Yes, this is your daughter.  To quickly answer the most immediate questions for which you are seeking answers: I am well. I am north of the mountains in Veronia. For the next short while, my companions and I are being fêted by the Baron of a city-state called Ruttleford.  (That got your attention didn't it!) And I don't know when I will be able to get away to visit you but I do hope to within the year.  

          You won't be surprised to hear that it was the thought of grilled trout that prodded me to finally write and let you know what became of me. During this rare rest period, I have been given the opportunity to make use of Baron Eupheme's Game Reserve and have spent the past couple of days by a quiet river contemplating my life and the world. I realize now that when, as a child, I fled the library to fish, (the most nearly acceptable excuse to get outside), it wasn't that I didn't want to study so much as I felt more comfortable studying in a more natural environment; doubtless this is my father's influence and perhaps I should ask you some more questions about him when I get the chance. Ironically, my time spent outdoors this past while has engendered a fine appreciation for all things comforting: good food, warm baths, and soft beds.

          It will take much more than a single letter to tell you of all the many exciting, terrifying, worrying, and exalting events that I have experienced over the past two years. When I ran off with the gang that was camping in the forest, it didn't take me too long to discover that you were, of course, right and that they were nothing but trouble. It was a rough lesson to learn but I did learn it well, just as I learned your lessons despite my more rambunctious inclinations.

          Circumstances have conspired to tug at me incessantly since I left my life as a ne'er-do-well and sought more honorable work in Rême.  Since that time, I, and my companions, have been on the move nearly without break rushing from one trouble to another. By good luck and with the help of Moradin, Freya, and St. Cuthbert, I have survived and our adversaries have either been defeated or greatly set back. I'm sure that the juxtaposition of these three disparate Good Gods have nearly broken your scholarly patience; let me briefly elaborate: my companion of longest standing, since my first day in Rême, is a dwarven cleric of Moradin yclept Koshmur.  Another companion is Kara; she is a cleric of St. Cuthbert. And Freya's connection lies in a small town called Fairhill which lies midway between Rême and Bard's Gate. The others in my party include Guerin, a massive barbarian from the badlands east of Bard's Gate; Telosch, a human wizard from Ganyon; and Whist, a quiet monk from the Monastery of the Standing Stone. My own vocation, you will be dismayed to learn, relies more on my physical talents than those of my mind. However, our varied skills have combined to form a formidable force greater than their simple sum would suggest.

          Because of the extraordinary events we have been party to, I am now more inclined to believe that your colleagues at the Sanctuary are right to believe that the transcendentals truly do take an active interest in our mundane world. And they are also right to observe that it almost never bodes well when they do. Our most recent adversaries were nothing less than a Devil and an Illithid along with their numerous evil adjuncts. These creatures that I long considered mythical have me now worrying about the possibility that other "impossible" creatures may also choose to intrude.

          Let me stop rambling now and give you a quick backdrop to our present circumstances. When Koshmur, myself, and a few others first left Rême oh so many months ago, it was under contract to assist a young mageling recover an artifact buried near the afore-mentioned Fairhill. It rapidly became evident that our employer had been less than forthcoming in describing the nature of the artifact and with whom it was buried! However, before the risks attendant to our ostensible goal became an issue, we stumbled across some orcs who had recently taken up residence at the broken keep. Within a few weeks, we discovered that they were only part of a seemingly coincidental confluence of evil creatures including more orcs led by a disturbingly well equipped half-orc named Tavik, an Ettin, some bugbears, a family of Manticores, a crazed corrupt druid and his host of stirges, a nest of peculiar ratmen, and a dwarven mine overrun by lizardmen led by a Dark Elf.  As you might imagine, this kept us on our feet for quite some time. By the time we encountered the Drow, we began to suspect that something more serious was transpiring and that we needed to actively seek the greater threat.

[It was at this point that I realized just how thick the walls of The Sanctuary really area. Mother, I know it suits your temperament and The Sanctuary truly is a wonderful and valuable place, but the more time I spend "outside", the more I realize how much its truly unnatural environment has coloured the minds and thoughts of you and the other denizens. I don't mean this in a negative way but I think that there is something to be said for experiencing our world first-hand. Ultimately, the stories contained in those book were told by people who lived lives everywhere *but* libraries.]

          Our first substantive clue came when we recovered from a dead orc a fine shortsword bearing the mark of a legendary dwarven master smith named Dungedan. Koshmur recalled that Dungedan long-ago founded a hidden stronghold named Kûndrakar which was eventually over-run by orcs. Legend tells of a secret inner sanctum containing Dungedan's greatest works. If those works had been recently unearthed, as suggested by the late orc's belongings, they might make a formidable arsenal for Tavic and his intruding orcs. And so we set out to find missing Kûndrakar based on nothing more than an ancient rhyme! Our first expedition made an unlucky gamble and headed south from Fairhill instead of north: this didn't advance our search for Kûndrakar (beyond eliminating possible locations) but it did lead us to a tragic Ent and a fascinating mountain eyrie beset by trapped air elementals. [If ever I need a place to hide for the world, this unpopulated forested mountain will a fine retreat.] It was our return to Fairhill that introduced us to the corrupt druid.  

