some of their treasure within it.  You'll most likely need a sharp and reliable set of knives to get to it though."<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="41251" data-username="@BlooBlanket" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://bluemoonroleplaying.com/community/members/41251/">@BlooBlanket</a>An older woman who had remained like the elves, hidden in the shadows came to hobble her wrinkled and aged form out towards Gostim.  She was decorated in bones, much as Mo'toya was and used a gnarled length of wood to help her make her way towards the dwarf.  "Mordacious lives in the water, he rules the water, he will make you fight him, in the water.  You will sink, like a stone, in your hide of metal."  She tapped the tip of her finger against the weight of his breast plate.  "But take this, eat of it before you face him.  At least you will not drown, but you will still sink."  The old hag of a shaman who didn't offer her name carefully swung a tattered leather bag about to her front and started to sift through the tufts of fur, polished pieces of bone and stones, and other assorted oddities before she finally pulled out a bundle and unwrapped it to show Gostim a collection of green fibrous plant pods before she carefully repacked it and handed it to him.  "There are six, and each will last for the length of an hour as the sands have foretold."<br/><br/>Mo'Toya kept herself largely silent, ignoring, or just simply blissfully unaware of any that made an effort to bid her luck on the journey.  A few nods were given in return as subtle gestures of recognition, but for the most part her attentions were consumed by either the dancing light of the fire or dwindling contents of the beverage she was idly sipping away at.  As the numbers began to thin out, and all that remained behind were the pair of dwarves who had withdrawn to leave the chosen band of heroes to converse, Mo'Toya finally rose up and ambled her way over to the edges of the small glade.  With a glazed over look in her eyes she worked her hands delicately through the foliage, pushing plants aside until she discovered a small batch of bright red berries that grew hidden upon the forest floor.  She continued to keep to herself as she gently plucked them from their hiding place and kept them cradled in the palm of her other hand.