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Tarsakh 1485
Waterdeep
The deck of the ship is a confusing frenzy of bodies hurrying this way and that. Crew members stride and trot to secure rigging and lower the gang plank. The ladder into the belly of the ship creaks as others hurry down to start unloading the goods from the hold.
Passengers convene along the railing on either side of her. Eliwyn tucks a four-leafed clover into the crease of her prayer book. It was a gift from Dawnmaster Malcolm. He had it pressed and preserved and gave it to her for good luck on her new beginning.
A little gasp at her elbow startles her. Teleri stands on tip-toes and pokes her nose over the side. “What is that?” A finger points up at the massive statue towering over them.
“He’s called The Honorable Knight,” Eliwyn says.
She pulls out her copy of The History of Waterdeep, flips to the section about The Walking Statues, and hands the book to Teleri so she can read about these colossal wonders for which The City of Splendors is known.
During the two tenday journey up the Sword Coast from Baldur’s Gate she and Teleri’s family became fast friends. If only the Valegraves were staying in Waterdeep, too. It would be nice to know someone in this unfamiliar city. But they’ll be here only for a few hours until the ship sets off, bound for their destination of Neverwinter.
“Are you sure you’ll be alright Eliwyn?” Mr. Valegrave joins his daughter and Mrs. Valegrave appears, too. . “It’s a big place.”
Eliwyn looks out over the metropolis. Castle Waterdeep. Peaktop Aerie. The God Catcher statue. Somewhere beyond is The Spires of the Morning. Her new city is a big place indeed.
“I think I’ll manage. If I get too lost I’ll stop for directions.” She smiles brightly at Mr. Valegrave. “Besides, my father always says the best way to get your bearings in a new place is to get lost and find your way again.”
As they disembark Eliwyn asks the captain the quickest way to the Castle Ward. Between his accent and the cacophony of the docks she can barely make out his words. Did he say Snail Street or Sail Street? But he is gone before she can ask him to clarify. The Valegraves have gone, too.
She is on her own.
Her heart starts to pound. The city looks much different on the ground than it did on the ship. The buildings are so packed together and the streets are obscured by undulating throngs of people already rushing about their day.
The brine of the docks stings her nose as she takes a deep breath to steady herself.
Well, it’s either Snail Street or Sail Street. She knows that much. And there, in the distance, are what appear to be spires. Sail Street it is! Eliwyn sets off, her steps confident and assured.
But as she dodges mud puddles and uneven stone and gruff passersby her confidence falters. The captain also said something about going north, didn’t he? Directions have never been her strong point, but the rising sun is behind her so she is certainly not going north.
Eliwyn stops in her tracks and looks about. The streets are a labyrinth of alleys and twisting passages. There is no guarantee she would stay walking in one direction for very long. Oh, she should have taken Mr. Valegrave’s offer to accompany her.
The bell of a shop tinkles in the air just down the street. Eliwyn quickly ducks in. Someone here will be able to help her.
“Buying something?” the woman behind the counter asks gruffly.
“No, I’m—“
“If you aren’t buying then make room for people who are.”
The customers behind her shunt her aside as they make their way to the counter to purchase their goods. Eliwyn sighs and steps back out into the cool air of the early spring morning.
After the previous night’s rain the wooden exterior of the shop is damp against her back as she leans against it. Dark clouds blot the sky, but the sun breaks through here and there as it creeps over the tops of the ramshackle buildings. Perhaps coming here was a mistake. Perhaps she misunderstood whatever sign Lathander had sent her.
Eliwyn closes her eyes as warm rays light her face. She offers a prayer so as to seek his guidance.
Lathander,
I abandon myself into your hands, do with me what you will.
I am ready for all, I accept all.
Let only your will be done in me,
I surrender myself into your hands without reserve, and with boundless confidence.
Shadow suddenly replaces the light of the sun. Her eyes fly open. A young man flinches backwards.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you,” he says as he straightens. Deep, brown eyes peer at her with mingled concern and curiosity. “Are you alright? Only you have a look of turmoil about you.”
Still surprised by his abrupt appearance she stumbles over her words. “I…I seem to find myself lost…,”
“Hm,” he murmurs.
His eyes flit from her hair to her pack sitting on the ground and back to her. She must look in an absolute state. Her skin is tight and sticky from the tendays spent in the salt air and no bath to speak of. The low knot she ties her hair in is falling loose and surely frizzled from the sea wind.
What must he think of her? More importantly, why does this stranger’s opinion matter? She’s not one for petty vanity and she has the perfectly valid excuse of just having just gotten off a ship. Yet she longs for her brush and cold cream beneath his surveying gaze.
But he smiles genially. “Not the best part of town to be lost in,” he says lightly. “Where are you destined? I know Waterdeep like the back of my hand. I would be happy to point you in the right direction.”
“The-The Spires of the Morning,” she says with more stammering.
“Ah, the basilica of Lathander.” He looks around and frowns. “How did you find yourself all the way over here?”
Eliwyn shakes her head and gives a small shrug. “The captain said I just needed to head north and I would come across Sail Street. From there it would take me straight to the basilica.”
His brow furrows. “Sail Street? Are you sure he didn’t say Snail Street?”
Her neck fills with heat. “Oh…I suppose that’s possible…he had a rather thick Calimshite accent…” She scuffs at a rock to hide the embarrassment now flaming her cheeks.
“As it happens my destination lies in that same direction. Would you care to join me?”
Eliwyn blinks at the young man. If she is to abandon this venture she must do so now. She will need all the time she can get to find a ship sailing south.
But Lathander bid her to come here. Her parents will be furious if she goes back home now. Dawnmaster Malcolm will be so very disappointed. Then there is also the fact that life back in Baldur’s Gate has become nearly unbearable. Despite this hiccup of getting lost she already feels lighter than she has in years, and it has only been a couple of tendays.
She cannot go back.
As for this man…Eliwyn bites her bottom lip, recalling her mother’s warning about strange men and putting herself in questionable situations.
“I promise nothing untoward will happen to you. You have my word.” He places his hand on his chest and bows his head.
Eliwyn tilts her chin as she regards him. All in all, he doesn’t seem to be the sort of man her mother was talking about when she gave that warning. His appearance suggests nothing rakish. The sun glints off his cropped and tidy hair highlighting strands of golden brown amongst the darker locks. There is something else about him, too, though she cannot quite put her finger on it.
Behind him, a voice carries across the street. The words are almost unintelligible save for two: The Spires.
A group of young men dawdle on the side of the street as they call for one of their friends to hurry up. One of them mentioned The Spires, so they must be Lathanderians. Traveling through the city with fellow clerics would surely be safer than accompanying this perfect stranger.
And yet…
Eliwyn’s eyes meet the young man’s. There it is again. That strange something that pulls at her. Her gaze shifts once more to the group of other Lathanderians. Their friend, a tall half-elf with auburn hair, strides across the street. She could catch him up.
Then she remembers the words of Dawnmaster Malcolm.
But be always on the lookout for Lathander’s guiding hand. An answered prayer, a chance meeting, a stirring in your soul…
She should go with the others of her faith. She should. But she is drawn to this stranger. Something tells her Lathander wants her to go with him, as well, though why that is she cannot say.
If this magnetism is Lathander’s hand, then far be it from her to ignore his guidance. Eliwyn nods to the young man, hefts her pack, and joins him at his side. With a smile he gestures towards the street.
And so begins their journey.