# Reniad en Agarwaen*



## Mirelena (Jun 5, 2005)

**Journey of the Bloodstained ~ FourthAge*


Under the thatched roof of a large and comfortable cottage, an odd-looking assemblage was gathered. Seated here, casually observing the group was a young man with silver hair and dressed in dark clothes. Over there was a burly man with graying hair, draining a keg of ale and slapping the host on the back. The smaller, wiry man gasped and choked on his laughter as the larger, forgetting his own strength, winded him.

A dwarf, dressed in sturdy mail, was leaning his battle-axe on the wall by the door. When he was noticed, a general cry of welcome arose. An elven lady, clothed in a beautiful, blue dress of modest cut, walked over and greeted him, arms outstretched. The dwarf gruffly accepted the gesture, then blushed and muttered something about the strange ways of elves. This drew a laugh from each member of the company.

A melodious cacophony of voices greeted two dark figures that cast their midday shadows through the door shortly thereafter. Over their shoulders were draped the fruits of their separate hunts. One bore fruits and vegetables, the other a deer and wild fowl. The evening feast would be well rounded indeed!

With their arrival, everyone was thrown into a flurry of activity. The dark elves were quickly relieved of their burdens, to be cleaned and prepared. The cooking fire outside was stirred to full life, the carcasses spitted and set out to roast. Berries were washed and placed in wooden bowls with cream and wild honey. Carrots, onions, potatoes and other roots from the garden were placed in a pot and filled with water, flour and herbs. What meal could be better for such a merry group?


When everything was prepared to the satisfaction of even the picky host, the group settled on large logs that surrounded the fire that still burned brightly in the yard. While they were still swallowing the first bite, screams of childish laughter rose on the wind, followed by adult voices halfheartedly chastising them to be quieter.

Soon the sources of the noise could be seen. Small Rohirric children, golden locks flying wildly, rushed into the circle of light and leaped upon the cottage’s owner. As he was tackled, he lost his balance and fell over the back of the log. His laughter rang out through the twilit sky as little hands tried to haul him upright again.

As they did, the smaller ones jumped up and down around him shouting, “Tell us a story, Cair! You promised us you’d tell us a story! Please?”

Still laughing, Cairbrent got up and hushed the group. His voice was low and dramatic. His gray eyes snapped with energy as he captivated his young audience from the first word. They would be asleep before he finished, he knew, but what did it matter?

“Look at the faces around the fire,” he instructed, “Perhaps you will find the hero that belongs to the names you know so well!” At this, a small, audible gasp went up from the small ones.

A little girl who had run to the elven lady suddenly grew shy as she drew near. “Are you Elorendil?” she asked, timidly tracing a circle in the dirt with her toe.

The elven lady was indeed Elorendil, the Valiant. She smiled tenderly at the child, then, drawing her upon her lap, she answered, “I am.” and brushed away a wisp of hair from the young one’s forehead. 

“You!” cried a little boy who brandished a wooden sword in front of the dark man, “You’re Sir! The Swordmaster! I challenge you to a duel!”

Sir smiled and patted the boy on the head. “Do you truly believe you have what it takes to challange me?” he chuckled. His smile became deepened when the boy poked him in the stomach. “I believe you do.”


One by one, Helmin, the Dwarf, Kilio the Strong, and even the Dark Elves, Dindae and Moraur, had each collected their devoted following. Cair found it amusing that he had been left with the mischievous jokesters. _Opposites attract… Unless you’re a ‘hero.’_

While the children made themselves comfortable, Sir began to chant an epic poem in a low voice. He drew his sword and laid it beside the fire; it cast dancing light into the shining eyes of the company. Elorendil produced a unique harp, to the delight of her audience and played a simple melody. Kilio sat staring silently into the flames as Cairbrent stood and threw some sweet smelling herbs upon the fire, speaking amid the cacophony of melodies. The listeners sat, transported.

“Ours is a special tale of friendship, betrayal, revenge and even love,” Elorendil said softly.

“This is our story,” Cair said, “None of us can claim it as our own, yet it belongs to each one here. Through a combination of comedy and feeling the need to belong, we banded together to serve each other and the good of Middle-Earth. All of us are misfits or exiles from our native lands. I have said this tale belongs to no one person, yet without any one of us, it would not be the same. We all had some unique part to play. 
“Many years ago, our adventures, and misadventures, began. It was a night not so very different from this…”

And so the yarn began. Every member of the company had something to share and each individual thread was inextricably woven into one fantastic tapestry.


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## Morohtar (Jun 8, 2005)

It was a dark night. The moon was hiding behind the Ephel Duath, the stars dimmed as though by some ethereal evil. The dew on the leaves and ground served only to soften one's footsteps. The whole earth seemed to frightened to make a sound. It was the perfect night for what they were going to do.

Eos sat perched in a tall tree, long dead from the poison that had come out of Mordor during the dark times. He remembered those times well, when Orcs and miscreants were plenty and worth a fair price. Now, they were harder to find, and his band of misfits had to find alternate means of... finance. _Assassins of the night? Nay, thieves is more fitting, and cowardly ones at that._ He frowned at the sardonic twist his life had taken. _How fitting; we have become what we once hunted, and are now hunted by that which we once were._ 

He shook such thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. The campfire had been out for a few hours, which meant that they should all be sleeping, except a sentry or two. Their numbers couldn't number more than ten, or his ears were filled with wax. With any luck, the night could go smoothly, perhaps even bloodlessly. Jewels, weapons and gold; quickly and silently taken. And then they would disappear into the night. Just as the had many times before.

He signalled to the others, and the slowly crept towards their target.


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## Elorendil (Jun 9, 2005)

*Good*

Sitting beside the embers of what had been a blazing campfire sat a single, motionless figure. Beside it, a black shadow sprawled across the ground, whuffing softly in its sleep. A gentle breeze ruffled the unmoving sentry's hair, blowing a dark auburn lock across her face. Distractedly, Elorendil reached up and tucked the stray tress back behind her ear. Her attention and keen, elven eyes were fixed upon some distant point in the darkness as she listened in the stillness. She thought she had heard something; perhaps the wind in the branches, perhaps something else. She strained her ears to catch the sound. All she heard was the gentle breathing of her companions and Kilio's not-so-gentle snoring. _It was just the wind blowing through the trees, _she assured herself with a shrug of the shoulders. She turned back to the dying campfire, watching the glowing embers as they slowly faded and then died out.

There. There it was again, in the trees in front of her. This time, Dúathmin heard it, too. Two yellow-green eyes winked open and the dark shadow at Elorendil's feet rose and took the shape. The black panther stared out into the forest, sniffing the wind suspiciously. Elorendil followed her feline gaze into the trees. She didn't see anything. Dúathmin tensed as she heard the sound again, the rustle of leaves being disturbed by the footfalls of some creature. It was nearer, this time. Elorendil sat back, waiting to see what animal would appear from the underbrush, but none appeared. Instead, she heard the sound yet again, behind her this time. With a frown, Elorendil half turned on her seat by the fire and listened. _That is no deer_, she thought. _Nor is it another one of the orcs we encountered earlier today. It sounds more like... _A feeling of uneasiness gripped her and she moved one hand to rest on the hilt of the longsword girt at her side.

There it was again. There was no mistaking the crunch of dead leaves, this time. Elorendil rose silently and drew her dark cloak around her, melting into the darkness. She moved stealthily towards the source of the sound, hoping to dispel the growing cloud of dread that hung in her mind. 

Less than three dozen paces from the camp, she saw it. Elorendil pressed herself against the nearest tree to avoid being seen. She could feel the rough bark, damp with the early morning mist, bite into her hands as she flattened heself against the trunk. Even throught the light fog, she could make out the form of a man creeping slowly towards their camp. A second figure followed behind him. Her breath caught in her throat as she caught the glimmer of dim starlight on a long, wicked-looking blade. The pair continued their slow advance, unaware that they were being watched. Moving as quickly as she dared, Elorendil pushed away from the tree and hurried back to the camp. 

As she neared the dying embers of the camp fire, she stooped beside the first sleeping figure she came upon. She shook Danaeth's shoulder urgently, rousing him from his sleep. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he managed a drowsy, "What?"

"Rise!" she commanded urgently. "Rise and arm yourself; men approach! I know not how many, but their intentions are less than honorable, of this I am sure. Wake the others! Now, lest we all die!" Without waiting for him to reply, she moved off to shake another sleeping form to wakefulness.


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## elfgirl (Jun 14, 2005)

Moraur laid down, put his hand on his sword, and eventually, his body relaxed and he drifted into sleep. His breathing leveled off at a relaxed pace. His mind slipped into the half-dreamstate that lingered between memory and fiction.
“Don’t look like that.” The dark elf stood before him, relaxed, calm, but obviously angered. “You’re just like me.” He handed the bartender some coins. “You just won’t accept it.” At that, he turned, with a sly smile, and walked confidently, smoothly out of the inn. Moraur had been watching him the entire night. Watching him cheat at various games, drink a lot of ale, and then seduce a rather good-looking female elf.
The words echoed through his mind again, as his half-conscious brain thought about the implications. “You’re just like me.” Was he? Really? Maybe. He could have so easily been that elf, if he had continued on the path he was on. Perhaps he had never really changed – perhaps he had only eluded so many people into thinking he was good that the illusion became a part of him. His mind relaxed even more, and his memories became twisted. He was back in that bar, but the elf before him was himself. Smiling evilly, smiling out of the pure joy that came from fulfilling his carnal desires. Then he was back when he was younger, back with his brothers. They were laughing, playing, swordfighting. And it was that elf, that elf instead of him. He stepped towards his brothers, anger and resentment lining his face, that sly, evil smile on his face once more. He turned in his sleep, uncomfortably reliving blurred memories. 
Meanwhile, Draeki lay there, awake, thinking about what had brought her here. She had followed Moraur, followed him out of the bar where she’d watched him comfort some young floozy. She didn’t know why. At first she’d intended him to be a target, someone who she stole from after she had beaten and humiliated him. But he’d caught her, fought her. She’d cut off some of his hair, most male elf’s pride and joy (it showed status and age). He hadn’t been fazed - he’d even cut the other side, to even it out. They’d fought until they were both completely exhausted, and they could fight no more. They had parted, and then when Moraur had left town, Draeki followed him for some reason. He was a merc, she knew, and she wondered now, why she had gone when she hadn’t been offered the job. _I went for the money._ She thought._Nothing more._
She heard the alarm being raised. Someone was coming. She jumped up, and grabbed her swords, kicking Moraur in the side. He jumped up with a yelp, the sudden pain waking him easily enough. She told him to get up or die, but for some reason she couldn't quite grasp, he was really angry about a few little broken ribs...


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## Morohtar (Jun 15, 2005)

*oh, right... good*

Danaeth slept soundly, unaware of the danger that slowly approached their camp. In his mind he heard a steady, rhythmic breathing; his own perhaps. Then another sound came, slowly rising and falling. The sea. He had heard it's voice often in his youth, running along the beaches near Dol Amroth. But these waves sounded different; a music seemed to rise from them, a symphony of sound that immersed him, sending a shiver down his spine. He saw a rising sun, gold on the horizon, shimmering off the warm waves in the distance, and ships with tall sails gliding across the fiery surface. Some gulls joined their voices to the music.

_Arândil_

This new voice came from behind him, and he turned. A woman walked towards him, more beautiful than any he had seen in his life. Golden was her hair, like wheat before the harvest, shining as if the stars themselves had come down to adorn her in there majesty. Her eyes were a shimmering blue, and deep as the sea itself. She was clothed in white, long flowing robes which danced with the wind.

"Ah, my beloved, I did not wish to wake you," Danaeth said, though he did not recognize the voice that ushered from his lips. This new voice was stronger, softer, more soothing than his own.

"If this is indeed our last day together, I do not wish to be apart from you." Her voice seemed calm, but he knew that inside her heart was breaking, though he knew not why.

