Guard duty

Mark is seen patrolling the lands, each day a different one, in a random pattern:
- North Ride
- Daggerhills
- Cormanthor
- Overgrowth
- Fangs of Malar
- Crossroads
- Fox Ridge
- East Shadowdale
- Harper's Hill
- Two Forts
- Forest of the Dead
- Rimwood

His belt is full of bombs, oils and trinkets. Mark seems to be looking out for any masked people in those areas, aware of the Drow, Zhentarim, Sharrans and so on he is cautious not to walk into an ambush.

Mark is going to find someone awwwwfully familiar running about eventually.

I black figure in the shadows notices the man known to him, Mark, on a few of his rounds and starts to ask around in the seedier parts of the Dales.

"Isn't there a bounty for this Mark fellow?"

With the Mythal extended Mark has no reason to linger around the Lathanderite Settlement anymore, he returns to his "duties"
With the increasing drow activity on the surface and the knowledge of treason within the ranks of the city he decides to talk to his allies, but on his way to meeting them he stops and looks at his shield with a frown. "Well, guess it ain't bad to try..." he mutters and while walking he holds the shield close to him praying without emiting a single sound "Selune, I know you are there, listening, so... If one of your High Moonpriestess says I am good Selunite material, I am willing to try, you know what is going on as a good as I do. Give strength to those I am going to talk to because we sure as hell will need it if things are so screwed as I think they are"

With that, he speeds up his walk looking around, wary of ambushes, as always.

Eventually comes. Paths cross with a familiar frame in white robes and a matching mask just walking about like there's nothing conspicuous in the slightest.

He'll give a brazenly casual wave and greeting in passing. "Hi, Mark."

Mark stops on his tracks and puts the hand on the hilt of his sword looking behind with, his other hand moves towards his belt.
"Who might you be, that you know my name?"

The masked magician (such easily determined by his attire) pauses, then turns partway to regard Mark.  He replies in a familiar, cordial tone.

"You do not recall me?  Not sure if I should be relieved or insulted.  We met once... Told me of your late wife."

Mark unsheathes his blade to warn him about that choice "That I don't judge you by your race doesn't mean that I don't think you are a complete bunghole that should be killed on spot by the mere action of living, I suggest you return to your hole full of vipers and pray to your damned Goddess for a swift death"

"How...Unfortunate." His words lose their previous whimsical tone.  Eerily enough, he doesn't appear to be armed.  His fingers idly flex a bit.  

"To think...Has it been so long, Mark?  I remember before.  You were far more reasonable, I was far less capable, and I had far more time to spare...and here I thought you had enough enemies without making more.  You are serious with this?"