<div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b2/dd/c9/b2ddc9952586cf46b7ff8fe9cae803ef.jpg)</div><strong>Melinor Markavio Morgendorffe</strong><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Stats</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>HP:</strong> 20 | <strong>AC:</strong> 11 | <strong>Initiative:</strong> +1 | <strong> PP:</strong> 13<br/><strong>1st level Spell Slots:</strong> 4<br/><strong>1st level spells Prepared:</strong> Fog Cloud, Magic Missile, Jump, Unseen Servant<br/><strong>2nd level Spell Slots:</strong> 2<br/><strong>2nd level spells Prepared:</strong> Web, Flaming Sphere</div></div><hr/><em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><strong>I</strong></span> have at times heard tales of the Vistani traveling-people. Rarely have these stories been flattering; thieves and vagabonds, layabouts and swindlers even, according to the more superstitious, sorcerers who kidnap children for dark rituals! In these several days among their company I have found the truth to be anything but. These folk resemble nothing so much as a village that travels. They have their own ways certainly, and do not open easily to outsiders; but what village between Luskan and Baldur's gate can say any differently? Triboar? West Harbor? <span class="bbc_u">Muddale?</span> The Vistani have proven gracious hosts to our company, to the point where I feel guilt at having no good means to repay their generosity. The good headman of this happy entourage, who goes by the name of Stanimir, insists that our presence wars away bandits and is more than enough; his daughter insists on the occasional dance even so, and it saddens me that my knees are not twenty years younger...</em><br/><hr/><br/>Melinor looked up from scribbling in his journal, a pale blue moth made of pure light fluttering around his head to give him the light to pen by.<strong>"Ah! Good Stanimir, your tales are always a delight! Pardon my distraction, just, ah, a moment..."</strong>Melinor scattered a pinch of white sand onto the fresh-inked page, let it sit for a moment, then shook it off onto the soil as the (somehow even older) other man began his tale. Despite his apologies though, Melinor's ink-stained fingers found themselves aching for the stylus as the old man began relating the tale of his people. instead the wizard curled his fingers together and leaned forward, listening intently and committing all he could to memory to write later.<strong>"Does your prince bear a name, my good man?"</strong>Melinor asked with a lifted brow. Not a doubting look, but a figure<em>must</em>have a name!<br/><br/><strong>"Great gods I will never be used to that animal,"</strong>he muttered under his breath at the spinning approach of Cherise - or more accurately the enormous wolf that traveled with her. He shifted a bit, away from the canine, and raised his own cup; he didn't want to offend his hosts with his tippler ways, so instead accepted a glass and made a point of forgetting about it during his scribings or study of the stars, or what have you. The fact he was unused to wine showed on his face as he forced the mouthful down<br/><br/><strong>"Excellent alliteration, dear Kinsey,"</strong>he chuckled in order to mask the cough from the alcohol's (weak) burn. Once again, he regretted the state of his knees and the impact that had on dancing.<strong>"I shouldn't have spent so much time in that blasted tower,"</strong>came the quiet, crusty gripe from the wizard. With a snap of his fingers, the moth circling his head fluttered into the night sky, to burst into a shower of short-lived sparks.<strong>"I think I shall retire for the evening. It was a pleasure to hear a tale of your people, good Stanimir.'</strong>He gave the man a pleasant smile, and groaned as he used his crook to help get to his feet.  After sitting for so long though, it might take him a bit of walking to limber those joints up. As the young'uns discuss ways to put down a curse, he just chuckles and waggles the head of his crook at them.<strong>"It often takes much more than a grave to end a good curse, you know! Thus, the story of seeking <em>heroes</em> and not... not... <em>pah</em>, executioners."</strong>