"You talk as if I go off to my death, as if I will not return." Once again this new voice startled him; the two voices seemed perfectly matched, one deep and strong, the other graceful and melodious. Both voices sounded at once new and ancient.

"I fear for you, I... I fear for us. I fear that you will find your doom in the east and I will be heartbroken." The woman turned away, looking towards the north, where two horses were playing on the beach. She lowered her head and spoke softly, her hand moving to her stomach. "And... I fear that our child may grow up without a father.

He turned her around gently, lifting her head to see the tears flow down her cheeks. He brushed them away and looked into her eyes, then pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. He felt her head on his chest, and sighed deeply. "You know that naught could keep me from you, neither the evil in the east nor the Valar themselves. I love you, with all my heart, and I will return."

She gave no reply, and he held her in his arms for a while, till he heard a loud knocking on the door, and someone call his name. He slowly pulled away till he held only her hands, and then turned towards the house. He found his armour and a pack filled with essentials. He put on the armour and slung the bag onto his back, leaving the house by the front door and stepping out into the busy street. He followed the two soldiers who had knocked on the door, and they made their way towards the docks. He walked slowly, as if wishing with every step to return to his home. But duty held him fast, and he continued on his journey. He saw ships in the distance, and many men, clad in armour similar to his, assembling nearby. After walking some distance he turned and looked back towards his house. High upon a balcony she stood, shimmering radiantly in the light of the new sun. He turned again and looked to the horizon, knowing that there lay his destiny, for good or evil.

He awoke slowly as someone shook his shoulder vigourously. He muttered something and then asked, "what?"

"Rise!" Elorendil said with an urgent tone. "Rise and arm yourself; men approach! I know not how many, but their intentions are less than honorable, of this I am sure. Wake the others! Now, lest we all die!" Danaeth woke as quickly as possible and grabbed his sword.


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## Mirelena (Jun 15, 2005)

Cair roused from his light sleep. He took a deep breath and let it out. A long cloud of frozen vapor swirled though the air, then vanished. Though the days were quite warm for early spring, the nights were still cold. He scowled good-naturedly as he propped himself upon his elbow. As he stood up the frigid air made him shiver. Cairbrent wrapped his blood-stained cloak tightly around himself. He and his companions had encountered a group of orcs earlier in the evening and, with little trouble, managed to fight them off.
Soon after, they sought shelter from the chill breeze that swept down from the mountains of Mordor. They set up camp under the eves of Ithilien, hoping the trees would act as a windbreak.
The fire from the night before had burned down and Cair set quietly to work bringing it back to life. Soon it blazed high again, casting shadows upon the sleeping forms around him. He smirked as he thought about some of the tricks he had played on them in the past. It had been weeks before they would let him take the night watch alone.
Finally, he released his cloak with a groan of regret. It hung about his form loosely. He walked the perimeter of the camp making a fair amount of noise. A dark shadow caught his attention as it flitted through the corner of his eye. He stopped in his tracks and attempted to locate it again.
Was it just an animal? But animals were rare in Ithilien. Was it Elor? He hadn't seen her when he woke up. But the shape had been too large. Who was it then? Were there more than one? Where did they come from? Did they mean ill? What should he do? His mind fired off questions rapidly as he attempted to discern a favorable course of action. Quietly, he scampered to rouse his friends.
Meanwhile, Elorendil had slipped back with her usual Elven grace and agility and was waking Danaeth. He caught only a few words, but the urgency in her voice was unmistakable. "...arm...how many...less than...Wake the others!"
Cair needed no more confirmation. He set to work immediately. His face twitched into a smirk as he approached Kilio. Even as adrenaline coursed through his veins, he could not resist pulling a prank on his friend.
"Wake, fool! Lest we all die!" he said harshly and clapped a cold hand upon the shoulder of the large, sleeping form.


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## Morohtar (Jun 21, 2005)

Kilio was also sleeping deeply; nescessary, given the volume with which he snored. He had dreamt earlier of his past, and had awoken with a gasp, then settled down realizing that it was only a dream, though still to real for his comfort. With sleep growing on him again, he quickly nibbled at some leftover supper beside his bed, then dozed off again. Perhaps it was the snack, or perhaps not, but his next dream was strange, even for Kilio. 

The dream involved pies. Lots of pies. And a variety of pies, quite the plethora to choose from. But when he went to eat one, it cried out, "Nay, devour me not, for I have a family!" At once three small pies and a larger pie came towards him, and the larger of the pies tried to console of one the smallest of the pies, who was crying, though more the sounds of crying than actual tears, for the pies had no eyes, and therefore no means of producing tears. And so, feeling sorry for that particular pie, he set it down and reached for another. It spoke not when handled, and so he thought it safe to eat. Though when about six inches from his mouth, it too cried out, saying "Unhand me you fiendishly fiendish fiend, or thou shalt feel my full wrath!" Being quite startled by this, Kilio dropped the pie, which did make quite the noise and mess, and which did cause a unisonal gasp from the many pies around him. These pies did indeed grow rather irate, and did call out, "Murderer!" and "Scoundrel!" and other unsavoury things. They then surrounded him and pulled him downward. It would seem his life was saved by a hard grasp on his shoulder, which awoke him from his dream. He snorted and cried out, "The pies! The pies!" Cairbrent, who awoke him, made no effort of understanding Kilio's odd statement, nor did Kilio attempt to explain. He simply rose from his bed and, realizing trouble was afoot, made ready for battle.


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## Elorendil (Jul 7, 2005)

The thrill of battle coursed through Elorendil's veins as the feathered shaft of her arrow brushed against her pale fingertips. The reassuring weight of her bow rested in her other hand as she held the weapon loosely, searching the darkness with her keen elven eyes. Dúathmin stood beside her, every muscle in her powerful, black body coiled like a spring, ready to leap upon any adversary that might dare to come near her mistress. Behind her, the rest of their small company made ready for battle. She heard the distinctive ring of metal as Danaeth unsheathed his silvery sword. Cairbrent stood beside him, shifting from foot to foot in uneasy anticipation of what was to come. Sir stood quietly off to the side, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His expression was nearly unreadable in the half-light of the fire, save for the eager light in his green eyes.

Kilio moved to stand beside her, his long spear held at the ready in one hand. "How many?" their leader asked quietly.

Elorendil barely even glanced at him, still searching the darkness for any sign of their would-be attackers. _Perhaps, when they realized they could not take us unaware, the cowards turned back,_ she speculated. She shrugged off the thought and answered, "There were only two that I saw but I am certain there are more of them." A flicker of movement in the shadows caught her eye. She inclined her head slightly in the direction of their stalker. "Make that at least three." A dark smile tugged at the corners of her shapely mouth. Though she knew the possible severity of their situation, she could not help but ask their leader playfully, "Shall I thin their numbers a little?"


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## Morohtar (Jul 11, 2005)

Kilio turned to see a mischevous grin on Elorendil's face. He couldn't help but smile as well. "What, and let you have all the fun?" he said while running his thunb along the tip of his spear. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made him shiver with anticipation. Dephamon and Keros would taste blood tonight it seemed. Though he would try to keep the night from coming to that; he hated death, especially if it might include some of his friends.

"Besides, they might just be other travellers who have come to see whether we are a threat. They might see that we mean them no harm and leave of their own accord." He thought his words unconvincing, and judged by the look on Elorendil's face that they had been. Dùathmin's muscular form remained alert as she searched the dark with her sharp feline eyes.

Kilio, on the other hand, knew that his eyes would never see anything that wished to be hidden, and would trust in his companions and his chainmail. Though he wished that something would happen; he couldn't abide silent and waiting on the edge of action was beyond his patience. He watched his breathe turned to mist and disappear into the night, and then called out, "Who are you, O' assailants of the night? By what name may we call those who would disturb peaceful travellers as they slept?" He waited for a reply, which he hoped would come quickly, lest he run out into the forest, grab them all by their collars (if they had any), and boot them over the Ephel Duath, or possibly the moon if he felt up to it.


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## Ghorim (Jul 14, 2005)

*The Job*

Gavin's small cottage home had an especially cozy appearance about it that evening, its single room lit by a robust blaze in the crude brick fireplace. The beauty lay in the dwelling's simplicity; austerely furnished, it was basic yet inviting. A storm lashed at the home outside, but the tranquility within remained undisturbed. Even the shadows seemed friendly as they flickered and danced on the far wall. But beneath that idyllic image crept the tentacles of dread, wrapping themselves gradually around the man's heart as he sat before his evening meal. They worked on his spirit with a terrible sort of patience, wringing out his pleasure gradually, replacing it with a vague anxiety. It had gotten to the point where he could no longer enjoy his stew, the broth of which he had made himself from his favorite ingredients.

But why should Gavin worry? All was safe here; the cottage could not accuse him, could not do unto him any harm. Here he was welcome, and innocent. Yet from outside the wind seemed to call after him. There yet remained a debt to be paid, and Gavin sought with all of his strength to ignore it, taking another sip from his spoon. But the shrieking gusts outside would not allow the man to block them from his consciousness, and pummeled his sanctuary with a vengeful, redoubled fury. The sounds accumulated into a mass of pure dissonance in Gavin's head. He dropped his spoon, grabbing his hair with both hands and pressing his eyes shut. The cacophony built itself to a peak, and in the very instant that it became unbearable, the door flew open. It struck the wall with a clang and flapped about pathetically in the gale. Gavin clambered to his feet in horror. The winds had come for him!

A heavy footfall came, resounding like a thunderclap in Gavin's tortured mind. A shadow separated itself from the dark of night and emerged into the cottage, a stunted silhouette draped in a hooded travel cloak. It proceeded toward the man as he gawked on, tracking water and mud on the floor with each harsh step. Gavin clung on the precipice just above sheer panic as he addressed the figure.

"Wh- what... what do you want?"

The words came out choked, drowning in their own fear. The intruder seemed to inhale deeply, moving one gloved hand to its throat. The fingers gripped and tugged, and out spilled a beard of impressive length from the folds of the dark brown cloak. The other hand moved to grip the figure's hood, and pulled back sharply, revealing a ruddy and grim-looking face. It was a dwarf, naturally. Gavin should have recognized this fact immediately, but the mists of terror had blurred his sight. The bearded one spoke, with a voice that sounded like the stirring of stones before an avalanche.

"Shelter from the winds and a bit of meat to take with me are all that I desire, my good sir." 

The words, though cordial enough, came sounding detached, as if the dwarf were reciting the expressions of another.

The man exhaled slightly and leaned on his chair for support, his fears subsiding for the time being. "Ahh... well, sir dwarf... I am not so well off that I have any meat to offer, but I do have a stew boiling at the moment."

"I smelled as much. May I trouble you for a bowl?"

"Well..." Gavin hesitated for a moment. "Yes, I suppose you could have some."

The dwarf nodded, and without waiting for his host to sit, marched over to the table, taking a seat for himself. "Much obliged."

As Gavin shakily lowered himself into his chair, the dwarf examined him closely.

"All's well?" asked the Khazad.

"Certainly," said Gavin, none too convincingly. "Just a little... tired."

"And what of my bowl of stew?"

Gavin stared at his guest dumbly for a moment, but then quickly snapped back to life. "Oh... of course!" The man rose hurriedly, grabbing a bowl and spoon from one of his shelves. He then went over to the cauldron filled with stew, which sat near the fire, and ladled full the container, returning it to the dwarf.

"There you are."

Gavin sat once more as the dwarf gulped down great spoonfuls of the broth without waiting for it to cool. The man could only take a few feeble, distracted sips from his bowl as the dwarf wolfed down his complimentary meal. Once his bowl was dry, the diminutive traveler shoved it away and stroked his black beard thoughtfully.

"Hmm... a distinctive taste this broth has." The low rumble of his voice reverberated through Gavin's spine. "Was that... pumpkin that I tasted?"

The man nodded just barely enough to be noticed. "Why... why yes. Pumpkin, indeed."

