Sleep was a rare thing for Ronwyn. She had to work hard to maintain her room at The Elder Spruce Inn, while still managing to put some silver away for her passage east. That meant she spent too many hours of her life working to find time for sleep — but This night was different. Sleep fell over her almost as soon as her head hit the pillow and her dreams followed soon after.

From the darkest reaches of her mind came creatures of the Underdark. Tentacles and blood. Screams that faded as she escaped through a pristinely constructed passage to the surface. Father Rorrick was in her dreams too, meeting with an elf.

She sprang up from her bed, covered in chilled moisture. Her hand instinctively reached for the beads on her bedside table. She had muttered half the words of a blessing before she realized what was happening. She was alone in her room.

...Alone.

Ronwyn flopped back down onto her bed, beads still clutched tight as she tried to sleep again, haunted by images of her past. The last thing she thought of before sleep finally took her again was an elf with eyes so blue they were white.

The next morning, Ronwyn couldn't help but recall her dream. Those eyes. They were the beggar's eyes, but that was impossible. The beggar was a human and the night Father Rorrick disappeared he was meeting with an elf. Of course, Ronwyn was willing to admit that the beggar and the elf had the same eyes by coincidence, but that explanation just didn't satisfy her.

Her life went on as usual. She trolled the market stands, looking for work. The blacksmith would let her hammer at his anvil when business was good, and the halfling who ran a produce stand by her inn would trade some vegetables for the occasional day of labor. The only difference now was that whenever she slept she dreamed of those eyes, and when she wasn't working she scanned for them in the crowd. She never found them though and she wasn't sure if that disappointed her or not.

It was a full tenday after Ronwyn had finally given up looking when she heard the clanging of a bell ring out over the sounds of the market. She turned to see an elf, draped in silver vestments and carrying a wooden box. "Alms for the poor!" The elf proclaimed. "Your aid could put bread in the bellies of beggars, or clothes on their backs."

The elf was a strange sort of priest. A charismatic air surrounded him that spoke of a hedonistic past. She moved closer, trying to stay hidden in the crowd. She eyed the alms box as she approached, noticing the carved emblem of a hammer and anvil — the sigil of her dwarven god, Moradin. That was her alms box.

She strolled past the priest and dared to glance at his face. He instantly smiled so wide his eyes pinched closed but she saw what she needed. Icy cold blue irises.

"A contribution from the followers of Moradin." Ronwyn dropped a silver piece into the box and kept walking. She slipped back into hiding and watched as the priest checked the scene. A nervous expression now painted his elven features — or were they human? Without a moment of hesitation the priest swept away down the nearest alley and Ronwyn was quick to follow.