Thurl has just finished talking to the wyvern-rider, a man with a bored expression and a drawling voice, with gray hair like a stormcloud that trails from his feathered cloak as he walks away. The leader of the knights invites Reed over.

"I've had a chat with Savra as you told me, she seems lovely and I'll be happy to ride with her. Any last minute information I should have before we depart?"

"No, but I'll have more questions for you about dragon preparations once we're closer to the mountains. The journey might refresh your memory of the vision you had, or bring more of it to light."

"Sure! I happen to have Resist Energy in my ring, unfortunately the single target version - in hindsight the Communal one would have been more flexible. It will last for a tad more than a candlemark and a half, and give people as much resistance as I have. It's about... a third circle's fireball worth of damage reduction?"

"How does the ring work? We've several spellcasters but most have a limited repertoire, no wizards or clerics, otherwise they'd all be preparing that kind of spell."

"Oh, it allows me to cast it despite not being one my magic usually offers. I think it should work if I give it to someone else temporarily, but I've never tried."

"That... could make a big difference to a fight with a red dragon, if we can pass it around our spellcasters and have as many people and their mounts resistant to fire as they have slots for. Find a hurricane or skyweaver when we next make camp and report back, they're the ones with the feathered cloaks."

"Good evening! I've been told to seek out spellcasters for a small test." He shows the ring. "This allows me to cast Resist Energy as if my sorcery gave it to me, and I was wondering if it would allow you to do the same."

Magic items aren't rare in Faerûn, but they aren't common either, and not commonly shared out. Most of the people here will have held or used a scroll or potion, but not touched anything with a permanent enchantment on it. 

The hurricanes and skyweavers are a windswept bunch, impetuous and flighty, but they are also generally curious and this ring does attract their interest. The hurricanes act more aloof, disdaining the reliance on an external object to shape their inborn magic, but the skyweavers eagerly take turns trying it on and confirming it works by leaping over the campfire with glee. 

"If it works for us, it'll work for any of the hurricanes too, and at an order from Thurl they'll have to use it," gloats a skyweaver who goes by the cringeworthy nom de guerre of 'Bloodwind'. They're not at all forthright about the nature of their powers, but they seem to be drawing from a common source in a manner close enough to a sorcerer to benefit from the ring. 

"Fire! I'll go tell Thurl, I'm sure he'll scowl happily at the news."

Is Thurl at his usual tent?

Reed arrives just as an elf he'd not seen on the previous loop is leaving that tent, clasping on a green cloak with a cloud-and-bird brooch.

"Did it work?" Thurl tersely asks, once Reed is inside. 

"Yes, flawlessly! We'll be able to put up quite the resistance this time. And quite the Resistance too."

The joke is funnier in Mordentish, but it works in Common too.

The overland flight continues as it had before, the tension ratcheting up despite the bravado of the skyweavers. Clouds shroud the hills on the evening of the sixth day, and they make camp in a familiar ampitheatre. 

This time as they land, the clouds briefly part, and the moon shines through to illuminate a long table laid out at one edge of the arena. An elven priestess is waiting for them at one end, and while the baggage is unpacked and the tents set, she beseeches her goddess with a silver gem-encrusted bowl raised up to the moonlight. After ten minutes of prayer, that bowl vanishes, and a sumptuous feast of white breads and berries and game meats appears spread over the table, complete with faintly glowing silver tableware and chalices of sparkling pearlescent wine. 

Food! Good food, even, not the packed rations! He'll get to the table, without hurrying much but still trying to get some of the good pieces.

"Does anyone feel adventurous?"

"Adventurous? By the time you finish this you'll feel downright heroic. Thurl, how did you swing a Heroes' Feast for us?" Savra asks, joining him as soon as Ponybane is settled.

"The elves take prophecies seriously. Probably comes from living long enough to see some of them come true."

The food itself is strange and sumptuous. The wine, if it is wine, tastes floral and sweet, and fizzes on the tongue. The meats are perfectly prepared, melting or crumbling on the tongue, rich with smoke and herbs. Each berry is a burst of flavor. The bread is almost bland in comparison as a gustatory experience, but it is soft and warm with a crunchy crust. Every part of the spread is suffused with bolstering magic. 

Bland bread seems to be a problem for people without Prestidigitation.

He will enjoy the Feast and avoid making Savra's berries taste like brie (although he would love to see her reaction to that).

As they eat, the aches of the long ride fade, and the heartening fare fills everyone with a sense of confident purpose. It's mostly the senior skyweavers at the table, the ascetic hurricanes abstaining, and they spend the meal talking of the weather formations they've seen, the roiling latent power within, and boasting of the great deeds of destruction to come. The patron of the Feathergale knights, Aerisi Kalinoth, is apparently an avariel, a winged elf, long thought extinct. They speak of her power over the winds with reverence.