"A rare ingredient in stews, I should think."

Gavin rubbed the back of his neck gently. "Well, certainly not all that common."

The dwarf leaned forward on the wooden table, causing it to creak slightly. "But I liked the taste. The pumpkins you used must have been of considerable quality."

"Ahem... well..."

"Tell me," continued the dwarf. "From where did you purchase these pumpkins?"

"From... where?" Gavin's hand did not leave the nape of his neck, and he began to scratch harder. "Well... let me see... oh yes! I went to the market, in the town square. They sell all manners of goods there, you see."

"Ahh..." the dwarf nodded. "Perhaps you could recall who sold them to you, then? I'd like to buy some for myself, methinks."

Gavin cleared his throat and gave a small bite to his lower lip. "Well... I'm sorry, but I cannot recall the fellow's name. It's not the sort of thing that one remembers, you see. He... well... I'm not sure if he even told me his name. I certainly didn't know him."

"Does the name... _Gill_ sound familiar?"

Gavin's fingernails dug deeply into the flesh on the back of his neck. "G-Gill, you say?"

"He has the finest pumpkins in the region, or so I hear."

"I... I myself hadn't heard..."

"You must have paid a hefty price for those pumpkins, aye?"

The dam of self-control that had held Gavin's fears burst, and he blurted out, "Why are you so damn interested in the confusticated pumpkins?!"

"Oh... let's just say that I have a vested interest in the pumpkins, Master Gavin."

Those words drove the color clear off of Gavin's face, and his muscles all seemed to lock in that moment of total shock. The dwarf's expression remained chiseled from stone, and his unfeeling countenance matched the myths of dwarves that Gavin knew. Following a silence that stretched through the ages, the dwarf spoke again.

"Allow me to be straightforward. Farmer Gill approached me on the matter of his vanishing pumpkin crop. Perhaps you've caught word of the thefts. He had no proof of the criminal's identity, but identified you as a suspect, and asked me to investigate the matter. Now, judging from your meal this evening and the trembling of your lips as I speak these words, I'm inclined to believe that his suspicions were correct."

Gavin could muster only a weak shake of his head as a retort. He wanted to stand and run for the door, but terrible visions of the potential consequences of this course of action fastened him into his chair.

"You have two routes to choose between now," said the dwarf, still with such a frigid and distant tone. "Quick and easy, or the opposite. Do you confess, then?"

Gavin was numb all over now, even to his own fear. His whole figure seemed to deflate all the more under the dwarf's cutting gaze. He could not obscure his debt any longer. "I... I am the thief that you seek."

The dwarf smiled, but it was a hollow expression. "Good... you've made this easier on the both of us."

With the chilling grin from his guest and captor, Gavin's horror returned to him afresh, and he shook all over as he asked meekly, "What then is my punishment?"

The question was so pathetic that a bit of sympathetic warmth appeared on the dwarf's face. He placed his right hand on Gavin's left forearm in what was apparently a sign of reassurance. "You shall pay only a reasonable price for your transgressions," said the dwarf as he looked the petrified man squarely in the eye.

Gavin gazed fixatedly on the dwarf's eyes, hardly even hearing the words that the traveler spoke. Those orbs were shrouded and gray, deadened by years of work in the trenches of human society. But the stillness of the dwarf's gaze was shattered in an instant by a sudden upwelling of rage from somewhere within, and his eyes flashed in a terrible fury that stopped Gavin's heart. Then came the hand axe, drawn from somewhere within the cloak by the dwarf's left hand as his right squeezed Gavin's arm in a vice grip. The weapon was lifted in a compact wind-up, and it hung in the air for only a moment, but its image became scorched upon Gavin's memory for the rest of his days. Down came the blade in a swift chop, its edge driving through the skin and muscle and bone in Gavin's left wrist, making the journey from one end of the joint to the other, and finally embedding itself in the cheap wood of the dinner table. The dark crimson flood came forth, spraying the dwarf upon the brow, staining his cloak and beard. The wrath in his eyes died away, and as the human howled in agony, a familiar dead chill enveloped the dwarf's heart once more.


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## Ghorim (Jul 15, 2005)

*Payment*

Helmin marched the two miles from Gavin's cottage to Gill's farm in the biting wind and rain, humming a half-forgotten marching tune to himself. The night was the dwarf's only companion, and so he was certainly in poor company that evening. His path was an isolated dirt road, fast turning to mud in the drizzle. There were no stars or moon to illuminate the dwarf's way. The heavens had deserted him, withholding all blessings for his despicable task. No creatures stirred in the dead of the night, for no beast would trumpet the miserable journey of a bloodstained dwarf. There was only the road and the rain, an oppressive mist that completely filled the air, a terrible crown on a disgusting and lonely scene. 

The dwarf entered Gill's impressive farmhouse through the back door, as per his employer's requests. The farmer didn't want his family to know about the darker aspects of his work, didn't want their innocent eyes to take in the squat and hideous form of his hired help. Helmin stepped into what appeared to be a sitting room of some sort, having wiped off his muddy boots beforehand. A dying lantern poorly illuminated the entire room, and in that dim light the dwarf saw Gill, rocking back and forth in his favorite chair. The farmer's eyes were closed, but his mouth had opened wide in a crooked grin, and the lantern's glow was reflected in the man's pearly teeth. 

"How'd the job go?"

"Quick... easy... he confessed, and did nothing to oppose me in my duties. Your thief problem is solved."

"And the proof?" Gill opened his eyes now and leaned forward slightly in his chair.

"Here," Helmin said as he removed a darkly-stained pouch from his belt. He brought it over to Gill slowly, with the reverence of a servant for his master. 

The farmer took the pouch from the dwarf's gloved hands and glanced inside briefly. Once he was satisfied that his employee had completed his assigned task, Gill closed the pouch and placed it on a small table beside his rocking chair. He laughed gleefully, in what sounded almost like a childish giggle.

"Well bless my boot heels... you're as effective as they said you'd be! I'll keep your name in mind, Helmin, should I ever encounter any more problems with my business."

"Just hand over the payment."

"Of course," said the farmer with a nod, taking up a pouch of his own from the table and tossing it at the dwarf. It contained only a few coins, a petty sum for a petty thief. Helmin caught the pouch and fastened it to his belt, on a notch between two of his infamous throwing axes.

The smile wouldn't leave Gill's plump face. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

Helmin adopted a scornful look and gripped his leather belt with both hands. "I do not work in this field for pleasure, sir." Was that a lie? "And certainly not for jobs like this one... he was a hapless wretch... fell to pieces right before my eyes. It wasn't even necessary to take his hand... he would have been too shaken to steal again."

"Now, dwarf, I was very specific in my instructions. You surprise me... it's not like a fellow in your line of work to be so distracted by sympathy."

"I fulfilled your orders to the letter, as you can see," said Helmin, his disdainful features locking into place. "And I felt nothing for him in that moment. I leave my weaknesses behind when I embark upon an assignment. But looking back afterwards... there was dishonor in what I did tonight. He showed me more hospitality than you did when I first visited your home." 

Gill's smile faded slightly at Helmin's words, but he still maintained an amused look. "Is that so?"

"To you, I am a dirty secret, a dreadful tool to be concealed from your family. Never could I dine at your table. This man treated me like a true guest, and allowed me to sit beside him."

"But you know that he's a dirty thief and a liar."

"We all have our flaws," said Helmin quietly, and turned to walk for the exit. He gripped the door's handle, but then stopped, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder. "What are you going to do with your trophy, then?"

Gill laughed his grating laugh again. "Well, I'm low on hog feed at the moment. Got to keep my prized swine fat somehow, yes?" And with those words he burst out in a fit of howling laughter, swinging wildly back and forth in his chair. Disgusted, Helmin quickly pulled the door open and marched out into the night.

From behind him, the dwarf heard Gill's parting words, choked with laughter. "You come back now, hear?"

Helmin, of course, had no intentions of returning to that farmhouse ever again.

---

The dwarf trudged into a nearby town and spent most of Gill's coins on drink, letting the alcohol blur the memories of what had transpired in Gavin's cottage that evening. The sight of the blood became an ambiguous recollection in the drunken dwarf's head, and he wondered now whether it was a dreamed or actual event. All of his frustration and resentment toward the diseased world of humanity became dulled, and a feeling that could pass for contentment settled over Helmin. But no... he was not content, rather he simply did not care about the state of his life in that inebriated moment. 

Now high in spirits, the dwarf stumbled off into the night, marching in a haphazardly chosen direction for the duration of the evening. Despite his fatigue and intoxication, Helmin did not stop to rest, and as dawn approached he found himself confused and exhausted in a strange, wooded region, on a path completely surrounded by suspicious-looking trees.

Suddenly, out of the inscrutable darkness came a shouted challenge that halted the dwarf in his tracks.

"Who are you, O' assailants of the night? By what name may we call those who would disturb peaceful travellers as they slept?" 

Helmin's head reeled. He attempted to snap into sobriety in order to analyze the words and their origin. Surely it couldn't have been his imagination. The sound had been too clear and distinctive to be unreal. So where was it coming from, then? The dwarf glanced about wildly, his vision going in and out of focus. He could see no others on the path or in the trees. Even in his drunken confusion, Helmin couldn't help but smile and even chuckle a bit from the sheer exhilaration of the situation. 

"Well well... what've I gotten myself into this time?" the dwarf mumbled as he clumsily pulled out two throwing axes from his traveling cloak.


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## Elorendil (Jul 29, 2005)

*Evil! *mwhahaha**

In a little shack just inside the rough hewn walls of the small town sat a little old man, the town gatekeeper. Tom sighed wearily. There had been no traffic in or out all evening and the dusk was now turning to inky black darkness. A cloud or two had gathered to obscure the stars, blotting out their silvery light. He leaned back against his chair and folded his hands behind his head. Only a few more hours, then he would be relieved of his post.

Just as the old warden was about to drift off to sleep, the sound of clattering hooves shattered the stillness. Tom hurried to his feet and went to peer out the small window in the gate. Squinting into the darkness, he could just make out the form of a horse and rider bearing down on the gate at an alarming rate, with no sign of slowing. A gasp escaped him as, mere inches from the door, the horse slid to a stop, black hooves sending up a large cloud of dust. 

"Good evening, sir," Tom greeted the stranger through the narrow window. "What business have you in our town?"

The rider leaned forward to address the gate warden, one hand resting lightly on his gleaming swordhilt. Tom took in his strange dress and the turquoise stone dangling around his neck in one dubious glance. If he had any doubts that this man came from some distance, they were dispelled the instant the rider opened his mouth. "I've come here on business," he said with a thick, eastern accent. "And perhaps a little... entertainment," he added with a suggestive grin. "Now, let me in, old man."

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Tom opened the door to admit the outlander and his horse. As he rode through, the man turned in the saddle and flipped him a coin. "Thank you, my good man," he said, then turned and continued down the street.

Tom stared at the gold coin in shock. This was more than he earned in a week! "E-enjoy your stay, m'lord," he stammered as the rider disappeared around the corner.

*******

Beril stopped in front of a weathered sign that read, "The Brazen Pint Inn" and slid off his steaming mount. He lead Farkass around to the stable behind the inn and left him in the care of a young stable boy, whose eyes widened to the size of dinner plates at the sight of the coin promised him if he took good care of the stallion. Reassured his mount would be well cared for, he gave the majestic animal a pat on the neck, then returned to the inn. _I hope she is here,_ he thought as he pushed the door open.

A variety of sights, smells, and sounds assaulted his senses as he stepped inside. A large number of patrons were gathered around the bar, participating in some game of chance. Most of them were human, like himself, but there were also a few elves and one of two dwarves in the mix. He dismissed the group almost immediately. She would not be caught up in such a crowd. Beril turned and searched the tables and corners of the room. Finally, he caught sight of her. Sitting at a dimly lit table at the far side of the room, nursing a mug of ale and watching the goings on around her, sat an elf who fit the description given to him.

