The crier had shouted, "Work! Work for good pay! Work!" It seems very fortunate to all of you now that no one else on the streets in the Dock Ward at that moment seemed particularly interested in his offer.

You went to meet the man who hired the crier at his small manor. He was middle-aged, dark haired, and slightly portly. He introduced himself as Gordrenn. "Purveyor of magical paraphernalia, material neccessities, and related items to many wizards of note," he explained, rather pompously.

"I have a slight problem," he continued. "I have a delivery that needs to be made to a wizard in Haranshire. It's nothing terribly expensive, or important, but the mage in question gets rather huffy if his deliveries are even a day late."

For a small group of assorted adventurers like you, this was an ideal job. It was uncomplicated, offered good pay, and most importantly it would get you out of Waterdeep, where the competition for work was so intense it seemed it was impossible to earn a single copper, or slay a single orc. So you quickly agreed to take it on.

Gordrenn had drawn up a rather formal contract, and then insisted that it be signed and witnessed at the temple of Waukeen. Then he had handed over a letter of credit for 180gp, plus 25gp for expenses, which had to be countersigned by the recipient of the delivery before it would become negotiable. And finally, he gave you the delivery itself, a small, locked chest, with a crude map of where to take it.

"And dont even *think* about stealing it," Gordrenn warned. "It's got a Wizard Mark inside it, and I'll know wherever it is. Steal it, and I'll send all kinds of bad things after you."

He had then looked you over a last time. "Oh, and mind yourselves on the way there. The Eastern Cutoff is no place for fools, and your dead bodies in the middle of the wilderness don't do me or my business any good."

Now all you have to do is take the chest to the wizard Tauster, in Thurmaster, a town in the backwater province of Haranshire, many leagues southeast of Waterdeep.

It is late spring, Mirtul 28, D.R. 1372 (called The Year of Wild Magic), and you've been on the road for 4 days now, and have left the City of Splendor, and even the far-ranging Waterdhavian patrols, far behind. Nothing much interesting has happened though... yet.