          Our second attempt did eventually lead us to Dungedan's legacy but not before the trip was cut short by a run-in with the Manticores and the death of our ranger, Denlias. When we did eventually make it to Kûndrakar, (you can probably still make out the trail we left between it and Fairhill, so often did we make the two-week trek!), we did indeed find it overrun by Tavik and his orcs as well as an Ogre and some wolves. It was a mighty battle in the fabulous halls of Dungedan: We slew all but Tavik who, for the second time, escaped us by using a magic stone which instantly transported him out of our reach. But not without leaving behind his most cherished possession, a palpably evil mace, and a fascinating letter to *his* master intimating a great battle to come as well as "prophecies and portents" that he was seeking to disprove. This news worried us greatly and we felt it necessary to again return to Fairhill to make sure word was passed on to Bard's Gate and Rême.

           Having issued the warning (which involved two members of our group leaving and two more joining), we tried to tie up some loose ends regarding the original quest for a would-be-lich's artifact, a blind seer named Gethrame, and the previously mentioned ratmen.  It was after the resolution of this tragic story, (about which someone should commission a work from a great playwright), that our party of adventurers was afforded a Vision! And what a Dark and worrisome Vision it was: all of a dark apocalypse descending not to chaos and evil but, seemingly worse still, to an Absolute Void.

          After consulting various scholars, we were able to tie the Vision to a past battle at a place called Emridy Meadows which lies near a village called Hommlet in the Northern Kingdom of Bretundy.  Apparently in living memory, this remote locale has twice been the focus of an enormous build-up of evil around a great "Temple of Elemental Evil". The vision suggested that the threat was not wholly defeated as believed and that it sought to rise again. And so, we set out again to see if our Vision afforded us an opportunity to make a pre-emptive strike. [To this day we still do not understand what, if any, connection lies between Tavik and his master's undertaking and the trouble at Hommlet.]

          And so, again, we were lead back to Kûndrakar. But instead of merely visiting, this time we sought a great tunnel *though* the mountains that was mentioned in Tavic's letter. We did indeed find this passage but not before being forced to fight our way through a tribe of lizardmen, fend off the undead remains of the orcish onslaught which overran Kûndrakar originally, overcome some Duegar that were using Dungedan's lost forge, and finally: fight a Black Dragon deep in the bowels of those lost caves. By all accounts, this wyrm was considered a smaller one of his ilk; however, their reputation for menace and danger is not to be underestimated and it was only after much difficulty that we were able to drive it off so that we could pass.

          Our passage beneath the mountains took a number of days but certainly it was much faster than attempting an overland route.  The mountains separating our lands and the northern kingdoms, as you know, are considered impassible between Rême and Bard's Gate.  Learning of this tunnel made us fear that Tavik could launch a sudden and devastating attack through the mountains upon Rême and the surrounding lands. To this end, we positioned a number of dwarven miners to guard the exit and to raise an alarm should there be any indication of threat.

          When we finally came back into sunlight, it was a glorious feeling: we emerged high up the northern face of a mountain, overlooking a beautiful verdant valley arrayed beneath us. We were still several days trek from Hommlet, and so we were in truth the only inhabitants for as far as the eye could see. Although the Northern Kingdoms are populated, our passage through the mountains made it seem as if we had discovered a hidden realm with boundless opportunity. Certainly, there is much room here for growth, and by all accounts the respective governments of the three Kingdoms afford a more substantial security to their citizens than do the authorities, (such as they are), in our native frontier. On the other hand, given what we have learned recently, they may also face a greater threat.

          Given our experiences since crossing the mountains, it might have been more fitting had we exited the tunnel into a festering swamp:  but memories of that idyllic view remind me that a paradise of sorts truly is possible on our world. I'm now doing my most to make sure it stays that way.

          Mother, I am going to send this letter as its stands now as I have much business to attend to with local merchants and craftsman. I also have to find a reliable courier to get this message to you.  By the time you receive it, I'm sure we will have moved on to our next destination: an ominous nexus of evil called Rastor.  This will, coincidentally, bring me as close to you as I have been in many months. Unfortunately, the mountains lie between us still and the fates (Yes, I'm beginning to believe in them again) have another path I must follow first.

          I realize that there is much left unanswered in this letter and I look forward to filling in the gaps when we can meet again at last. I can think of no easy way for you to get in touch with me however I can tell you that contacts in Fairhill (Magistrate Arlen and the Priestess of Freya, Shandril) will attempt to help should you require it. Closer to home, you could try mentioning my name to Halan, head of the house of Mezzia in Rême or his aides-de-campes Grendaloo (a battle-mage!) or Olarian Kimbosong (a bardic priest); I have attempted to cultivate good relations with those I have learned to trust during my travels. 

          Across the mountains, Burn & Rufus in Hommlet, as well as the Baron and his sister in Ruttleford, should also be able to assist you in finding my most recent whereabouts. Hopefully, that will be unnecessary and it will be me seeking you out. One final ominous-sounding piece of advice: if the worst comes to pass and you find the remote location of The Sanctuary unsafe, flee first to Rême and plead for the help of Halan in my name, and failing that, flee upriver to Fairhill which one hopes will escape the notice of any malevolent forces.

           I send this to you with all my Love,

 D'loris