He approached silently and slid into a chair across from her. "Falathiel?" he asked, putting his empty hands on the table in a gesture of friendship. She watched him detachedly. "That depends," she answered smoothly. "Who wants to know?"

Beril ignored the question. "I have a job for you," he said, producing a large pouch full of coins and setting it on the table. "If you think you're up to it, that is," he added, keeping one hand on the leather pouch as he dangled the bait.


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## Elvenladyfair (Aug 1, 2005)

As soon as the man entered, Falathiel knew it was more work. She heard his footsteps clearly above the din of the bar. He was looking for her. She didn't look up, but took a sip of her mug and waited. Like a patient cat. His footsteps drew nearer. Good.

She still kept her eyes lowered, even as he approached the table and sat down. 

_"Falathiel?"_

_"That depends. Who wants to know?"_

His hands were on the table in a friendship gesture, but she removed herself from it. Clearly, this man had know idea who she was. If he did, he'd know, she had no friends, and did not desire them. 

_"I have a job for you. If you think you're up to it, that is."_

A small grin slid across Falathiel's face. "Have no doubt, my good sir, I am more than up to your request, whatever it may be. My singular talents have been used by many over the years." She thought she'd take the opportunity to brag. "And I have never failed. Well-versed in this art I am." A small chuckle escaped her mouth. It was true, many had asked her services, Men, Orcs, Southrons, all for one thing. . . hate. Something which Falathiel had known well.

She eyed the man silently. From his accent, he was an Easterling, as if his turquoise pendant and slightly darker features didn't give him away. _He's come a long way to find me, she thought. _ He dangled a pouch of money in front of her, which nearly drove her to distraction. Indeed, money, was the only thing that stirred her heart.

"Tell me the price, and the deed, and I will tell you whether or not I accept." She toyed with him as if he was the leather bag he dangled in front of her. It was important that he understand, that though she would be his hired assassin, she would accept or deny any request, and come and go as she pleased.


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## Mirelena (Aug 11, 2005)

*Evil*

The small camp of mercenaries had slept little during the chill night. A sense of foreboding had kept Jakoval awake. He silently cursed the stillness. It was TOO calm. A far cry from the ship he had manned for years until a double-crossing son of a-…

He let out a hiss as his eyes narrowed. It was because of _him_ that The Rat was here now. Far from everything he could ever have claimed as home. The sea was his mother, sister and lover. He couldn’t understand the flatness of the land. His shallow heart was comforted by the sharpness of the mountains that rose from the earth. It reminded him of the wild ways of a stormy ocean.

Once again he cursed aloud, not caring about those around him who were trying to sleep. In his mind’s eye, Jakoval relived the moment he had been driven from the shores of Umbar. He had fled in fear of his life to the place where he had met the dark elves. He had been approached by Eos first.

*“It’s rare to find a seaman this far inland. Having troubles are we?” he asked in that damned confident voice of his. Jak remained stubbornly silent.*

*“I see,” the elf continued undaunted, “Today may be the beginning of good luck for you. It so happens that I’m looking for a sailor. I lead a band of mercenaries. If you will follow orders and ask few questions, I could use you.”*

*Jakoval pretended not to hear, seemingly engrossed in the study of his mug. The rum here tastes like orc dung. He pretended not to notice when Eos rose and left the room. The feeling of opportunity lost soon came over him. He’s playing mind games with me, the seaman realized, Well, it won’t work.*

*After a bar fight broke out because of a spilled drink, Eos had returned, with Eona, to rescue the seafarer.*

*“My offer still stands. I leave now. Will you come?” Eos asked, then blatantly turned and walked towards the town gate. Eona watched him leave.*

*“Choose wisely,” she said simply. She gave Jakoval a significant look, then followed her brother.*

Jakoval looked at the sleeping form of the attractive elven lady. It was mostly for her that The Rat had come along. Was it his fault he had a thing for hard-to-get women? Someday, Eos would be out of the way…

A slight movement caught his eye, though the foliage remained still and silent. The scout had returned sooner than expected. Something was up.


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## Mirelena (Aug 11, 2005)

*Good*

The morning sun had risen like a crimson tide. It was unlike any sunrise Cair had ever seen. The frosted tree tops seemed to glisten with the very blood they were about to shed. It spoke clearly of the slaying that night and what was destined to happen this day.

_"Strong words from the weak have no power. You would be well advised to speak in a more temperate manner to those who could kill you before you take another breath."_

Cairbrent's blood ran chill at the sound of the merciless voice that replied to Kilio's hail. Willing himself not to give in to fear, he took a deep breath and held his chin higher while scanning the trees for the assailants.
The voice had sounded elven, but like none he had ever heard before. The cruelty and wickedness that dripped from the few words spoken would have made Cair drop his weapons and flee without even a glance at his friends not even a month ago. So much had happened to bring them together, even in just that short time.
Now he must be brave and protect those who had taken him in, despite his many flaws. Silently, as warmth slowly spread through his veins again, he drew his plain shortsword and held it at the ready. Temperate, was it? _I'll show them temperate!_ Cairbrent thought.
"We do not fear to die!" he shouted at the trees. "We have all treaded the twilit lands where life is hardly distinguishable from death. You would do well to leave a few, poor travelers alone, lest you and those with you be slaughtered in turn, bastard son of a dark Elf!"
Cair added the title at the end as almost an afterthought. He now understood why the men of Gondor and Rohan had so little liking for the Elves.


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## Ghorim (Aug 16, 2005)

*Neutral (a free agent, if you will)*

Helmin's mind found itself trapped in a desperate race to make sense of his current predicament. His ale-soaked thoughts stumbled and floundered about, trying to pull themselves together into a state of relative coherence while simultaneously attempting to plot a course of action. From whence came these threatening words? Who spoke them? A thousand foolish theories rose and fell in Helmin's head as he turned about in staggering circles, his tired and bewildered eyes attempting to glance in every direction at once.

"An ambush... come to get me at last, eh? Think that they can surround me... kill 'em... puncture a hole in their perimeter and then make a run for it..."

Helmin saw himself crashing through the forest, over the blood-spattered bodies of two of his assailants, neatly withdrawing his axes from their throats as he passed. A crack appeared in the dwarf's unflappable facade as the left side of his mouth twitched. He began to lick his chops in anticipation. So degraded was Helmin in that moment, fresh off of the violence of the past night and drunk out of his senses, that he literally hungered for bloodshed. He longed for the fiery thrill and icy tingle that came with the power to take a life, to experience the fulfilling triumph of conquering a foe and obliterating all of his future aspirations with a single flick of the wrist. 

What Helmin did not remember was the paralysis that would inevitably set in afterward, the horrific guilt that had held his conscience captive after every victory in combat. But when one's survival is on the line, it is advantageous to forget such things. There is no room for hesitation, and morals become obscured in the solemn shadows of the battlefield. Such was the state of Helmin's mind, ever at war with itself, torn to shreds by the labors which he undertook to keep himself fed.

Another voice came from somewhere within the foreboding woods.

"Strong words from the weak have no power. You would be well advised to speak in a more temperate manner to those who could kill you before you take another breath."

Helmin stopped his aimless spinning and now stared in the direction of this latest threat. Dawn's light began to filter in through the dead trees, weaving in between their vainly grasping arms to gradually illuminate the desolate scene about Helmin. Birds sang in maddening call and response patterns, their simple minds oblivious to the sense of dread that was now beginning to seep into every crevice of the forest. Soon, someone would be lying motionless upon the ground, dead as the leaves beneath him, eyes shrouded by death's veil, no longer a sentient being driven by passions and fears, but merely food for the mold and worms. But no, it would not be Helmin. The dwarf was intent on indefinitely postponing his departure from the world of the living, regardless of what achieving this aim would require him to do.

Besides, the dwarf realized suddenly, none of these verbal jabs had been directed at him. His defensive stance slackened ever so slightly, his grip on the twin throwing axes loosening. No... the voices had originated from two separate parties, at odds with one another and exchanging threats. Neither side had taken note of Helmin as of yet... they were more concerned with posturing toward their adversaries. Here came another declaration:

"We do not fear to die! We have all treaded the twilit lands where life is hardly distinguishable from death. You would do well to leave a few, poor travelers alone, lest you and those with you be slaughtered in turn, bastard son of a dark Elf!"

The smile that had left Helmin's lips returned by degrees. 

"So it's not me that they're after," thought the dwarf. "And it sounds like they're just about to start tearing each other asunder!"

Now Helmin's plan became clearly illuminated in his mind. He would approach the field of battle and watch, concealed in the underbrush, as the two factions vied for supremacy. It would quickly become apparent which side had the upper hand, and Helmin would then spring to action, appearing out of nowhere as a heroic savior, helping to crush the losing party for good. The victorious survivors would then be indebted to Helmin, and he could manipulate them as he pleased. A fine strategy it was, certainly quite sound for a fellow battling a nasty hangover. Convinced of the infallibility of his designs, the dwarf crept forward gradually, in the direction of the heated verbal exchange.


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## Mirelena (Aug 16, 2005)

Jakoval had listened to the scout's report to Eos with pleasure. Eos had quickly slipped away to investigate further. He gave instructions for his band of cutthroats to follow him, there was business to attend to.
At last! _This_ was what The Rat had come along for. He did well when it came to pillaging and plundering. He simply disliked the celebration that accompanied it aftwerward... Unless some drunken fool had taken a valuable he desired. Then the drunken revelry was advantagious. No one would miss the dead man until the next day, and no one cared anymore. Their headaches made sure of that. Besides, such killings were not at all uncommon.

The hope of booty coursed through his veins as he gathered his belongings into his pack. He would take his favored weapons and leave the rest here. No point in risking loss because of a hasty retreat. Jakoval was a man to cover all bases.

"Quickly!" Eona barked to the stragglers, "Eos awaits. Do not risk his displeasure. He is terrible in wrath." The twisted smile that played about her lips made The Rat quiver with desire- or was it fear?

Soon he was at the dark elf's side. Eos stood behind an outcropping of rocks, the roots of the mountain rising toward the light. From there, they could hear clearly everything that happened in the camp of their prey.

"How many?" Eona asked her brother. Her voice was low and filled with malice. The early morning light glinted off her obsidian hair, which just made her evil beauty even more stunning and enticing.

"Very few," came the disappointed reply, "An elf, I think. Three men. It's hardly worth our time." Cairbrent's insult suddenly sounded harsh upon their ears. "But then, they _did_ just call us bastards, dear sister," Eos concluded.

"That wasn't very civil of them, was it, my brother?" Eona purred.

"No. It wasn't."

Jakoval grew weary of the verbal banter. It was like talking up a bar wench. It was rewarding in the end, but tiresome just the same. The scimitar at his side called to him. It was thirsty. It clamoured for blood.
The seaman stroked the cold, metal hilt lovingly. Soon. Very soon.


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## Elorendil (Aug 17, 2005)

*Evil *cue Darth Vader theme song**

"Have no doubt, my good sir, I am more than up to your request, whatever it may be. My singular talents have been used by many over the years. And I have never failed. Well-versed in this art I am." Beril couldn't help but smirk at the elven assassin's bragging. _There's always a first time,_ he thought. _We'll soon find out just how good you are._

"Tell me the price, and the deed," she continued, "And I will tell you whether or not I accept." 

_Ah, yes; Money, the one thing that motivates these hired murderers._ In one motion, Beril emptied the contents of the leather pouch onto the table. He watched Falathiel's eyes widen at the sight of the golden coins and the _plink_ of them hitting the table. He sat back for a moment, watching her as she took in the large amount of money he so casually waved before her.
"This is but a taste of what you will be given when you have completed the task." Beril pushed the coins to the edge of the table and let each one fall back into the pouch with a _clink_. Falathiel's dark green eyes followed the movement until the last coin vanished into the bag and Beril returned it to his belt. Reluctantly, she returned her attention to him. 

