The mayor called upon me yet again to serve as Ambassador of White Cove, this time on a diplomatic mission to aid the centaurs of the Western Island. Some mysterious cause was responsible for the disappearance of their people (er, equines?). I gathered a hearty bunch of adventurers to supplement my own expertise:
Balthazar the Half-Elf outlander, a shapeshifter of remarkable animal prowess
Zix, a diminutive Kobold clad in cookware and blessed by the Forge Gods
Ingrid, a towering flaxen haired shieldmaiden and brazen frontline fighter
Orabel Archneie, A Water Genasi, lithe combatant and master seafarer
We set out across the waters to the west aboard the craft of the Centaur, Tressor (a leader amongst their kind). Our mission was simple, search out the cause of a rash of disappearances among the Centaur peoples. We were directed to search the northeastern end of the island for clues.
In a Sylvan glade, we instead found a Centaur Tavern with beautiful stained glass windows. They served a miserable stew of roots and kale, the Centaurs having a palate more akin to horses than men, though the tavern master Ergal did serve a strange liquor. A mug of clear water so pure it was intoxicating. After our repast, we were forced to camp outside, for though the Tavern was hospitable, it had no rooms. In the night I overheard a strange sound, the clattering of metal coming from a nearby stream. Upon further investigation, it was some abandoned cookwear, pots pans, and an odd helm with extra holes, large enough to fit, well rather large ears.
In the morning we traveled upstream to see if there was some source of these oddities. In less than a days travel we came upon a din, the shrieking and howling of combat coming from a nearby ruin! We came to see that a family of Centaurs (a mated pair and their 2 foals) being set upon by a warband of Gnolls. Springing into action, my accomplices formed a defensive wall, bottling the attacking Gnolls into a chokepoint while I provided a steady stream of feather-fletched death from my longbow. Ingrid lead the charge to close on the dog beasts, pinning them in place as Orabel rained down upon them in a flurry of sword and boots. Balthazar took the form of a massive wolf and tore the gnolls from their limbs. Zix, the pot-and-pan clad cleric bashed one Gnoll so mightily it's head was stove into it's chest! Sadly, a Centaur adult fell in the assault before anyone could administer aid. Thankfully, Tressor had entrusted me with a whistle capable of summoning him and his outriders. One mighty blow of that instrument turned the tide of fate in White Coves favor! For as Tressor arrived, the last of the Gnolls fell to the blades and blows of my brave comrades. Having fulfilled our obligation, the Centaur Tressor made a pact with White Cove to supply us with healing aid!
In short order we had tracked the origin of the Gnolls to a derelict ship, a shoddy but serviceable craft. Zix's mastery of forge and foundry allowed expedient repairs of the ship and Orabel lent her extensive knowledge of seacraft to the project, all under my guidance, of course. Soon we were under way and back in White Moon Cove. In acknowledgement of her service, I allowed Orabel to borrow the Cloak of Elevenkind I recovered. The Mayor was wise to entrust me with this critical mission. Perhaps soon I'll call in my favors with Mayor Godwyn.