"The deed is this: to hunt down and kill a certain elven maiden," he continued cooly. 
"Her name is Elorendil. She comes from Rivendell, but travels quite a bit, usually riding a white mare she calls 'Nimar'." He produced a small piece of parchment with a written description of Falathiel's prey and slid it across the table to the elf. She picked it up and studied it as Beril continued. 
"Her weapons of choice are a longsword and recurved bow, both of which she wields with efficiency." Though he carefully kept his face neutral, he winced inwardly, remembering how deftly she had wielded the weapons against the small hunting party Garmihad, his master, had sent to capture her a few months earlier. A single warrior from the party had returned just over two weeks ago, limping back to his master to lick his wounds and tell the tale of her deadly skills. The red-hot fury that had contorted his master's face at the news of the death of his men was still fresh in Beril's mind. He shook himself free of the memory and went on. 
"As much as my master would like her to suffer and die at his own hands, there is too much risk in transporting her back to Rhûn, too many chances for her to be rescued. You may choose the method of her death, as long as it is slow and painful. You will then deliver her body to my master, along wiht a detailed account of her death. He will then reward you as only the High Lord of the Easterlings can." He looked at Falathiel expectantly.
"Do you accept?"


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## Elorendil (Aug 17, 2005)

*Good*

"Strong words from the weak still have no power."

The thinly veiled threat hung menacingly in the dew-laden morning air, sending a shiver ran down Elorendil's back. She flipped her auburn hair over her shoulder, trying to shake off the feeling of dread that held her in its icy grip. She turned her attention to to speaker's voice, trying to identify him.

"You would be well advised," the disembodied voice spoke again, floating out to her from the shadows. There was something about the inflection in that voice- Suddenly, it clicked. Those were the unmistakable vocal mannerisms of a dark elf. "-to speak in a more temperate mannner to those who could kill you before you take another breath."

At these words, her feelings of doubt gave way to anger. The hair at the back of her neck rose as her ire did at this unprovoked threat. How dare this dark elf threaten them? She pivoted on one foot, tracking voice to its source not 30 feet from where she stood. She searched the shadows left by the rising sun, trying to pinpoint the location of their harasser. 

Apparently, his words had stoked Cairbrent's anger, also. Before she could summon the words for an adequately cutting reply, Cair's clear voice cut through the early morning chill. "We do not fear to die!" the Rohirric man called angrily into the trees- facing the wrong direction, Elorendil noticed with some amusement. "We have all treaded the twilit lands where life is hardly distinguishable from death. You would do well to leave a few, poor travellers alone, lest you and those with you be slaughtered in turn, bastard son of a dark Elf!"

A grin tugged once more at her lips. Cair certainly did know how to insult another! Judging from the silence that met his outburst, Elorendil wagered his final remark, in particular, had struck home. Her own temper still flaring, she stepped forward and raised her bow, pulling the string taught as she notched an arrow on it. She searched her memory for what little she knew of Avarin, seeking an adequate insult to add to Cair's. Finding it, she stepped out into the red light of the sun and faced their assailant defiantly. 

"Weak we are not," she called out in the tongue of the Dark Elves, "O coward who skulks in darkness, and I could kill you before you take another breath just as easily, you who are a disgrace to the elven race!" To prove her point, Elorendil loosed the arrow, sending it whistling through the air not six inches above and to the right of where she judged their assailant to stand. "Now, begone, Elf of Darkness, for that was but a warning and my next arrow shall not miss its mark."


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## Morohtar (Aug 18, 2005)

Neither Eonä nor Eos flinched as the arrow whistled by; they had been shot at enough to know which arrows would hit home. Eos smiled at the unmitigated anger and fear that could be heard in their voices. He knew better than to let emotions gain control of his actions; such things often lead to rash decisions, which hardly ever turn out well. He peered into the twilit forest to where his men slowly encircled their prey. _Indeed_, he thought, _this should be easy enough. Though I could use this opportunity get rid of a few, less loyal members of the group._ He decided to toy with them for a moment, like a cat batting at an injured mouse, before he dispatched them.

"And what a tribute to the elves you are, trapped like a fox in it's hole. I doubt the skills of one who would allow themself to be trapped so easily, cowering like a caged animal. Weak you are, though you would hide it with brave and foolish words. Take care what you say, for I fire no warning shots." 

He turned to look around the side of the rock, his indigo eyes glancing at his prey. They all stared intently into the forest surrounding them, trying to make out their enemies. Their faces held fear, and a stubbornness that amused him. He pulled back behind the rock and spoke aloud.

"And as for your friend, tell him that death is the least of his worries, and he may yet embrace it gladly."


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## Elvenladyfair (Aug 18, 2005)

*Evil. *smirks**

Falathiel sat in silence for a moment, pondering the task that lay before her. She put one hand behind her to feel the pointed scabbard of one of her short swords. It seemed they were just as thirsty for blood as she was. It was something she craved more than life. . . that euphoria of blade to flesh, watching their eyes glaze over. . . feeling their soul leave them. That was something no wine, no drug, no sensation could match. 

_If this Man is good for what he says, then I could profit much. He might try to double-cross me and not pay me when the time comes. _

"You know how to stike a good bargain, if you believe in putting a price on a life." She hesitated for a moment, realizing that for an assassin, she sounded soft. 
"But I'm afraid, I shall need a. . ." She paused, as if she didn't know the words to say. She stroked her chin, as if in thought.

"A bit of a going down-payment." 
She watched the Easterlings dark eyes flicker with anger. 
"It wouldn't need to be much, just enough for any traveling expenses I might have, or weapon repair. . . things of that nature. And I don't spend money frivilously."
It was true, on more than one occassion, she needed to buy glass to repair her arrow heads, and a new whetstone here and there. Just the basics. 

"It of course is entirely up to you, but denying me this one thing would not be wise."


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## Elorendil (Aug 19, 2005)

*Evil!*

Beril leaned back in his chair and regarded her, as if considering her demand. This elven assassin was predictable, if anything. This stipulation was not unanticipated and the answer had been formed long ago. Still, it was probably better not to let her know that. He reached down with one hand to hold the pouch of coins, as if weighing in his mind whether or not he should give it to her.

After a long moment of feigned hesitation, Beril shrugged. "No doubt you fear that my master will not pay you when you have completed your part of the deal. A completely unfounded concern, I assure you." 
He paused, toying with her. Anger flared in the elf's eye at what she thought was a refusal of her imposition. Before she could speak, Beril added, almost as an afterthought, "Still, I suppose that a few coins as a token of good faith is not too much to ask."
He tossed the bag of coins onto the table. "Will this suffice?"


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## Elvenladyfair (Aug 19, 2005)

*Evil, again. *sly smirk**

The clanck of the coins on the table was the most wonderful music Falathiel had ever heard. To her ears, it was sensious, beautiful, and stirring all wrapped up one short,quick noise. 
"That will more than suffice, I thank you." She quickly snatched up the bag and hid it in her own travel sack." 

With that, she rose to her feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll retire to my room, if there is nothing further."

She left without waiting for him to answer, strands of her long hair trailing be hind her. It had been some time since she had had a job to do, and she had let her hair grow, while she waited. But now. . . it was time to cut it again. Long hair just wasn't practical when wielding two short swords and a bow, so she needed to shorten it till it fell just above the nape of her neck. And she needed to mix some of her special concoctions, just in case. There was so much to do to prepare for a hit, but it was well worth it in the end.


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## Morohtar (Sep 1, 2005)

The silence terrified Danaeth the most. The darkness thickened the harder he tried to pierce it, and the crackling of the fire sounded like approaching footsteps to his untrained ears, which only stretched further his already thin nerves. 

"Who are you, O' assailants of the night? By what name may we call those who would disturb peaceful travellers as they slept?" Kilio's voice died quickly in the grasping branches, choked and leaving the forest quieter than before, if it was possible. His call seemed to echo in Danaeth's mind, and no answer came for some time. When it did, it chilled Danaeth's blood more than the deepest frost ever could.

"Strong words from the weak have no power. You would be well advised to speak in a more temperate manner to those who could kill you before you take another breath." The voice came from everywhere; the trees, the rocks, the very heart of the fire that dimmed as the words were spoken, as if the flames felt the same chill.

He held his sword tightly, though it felt flimsy and harmless in his hands. Cairbrent replied fiercely to the voice, though Danaeth thought his reply sounded weak against the indomitable presence that surrounded their camp. Elorendil also spoke, and her words also seemed stifled. Danaeth didn't dare speak, he simply cowered and awaited doom, death, and the red dawn to follow, though he might not live to see it.


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## Morohtar (Sep 15, 2005)

*Good*

Kilio had listened to about as much arrogant mockery as he could take. He called back to his assailant, "Rather I would embrace death than be forced to listen to anymore of your flagrant insults and threats. This is free land, and travellers may come and go as they please; you have no dominion over this place. You are naught but thieves and ruffians! If you wish to kill me than make it quick, for I have friends to join in the afterlife. If not, then leave us be. " He raised himself up from where he had taken shelter and looked around, arms raised in challenge. He waited for the sharp whistle of arrow shafts cutting through the air, and the pain that would follow, but silence prevailed, and he felt only the sting of the cold air.


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## Morohtar (Sep 28, 2005)

*Evil, but really just misunderstood...*

Eos leaned against the rock while listening to the man's reply, then smiled as he heard the sounds of the ensnared making an arrogant, fatal mistake. He had toyed with them enough; they could provide no more entertainment, and were therefore expendable. His smile died and he raised his hand to signal the attack. He paused for a moment, and a mischevious, malicious smile donned his face. He lowered his hand slowly, postponing the attack momentarily.

"Your foolishness amuses me, for that you are lucky. As you say, this is not our land, therefore you have as much right as us to walk through it. No, it is not circumstance that led to this situation, instead it is our nature, as theives and murderers that causes your life to be in such danger. I love none, care for few, and hate many. Those I don't know, I hate. That is why you and all those with you shall die."

He stood upon the rocks that he had hidden behind, and stared intensely at the large figure that stood below. The sun had risen to some height now, and much of the area was easily visible. The man's face was grim, hardened by a life of fighting. He would enjoy killing this man.

"But not now. No, that would be too easy. Do not think me merciful, for it is not because of mercy that I let you go, but for sport. You shall be given one day without pursuit, travel wherever you will. But when the sun rises again, we shall pursue you to your deaths. Hurry now, and do not delay in your leaving, for it will lessen the entertainment." With this final statement, he left his place and returned to their camp. He knew the others would dislike his choice, but he didn't care. He sat and began to sharpen his blade.


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## Mirelena (Sep 29, 2005)

*Good*

When the Dark Elf appeared upon the rock, Cair shuddered to his core. Deathly beauty and a heart of malice was enough to freeze the blood of the bravest soul, he was certain. Yet, Kilio stood tall and strong. His blood did not seem to slow with fear. Indeed, Cair sense a boiling beneath the calm exterior of his friend.
His threat and ultimatum delivered, their antagonist disappeared behind the outcropping again and Cair could amost imagine the cold sound of sharpening iron in the distance. Warily the travellers began to move about the camp, gathering their posessions and moving into the shadow of the trees.
"Is that it?" Kilio whispered to Elorendil.
"For the moment. Less talk, we must move from this place, NOW."
Cair did not realize that he had been holding his breath until his lungs began to fatigue. He exhaled slowly and his heart began to race. _Curses_, he thought, _It's not 'til after the confrontation that my hearts begins to beat like an Southron war drum._
He resheathed his short sword and made his way toward Danaeth while muttering something about Elves and their grossly over-exaggerated command of wisdom and knowledge.
"Just because they're supposed to live forever doesn't mean that they have learned anything in that time. I have friends who have more street savvy than a hundred elves. I'd like to see them survive the streets of Rohan and Gondor with no food, money, or precious title to keep them alive. OW!"
The last part of his comment had been made directly to Danaeth. Cair had walked up behind him and slapped him on the back. "I keep forgetting that you wear mail. It hurts my tender hand every time!" he exclaimed with a wince.
Danaeth laughed nervously. "It has served me well many times. Not the least of which is just now."
"What do you mean by 'now?'" Cair replied with an innocent expression of curiosity. His fear seemed to have significantly dissapated with each step taken away from the confrontation, "During the Elf's exasperating and over-confident verbal assault? Or when I slapped you just now?"
"Both."
"Ah, I see how it is, you don't care for your old friend anymore. You would wear chainmail to protect yourself from an attack and you say 'not the least of which' is Cair." He pulled a brightly colored hankerchief from Danaeth's collar.
"You never cease to amaze me with your sleight-of-hand antics!" he said, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Ah, and never shall I reaveal my secrets to you! Though, I do know that we have a day's march ahead of us. Perhaps, with a little wine in my gullet, I can aggrivate you with some more tricks." Cair replied while he waggled his eyebrows up and down.
Danaeth chuckled, but soon grew solemn. "I do not know how much more time you will have to teach me, Cairbrent, my friend. After the elf spoke, I felt dread fill my innermost being. If we should come to blows, Cair, I do not think that I will live long enough to learn the things that you astound me with so much.
"But come," he said suddenly, "Enough talk of foolish fears and dark thoughts. Perhaps you should go and tease Duathmin. I know Elorendil is dying to boil over at someone after all the exictement of this morning."
Cairbrent laughed and patted his friend on the back; a little more gently this time.


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## Mirelena (Sep 30, 2005)

*Evil*

When Eös raised his hand for the attack, Jakoval drew his sword eagerly. The harsh metallic ring of the lethal weapon gave it a sinister voice. The lust of battle and blood already glowed in the pirate's eyes. He lept forward silently, like a fiendish shadow, but held when his leader began to speak again.

Eyes widened in frustration, he obeyed whispered orders issued by Eöna to retreat. He followed the elven siblings through the undergrowth until they reached the stony camp now bathed in golden morning light. Jakoval was too incensed against Eös to notice any of the still beauty around him.

"What in the name of-" he began as the murderous, masculine form seated itself and began to sharpen iron.

"You would _dare_ to question the order given you by your captain?" Eöna hissed at him.

"I would when it seems as though the order given is intended to make us look like cowards and weaklings. What was the point?" Jakoval retorted.

"I will not stand for your insolence, _Rat!_" she said. Her voice was tinged with ice as she laid her hand upon the hilt of her elven blade. Jakoval saw her movement and mirrored it.

"Have I ever mentioned that you are exquisite when you are angry?" he asked deliberately inciting her cat-like rage.

In a flash, her sword was drawn. Iron clashed against iron, but the sound fell dead amid the stifling trees. Jakoval imagined this as a dance amid a whirl of metal and tireless limbs. Both would take a hard, sharp blow and give theirs in turn. Grace and agility pitted against quickness and strength. The few other members of the band drew together to watch and shout encouragements to whomever seemed to have the advantage at the moment.

Eös ignored the commotion until it came close enough to kick dust upon his blade. He then lept to his feet and roared, "Enough!"

The two assailants drew apart as he addressed them both with a voice as hard as granite, "You disturb me. If my decision was pointless, this is even more so. Eöna, go your way. Jakoval," he said, setting a threatening gaze upon his waterman, "If ever you dare to question my decision again, you will not have the satisfaction of falling at my sister's hand. I shall reserve that pleasure for myself. Prepare yourself for pursuit."

Jakoval flinched as the Dark Elf's voice dropped lower and lower. There was more power in the decieptive purr than there was in the most primeaval, animal bellow. As he walked away, he recalled again why, besides the hope of claiming Eöna, he bided his time and obeyed Eös' word as law.


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## Elorendil (Sep 30, 2005)

*Good*

"What is this about the foolishness of elves?" Elorendil asked as she stepped up soundlessly behind Cair and Danaeth. "You ought to mind your tongue, my friend, and not say such things in the company of an elf. Were we not friends, I might slay you in retribution for such a rash comment." Though her tone was teasing, the spark in her sapphire eyes showed that she was a little irked at the belittlement of her race. 
"It is true that some of the Eldar do not always make wise decisions," she continued, "But I have met many men less wise than even the most foolhardy of elves. On occasion, you are included in that number, my friend Cair. Threatening poor 'Min, just now, was one of them. I ought to have her lick you to death for it. Why do you insist on torturing my companion when she has done nothing to you?"

Elorendil abandoned her half-teasing tirade, her gaze moving to the long shadows cast by the trees in the early morning. The smile that tugged at her ruby lips vanished abruptly, replaced by a more serious expression. Worry furrowed her pale brow. Though the confrontation seemed to have come to an end, she still could not shake the sense of unease that troubled her. "But now is not the time to settle such things," she said. "We have been given a chance to avoid needless bloodshed and should take it. We must move off, quickly. Though I believe we would win in battle against these 'fools', as Cair calls them, I do not know at what price our victory would come. We would not be altogether unscathed, I think. Let us depart, before it comes to blows."


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## Morohtar (Oct 1, 2005)

"That is why you and all those with you shall die."

Eonä smiled sadistically and ran her tongue along her top lip as she heard her brother say those delicious words. She could almost hear the screams now; she took special care not to puncture the lungs when she plunged her blade deep into another's flesh, making their agonizing last moments gloriously vocal. She could almost feel the warm splash of blood across her face whenever she hit an artery, the coppery taste when a drop landed on her lips. 

She lost herself in these thoughts, and almost missed her brother say, "But not now." She listened in horror as Eos postponed the massacre in favour of a hunt. Disappointed, Eonä signalled the retreat and crept silently back to the camp. She watched her brother from a distance, wondering what thoughts now went through his mind. 

"What in the name of-" Eonä cut Jakoval's question short, her voice dripping with malice. 

"You would _dare_ to question the order given you by your captain?" Eonä snarled as she confronted the coward.

"I would when it seems as though the order given is intended to make us look like cowards and weaklings. What was the point?" Jakoval responded. Eonä's blood burned with this slight against her family. Her hand fell instinctively onto the hilt of her sword, her slender fingers tightening around the grip.

"I will not stand for your insolence, _Rat!_" she said, her voiced raised in anger. Her family's honour had oft required blood, and she was happy to oblige. 

A lustful smile appeared on Jackoval's lips as he readied his own blade. "Have I ever mentioned that you are exquisite when you are angry?"

Eonä responded as quickly as she could get over her digust. In a flash her blade was drawn, and it soon clashed with his. She spun her blade clockwise, aiming for the side of his neck, but his blade thwarted her efforts once again. Back and forth they went, blades twisting and weaving through the air, often nigh missing flesh. Eonä watched for a weakness, and found one; when Jackoval attacked, he often overextended himself, exposing his right side. She reached for her knife with her left hand, readying herself for the kill.

"Enough!"

Eonä backed away from Jackoval, fire still in her eyes. Her brother walked towards them. "You disturb me. If my decision was pointless, this is even more so. Eöna, go your way."

She turned and walked into the forest, her pace quickened by the adrenaline that still coursed through her veins. She stopped by a large tree, sheathed her sword and tried to calm herself down.


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## Ghorim (Oct 6, 2005)

*Neutral (but leaning Evil)*

Helmin lurched forward through the dead foliage, far from discrete, resembling a clumsy ox more than a whispering ghost. Damn the trees! They besieged his vision, each one the same as the last, each one potentially concealing a shadowy form. Dwarves cannot trust the forest; it is too filled with deceit. Helmin's balance seemed to sway to and fro, as if the woodland spirits were playing a prank on him with each step, tugging at the forest carpet to send him stumbling forward. The dull yellow of the decaying woods became a haze that left the dwarf squinting to see ahead. Finally, a group of figures became visible, ambiguous in their composition save for a towering form that stood at the group's fore, arms spread wide. Despite Helmin's typically dwarvish racket, he remained unnoticed. 

The dwarf knelt down in the bushes, but was unable to maintain this position for long, and fell upon his rear. He grunted in annoyance, rubbing his bleary eyes as the exchange of threats continued unabated.

"Your foolishness amuses me, for that you are lucky. As you say, this is not our land, therefore you have as much right as us to walk through it. No, it is not circumstance that led to this situation, instead it is our nature, as theives and murderers that causes your life to be in such danger. I love none, care for few, and hate many. Those I don't know, I hate. That is why you and all those with you shall die."

Helmin's gaze shot up to the source of these words, and through the obscuring leaves and the mist of his own drunken senses he could barely make out a form standing on a rock high above. 

"But not now. No, that would be too easy. Do not think me merciful, for it is not because of mercy that I let you go, but for sport. You shall be given one day without pursuit, travel wherever you will. But when the sun rises again, we shall pursue you to your deaths. Hurry now, and do not delay in your leaving, for it will lessen the entertainment."

Perhaps half of these words Helmin was able to decipher, as the ale had still yet to drain from his head. Its effects, in fact, were worsening by the minute, as the dwarf's fatigue stretched his capacities thinner and thinner. How long since he last slept? Helmin's counting was faulty; he tried to calculate the hours, but the numbers danced about his sleepy wits, defying a proper tally. The dwarf's eyes faltered, the lids lowering gradually as he struggled to recall what exactly he was doing in this strange forest. Employment...?

"What... 're the squirrels gonna give me a job protecting their acorns?" asked Helmin aloud, beginning a hearty laugh before suddenly remembering his surroundings and hastily shoving a gloved hand to cover his mouth. He glanced about, and hearing no one approaching, settled back down again. 

That brief scare refocused the dwarf. He was going to attempt to join one of these two sides as a hired hand, aye? It seemed that they wouldn't be settling their scores upon this morning. What was it that the fellow on the rock had said? They were going to pursue the other group... the one that stood just ahead of Helmin. Well! That cleared the matter up rather quickly. Even in his inebriation, Helmin knew that he'd rather play the role of predator rather than hapless prey. Besides, Helmin noted as he peeked through the underbrush, this party had an _Elf_ in it.

"Hmmph!" muttered Helmin. "The day I work with one of those beardless, song-singin', tree-climbin' jesters is the day that the Helcaraxë melts!" 

It was settled, then. All Helmin had to do was scale the incline up to where the other party was surely camped, and introduce himself to their leader. After that, he'd simply let his radiant skills with the throwing axes do the talking, and the job would be his. Even dead tired and dead drunk, Helmin was convinced that he would land employment with minimal effort. Triumphantly, he began his march toward his new job.

---

It was two hours later when Helmin shambled up to the encampment, barely on his feet. All manner of twigs and burrs were newly lodged in his beard, and he looked like the very essence of Nature untamed with his wild eyes, ragged breathing, and faintly musky odor. Two guards approached him, appearing by equal degrees confused and amused by this wild dwarf of the woods. Helmin didn't notice their expressions... all he saw were two blurry forms hovering up to him. At long last, his destination! 

"All right! Who's in charge around 'ere?" asked Helmin, with a certain reckless authority about his manner. 

The two guards, entirely unsure of how to react, exchanged a glance.

“Well? Mutes, are we? Fetch your master! I've an offer to make.” The vein under Helmin's left eye twitched in a sudden spasm, and he pawed at it angrily with his hand. 

As comical as he seemed to them, the duo were quick to realize the extent of the arsenal that the dwarf carried with him. It was also evident to them that the beardling was not entirely in his right mind at the moment, and to refuse his request might very well be at their own peril. So it was with swift steps that they went to summon their commander.

Helmin moved unsteadily over to the center of the camp, and though the sights of the world about him were coming and going at random, the dwarf could sense that the band of mercenaries - his colleagues - was closing in a tight circle around him. The old thrill returned to Helmin's heart… completely surrounded! And if he failed this trial, what would they do to him then? Whereas others would have fractured and crumbled under this sort of pressure, Helmin feasted off of it, licking his chops in delighted anticipation.


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## Ghorim (Oct 6, 2005)

*Leaning Evil (Part 2)*

The leader and his entourage appeared before Helmin as a massive blob, devoid of any distinguishable features. Occasionally his vision would briefly refocus, giving the dwarf a quick glimpse of some details, but on the whole he might as well have been blindfolded. 

Going off a hunch as to where the leader stood, Helmin took a dramatic step forward and bowed deeply, a gesture that nearly took him off of his feet completely. 

“Good mornin', my good sir! Perhaps you're curious as to why I've…”

“Hey Dwarf!” came an interrupting call from the crowd, “you're talking to his sister!”

Discordant laughter filled Helmin's ears as he reeled back a few paces and blinked his eyes. He rubbed his face a bit and turned to his right.

“Ah! Well, you can forgive me for being mistaken. She has the same commanding air as her brother, after all!”

A disastrous first impression, to be certain, but Helmin would not allow it to phase him.

“Let me cut to the point, then… I've already wasted enough time with preambles and such. I was passing through this area and couldn't help but overhear… you were shouting loud enough for the whole forest to hear, after all… that you plan to hunt the game that currently takes its rest down in the valley below! Well! 'Tis a noble pursuit, to be certain! However…” 

Helmin glanced over the group that had encircled him, hardly seeing a thing other than a mass of blurred colors and shadow. He laughed sharply, smacking his belly with his hands.

“It seems that you are not properly equipped for the mission! Mine eyes have glimpsed this group that you seek to run down like beasts of the wood, and I can say with all honesty, good and true, that they shall not go down easily. By Durin! I'd say that the big one would have half a dozen of these oafs for breakfast!”

Grumbles could now be heard coming from the crowd of miscreants. How dare this pint-sized drunkard speak so ill of them!

“And, well, the Elf! She'd put arrows right between the eyes of another six before any of 'em even knew what was happening!”

Helmin chortled with his whole body, stumbling about in a full circle as he took in the entire group. The commander thus far had remained still and silent.

“So… your arsenal is badly in need of an upgrade, it seems! And I, Helmin son of Hurdor, am exactly the weapon you need to ensure that those dogs shall irritate you no longer! Doubtless you've heard of my magical touch with the throwing axe, but allow me nevertheless to demonstrate!”

Helmin took a few steps back, grinning without restraint. The outlaws widened their circle instinctively, unsure of what was to come. Each found his hand drifting gradually toward his weapon.

The dwarf reached beneath his cloak, his left hand going to one of the two small axes that he kept stored in loops on his vest. His expression turned fast from jovial to dark, as a swift cloud eclipses the moon. The familiar feel of the axe handles seemed to have a sobering effect on the dwarf as he glanced about the area. A hush descended upon those gathered; some members of the crowd felt sweat creeping down their backs. 

A smile burst forth on the dwarf's face, and he yanked forth the weapon. But he did so with too much force, and uncharacteristically lost his grip on the throwing axe. He bobbled the weapon clumsily, and could not regain control of it. The blade tumbled through the air, and landed on the leafy forest bed well to the dwarf's left. 

Snickers filled the air, but none louder than the one that came from a bald-headed mercenary to Helmin's left. So amused was he, that he became possessed by the urge to speak.

“Ha! This one still reeks of his last drink! A rusty blade, he is, and a stunted one to boot! All dwarvish bluster and no ability! What shall you do next for us, Naugrim? Will you trip over your beard for us?” 

Helmin's body stiffened, and his gaze shot to his detractor. That blazing fire, birthed in the forges of the Iron Hills, returned to Helmin's gray eyes as he stared the man down. The drunken mists fled before that glare, and suddenly Helmin could see the offender in vivid detail, as if he were illuminated by divine light. The dwarf's prideful fury had effectively shocked his mind back into working order, and woe be unto any who stood in an enraged dwarf's path. The man's grin faded slightly, but did not disappear entirely. An angry gaze alone would not extinguish his insolence.

The dwarf's lip shot up in a snarl, and he took a sudden step toward his target, planting his left foot into the ground as his right hand swooped down to retrieve the throwing axe. Now the dwarf's right foot moved forward, and Helmin drew the recovered axe across his body in a tight windup. Then came the toss, in an unexpectedly sudden movement. The blade sliced through the air in a flash, hurtling toward the jokester's skull. A satisfying _thunk_ reached Helmin's ears, but this was immediately followed by the sound of a blade being drawn behind him. The dwarf's head spun over his left shoulder, and he instantly perceived an assailant approaching. Helmin drew another axe from his vest with his left hand, and without so much as drawing the blade back let it fly. The axe struck the attacking bandit across his sword hand, and both weapons fell to the ground, with soft _thuds_ coming one right after the next. 

The dwarf now moved back to his position in the center of the circle, drawing two more axes simultaneously from his cloak, his steely gaze shooting about the onlookers in a swift arc.

“Who's my next volunteer, then?”

Silence, save for the pained grunts of the disarmed miscreant, greeted Helmin. He smiled softly as he placed the axes back within his cloak, but now the inebriated joy was gone from his visage. Instinct had returned, and with it Helmin's cold, brusque manner. His shameful display of drunkenness was vanished. The dwarf turned back to his first victim, looking over his handiwork. 

The man still stood there, absolutely still, trembling from shaved head to dirt-covered toe. A faint trickle of blood ran down the left side of his bald head, where the blade had grazed his flesh. The axe was lodged in a tree just behind him. 

With nary a glance at his conquered foe, Helmin marched past the petrified rogue and recovered his weapon from the tree. He then moved back to pick up the other axe, returning both to their respective homes on his vest. His clear-eyed gaze now shot to the commander. 

The sight of the bandit leader, now plainly visible, froze the dwarf in his tracks. Surely the ale was still playing tricks on him! But no… the tall, slender form… the flowing hair… those unholy ears… it was an Elf! He had just auditioned to join the company of a tree-hugger! In that terrible moment of realization Helmin cursed all intoxicating brews and swore them off for life, for now there was to be no deviation in his fated course. In his ale-drenched carelessness he had failed to recognize the race of his intended employer, and now he must live with the horrifically degrading consequences. For how could he back down from the position now, having just assaulted two of this pixie's men? 

The dwarf cleared his throat, and spoke gruffly. “My conditions for employment are but two… 25 percent of the payment upfront, and I'd like for these two slugs that I've just disposed with to be my personal escort for the duration of the hunt, as they both owe their miserable lives to my mercy. As for my actual salary… well… I believe I've shown what I'm worth.”

Helmin folded his arms across his chest, and awaited a response from the commander.


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## Rosalee LuAnn (Oct 20, 2005)

*Mua ha ha ha... *evil grin**

In a deserted part of the wood, one sound could be heard distinctly over the rustlings of the trees overhead--the ring of a knife being sharpened. If one was looking for the source of the noise, it would be several moments before they would be able to make out the hooded figure perched atop a large grey boulder, so well did his dull grey-green cloak blend into the shadows of the wood behind him. Seemingly confident of his solitude, the figure started to sing. The voice was a deep baritone; strong, controlled, and honest-sounding, a voice one could trust easily and blindly. The man seemed to be making up most of the song as he went, so it came out in snatches as more lyrics were thought up. 

"Who sees all, but is not seen?
Who's unseen eye is the most keen?

Who's blade is quickest at the kill?
Who'll dare to do what no other will?

Who's revenge is always surest? 
Who'll run for days and not need rest?"

Here, his inspiration seemed to stop, for there was a long pause. He put away the knife, then stood completely still, making it even more difficult for him to be distinguished from the trees and boulders behind him. he pushed back his hood, revealing a stern face with near-set grey-blue eyes and blonde hair that had been bleached by much time in the sun. He gazed up toward the sky, at a gap in the branches above his head, as if he were expecting something to happen up there. Not long after, something did--a black speck appeared in the sky, and came closer. The raven--for that was what it was--decended quickly, finally alighting on the man's arm. A ghost of a smile crossed the man's face, but it was so quickly gone one would be left wondering whether they had really seen it. He watched the bird intently as it turned it's head back in the direction it had come from, then fixed its beady black eye on his. After a few moments, he nodded. 

"As I expected." he murmured to the bird. "We will wait until the sun sets before we follow." He lifted his arm and the bird flew off again through the gap in the branches. The man smirked, murmuring as he watched the retreating bird, "For your sake, my keen unseen eye, I hope you do not fail. We follow them, watch them... they will not know they are followed by any others, they'll not be watching for me. She will be easily taken."


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## Morohtar (Oct 27, 2005)

Kilio watched as their adversaries disappeared into the forest, leaving only shadows and whispers of malice. He stood frozen, staring at the stone upon which death incarnate had stood moments earlier. The final dying crack and hiss from the fire loosed his mind, and he jumped slightly. He looked around and whispered, "is that it?"

Elorendil returned her arrow to its place, and spoke. "For the moment. Less talk, we must move from this place, NOW."

Kilio nodded in acknowledgment and prepared to depart. He packed fabric in between each metallic object to reduce noise and took a few sips of wine to calm his nerves. He paused for a moment, walking towards the rest of the group and catching the last of their conversation.

"...know at what price our victory would come. We would not be altogether unscathed, I think. Let us depart, before it comes to blows." Elorendil tone matched the sense of urgency on her face. 

"Elor is right," Kilio said, "we must leave soon, if we wish to leave without bloodshed. I don't know why they didn't kill us just now, but I doubt their actions would be repeated if we met again. I think it would be best to leave as soon as possible. I say we stick close to Anduin, and travel along side it till we reach Osgiliath." Each went to prepare for their journey, and soon they departed with speed. _Perhaps too much speed,_ Kilio thought, noticing the few broken twigs and light footprints left in mud and moss. _Small clues, but clues nonetheless._ _Alas, it cannot be helped, lest we move so slow they need no clues to find us. _They pressed on, driven still by the words of the dark elf. He guessed it a weeks journey, though their need could shorten the time by a day or two. Once in Osgiliath, they would lose themselves in the crowds.


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## Morohtar (Dec 9, 2005)

Eos walked away from the camp, listening for the sound of a coward sneaking up behind him, content with stabbing him in the back. No such sound was heard; apparently his voice had worked it's subtle magic once again, inspiring obedience through fear. He searched for his sister, knowing her tempermental nature and how quickly she could be driven to kill. He found her perched high in the branched of a tree, her fiery hair blowing softly in the breeze. But her hair was the only part that seemed calm, the rest of her trembled with a hatred that would have frightened the Valar. She turned when his step landed on a twig, her eyes filled with death beyond the capacity of an ordinary elf. Eos had long assumed the poson that had weakened their mother also gave them some unnatural traits. And that is why we were envied, and cast out.

"Come down from there Eonä, before you fall." Eos knew well enough that his sister wouldn't actually fall out of the tree; he had found taunting her one of the easiest ways to elicit a response.

Eonä dropped silently from the tree, slowly approaching her brother, her blood cooled sufficiently to actually listen to whatever her brother meant to say. Eonä knew well enough to allow Eos to formulate most of the plans, his calculatingmind had kept them out of trouble on many occasions, and her got them out of just as many. But this last decision, to allow those travellers to go free, seemed folly.

"Why did you let them go, Eos? Why, when we had complete surprise, and they had no cover, nor any chance of escape, would you allow them to get away? We may be the ones in the trap next time, and they may not repay your mercy."

Eos turned to walk back towards the camp. "Mercy? No, mercy is sparing the life of one who deserves to die. Killing honourable men, that's... unspeakable. If we meet again, then I shall kill them, and have no qualms with it." He sighed as he walked on. _I grow tired of this life. _They walked on in silence.



As they continued towards the camp one of their men approached and spoke incoherently about something; Eos caught only a few words, though "small" and "fetid" didn't bode well. True to Eos' worst fears, there stood before him a Naugrim, more stunted and ungainly than most. This dwarf bowed low before Eonä, who gripped her dagger, desperate to sever the dwarf's spine, saving them all from his incessant babble. Someone informed the runt of his mistake, and he did his best to repair his image, babbling on once more about their deficiencies and his apparently renowned skills. His first impression already in shambles, he made to impress them with his “renowned skills,” succeeding in only further damaging his image. Eos could stand for no more of this, and had almost signaled the tiny one’s death when the unexpected happened. In a flurry of steel two of his men were beaten, which despite his constant derision was no easy task. Eos smiled a twisted smile. _I will enjoy killing this one when the time comes._ 

“My conditions for employment are but two… 25 percent of the payment upfront, and I'd like for these two slugs that I've just disposed with to be my personal escort for the duration of the hunt, as they both owe their miserable lives to my mercy. As for my actual salary… well… I believe I've shown what I'm worth.” The diminuitive figure stood, arms crossed, waiting for a reply. 

Eos stared straight at the dwarf, and the dwarf stared straight back at him, his own intensity matched. Eos spoke finally, “No advance, and no escorts. It took all my strength not to kill you when I first saw you, so you owe your life to me. As for payment, you shall have your share of the spoils. That is all I offer, take it or… suffer the fate of one who intrudes upon our camp.”
 


Now it was Eos that waited for a reply.


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## Ghorim (Dec 12, 2005)

*Definitely Gone Evil Now*

Like most members of his folk, Helmin possessed a diminutive form that belied a colossal strength of will. He locked gazes with that shadow-spawned Elf, and saw in those eyes that frigidness with which he had grown so intimately familiar. For Helmin had dwelled as a parasite on the underbelly of humanity, and in response to its horrors his heart could only harden all the more, until there was no warmth emanating from its core. The organ merely performed its function now, sending blood to the limbs so that the dwarf could complete his work, thus earning sustenance and perpetuating his own directionless existence. 

In times past, Helmin had stood atop a hill in the wailing winter winds, watching from afar as one group of men set fire to the homes of another tribe, hearing the faint cries of terrified civilians from afar, smelling their lives as they became consumed by flame. In other towns, he had seen up close crime victims young and old - from the sickly old man cut down for his purse to the hapless babe left feebly suckling on a cold breast. These sights had initially helped to spur the dwarf into his grisly profession. He had quickly learned that humanity in its heart possessed the capacity for more wickedness than any other race that served the Light, and Helmin from then on sought to cleanse the Atani of their scum.

And yet, the more jobs he took, the more the lines blurred. Helmin's quarry seemed to become less and less deserving of his violent brand of justice. Were they criminals, or victims themselves? He himself, meanwhile, had become an agent of destruction, a beast to be feared as he approached in his dark traveling cloak, features shrouded in impenetrable shadow. Helmin had long since turned away from himself in disgust, yet continued on, for his life knew no other aim.

What, then, could this Elf do to inspire fear in him? Helmin had seen the worst of Men. He had hunted and captured them, slain them, at times accepted employment from them. And yet... in the figure that now stood before him, the dwarf viewed something more perverse, something once noble twisted and mutated into hideous depravity. Those eyes, bright with the spark of eternal life, yet blighted by a desire to destroy, gave Helmin pause. The dwarf could see that this being was more dangerous than any other that he ever encountered. Caution now became an ever-present necessity. He responded to the leader's counter offer in slow, measured tones.

"Indeed, you do possess all the leverage. I humbly apologize for my audacity. I shall accept a share of our winnings that is correspondent with my contributions, be they great or little. I am fully confident, however, that I shall more than earn my keep. If this demonstration has not suitably impressed you, then perhaps the head of the giant shall win you over."

Helmin knew that the towering figure he had glimpsed in the forest below was the backbone of the other party. Certainly, the Elfess would pose a serious problem to any hunter, but her skills would effectively be countered by those of Helmin's newfound commander and his sister. But that colossus... Helmin was certain that he was the greatest asset of the prey. As for the other members of the hunted party, he thought nothing of them. 

The dwarf's words grew more intense now, though his demeanor remained impassive.

"Of course, do not think that I cannot glimpse what dwells in your heart, my commander. You would gladly see all those who call Mahal their Father stripped of their beards and lashed until they were naught but masses of wounded flesh. Understand that I do not have the greatest fondness for your folk, either. So I shall ever take my rest on the opposite side of camp as you, and always will I endeavor to steer clear of your path in fulfilling my duties. Then, when all our foes lay conquered and I have received my pay, we may part having seen precious little of one another."

"In battle, I shall defend your back and those of your followers, and I should hope that in recompense I shall not have to keep an especially close watch on my own."

Upon these words, Helmin glanced sharply across the group of mercenaries that still encircled him. With a smoldering gaze, the dwarf hoped to dash any plans that the bandits might have formed of catching him unawares with a blade through his back. 

"I hereby swear to these terms of employment. Though some of you may doubt the honor of my folk, understand that I have been in the business for many a year, and have not advanced so far in it by being unworthy of trust."

He glanced back to the Elvish commander. "If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave of you, and await the command to resume march."


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## Elorendil (Dec 31, 2005)

*Good*

They had been travelling several hours when the sun began to ride high in the sky, its rays beating down relentlessly and reflecting off the mirror-like surface of the Anduin river, blinding their small band. Elorendil paid it little heed, but her companions were beginning to lag in the merciless, midday heat. Cairbrent, in particular, seemed affected by it, stumbling frequently as they trudged along. Or perhaps his clumsiness was due to the antics of an overly playful feline who paced behind him, randomly batting a paw at his dragging feet. Elor couldn't help but smile as she called the panther back to her side. He didn't share Dúathmin's affection and would be complaining about her to Elorendil later, if she didn't put a stop to it. Despite her anxiousness to put as much distance as possible between them and their newfound enemies, she couldn't help but think that they needed a rest.

She increased her pace until she drew abreast Kilio, who walked at the head of their group. "Kilio, my friend, are we to rest soon? There are members of our party who are less used to hard travel than you and I," she reminded him softly, glancing pointedly over her shoulder at the tiring Rohirrim. 

He followed her gaze and walked on in silence for a moment, considering. "Perhaps you are right," he said at length. "We will travel with better speed if we take a meal and a little rest." He turned and addressed the rest of their group. "We shall rest here a while. Eat, and drink, then fill your bottles again. We shall not stop for many hours after we resume our journey."

Despite the looming presence of Kilio's last statement, they all seemed in high spirits. They talked as they ate, and drank deeply from the fresh waters of the Anduin. The sun seemed to release them from it's searing gaze, and they felt a cool breeze come from the west, sweeping through the trees that grew along the river bank. After they had finished their meal, Elorendil moved off a little way and stretched out in the long grass to rest. Her companions did the same, though most chose to do so under the shade of the mighty rowan trees.


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## Morohtar (Jan 13, 2006)

Danaeth sat beneath a large rowan tree, basking in the sun. The wind often swept over him, cooling his skin, producing an exhilarating sensation. _It seems that my friends, new and old, have saved my life again._ He felt safe with these people, despite the fact that he knew so little about them. But his heart welcomed them, and Danaeth had learned to trust his heart in the past. Whatever happened, these few would not harm him.

And some of them are not all that bad to look at. Danaeth smiled as he thought of Elorendil. Even Arwedhel, the most beautiful woman in the courts of Dol Amroth, could not rival her beauty. Elorendil’s eyes held such depth, moreso than any elf he had ever seen. It seemed to Danaeth that they also held within them hidden far inside a jewel most radiant, for her eyes always shined, especially when she smiled. When she smiles. He thought of when Elorendil had smiled because of a comment he made about Cair. He had felt at that moment that every evil in the world had been righted, that all wounds had been healed. Through his travels he had been warned of the power of the Eldar, but it was to no avail, he had been enthralled by this woman’s beauty. He sighed, knowing his chances with her were slim.

He decided that he would try to get some sleep, if only a few minutes, since his earlier rest had been rudely interrupted. He closed his eyes; the sun created a kaleidoscope with his eyelids, a soothing array of reds and yellows that slowly lulled him to sleep. At last all that he could sense of the waking world was the wind rustling through the leaves. Quiet was the sound, like a whispered shout, but the sound slowly grew. It changed slightly; voices could be heard, chanting some name or phrase Danaeth had never heard before. He opened his eyes to find that his was no longer in the forest near the river Anduin, but in some great beach, staring towards a large mansion that overlooked a harbour. He was clothed in pure white silk, with shining armour that glistened from the sunlight. There were many others around him, some in similar armour, other in armour of less stature. They all let out a triumphant shout, deafeningly loud. A figure emerged from a balcony that extended from the wall of this great mansion; tall he seemed, and wise. His face was pleasant, and he seemed to hold within him a vast resevoir of knowledge. Beside him was another man, of great stature, dress in kingly robes. The first man extended his arms in a plea for silence, and at once all was quiet.

“Oh great warriors of Numenor, descendants of the mighty Edain, here me now. You set out on this day for the lands of Middle Earth, dangerous though they may be. Fear not, for a mighty presence will protect thee. Your fallen brethren, lost in the darkness of the lands to the east call out to you now, begging you to return and save them from themselves. Your lord Ar-Pharazôn heeds their cries, and now sends forth his greatest to invite these people into fellowship and alliance with Numenor. Safety and prosperity will be given to them.”

His voice was soothing, and it seemed to Danaeth that all his words were truth. He looked at the figures again, and saw a change. The speaker seemed to grow, both in size and power. The other, who Danaeth thought to be this Ar-Pharazôn, had shrunk, and seemed old and tired. The crowd let forth a shout, which shattered the silence with such ferocity that it seemed as though silence could never return. The figure extended his arms again, and all went as deathly quiet as before.

“Many of you will be leaving love ones behind; wives, children, friends. But do not mourn, for though you leave now to the east, from the east you will return, and the glory of Numenor will be greater than ever before, and you will prosper in all things that you do, for He who protects you will also bless you. Melkor will not forget the sacrifices that the people of Numenor have made to him, and he will repay those who honour him.”

“To your generals I have given swords, which I have wrought personally, to aid them in their liberation of your eastern brethren. Go now, and fear not! One warning I have for you; trust not the Eldar that live in the lands of Middle Earth, for they tell lies and would decieve you. Their hearts are full of envy, and they withhold the secrets of eternal life from you. They will betray you for spite if you give them the chance. Go then forth from Numenor, remembering the tasks set for you. For lord and land, and Melkor, Lord of the Void!”

With these final words, a great call went forth, both shouting and trumpets. Swords were unsheathed and raised towards the sky, like small towers of sunlight. Danaeth unsheathed his own sword, and caught a glimpse of writing on the blade. _That is my sword! I recognize the markings._ He knew he could not be mistaken, for he had at times stared long and hard at that sword, trying to solve the mystery of the text. The two figures disappeared back into the mansion, and the great multitude of soldiers began to slowly make their way towards the ships that lay anchored in the harbour. There was little talking, besides orders being called out. Large cranes were lifting supplies and food onto the ships, while one by one the men loaded the boats. Danaeth finally reached the ships and loaded one. Once aboard a man approached him and extened his arm.

“Arândil, my old friend, you join us on this fine expedition? Should be quite the adventure. Sauron gave everyone a nice little speech eh? Bah! I am here for the money, not for the “liberation of our eastern brethren.” Though it seems odd to me that such a large military force would be sent. Would it not make more sense to send farmers and scholars and workers? Hah! What would I know, I’m just a soldier; I go, complete whichever task is given to me, and return. Come, let us find our quarters."

Danaeth followed this man below decks, often receiving salutes or greetings from other soldiers. He assumed that his rank must be high, perhaps even a general. If that were true, then Sauron himself would have made his sword. The thought scared him, for some power must be in the sword, an evil one perhaps. After some time he left the man’s company and went to his quarters. He lay on the bed; enjoying the silence of the moment. The slow rhythmic sounds of the ocean were greeted by the sporatic whistling of birds, and the quietly violent rushing of leaves. He opened his eyes once more and found himself returned to the forest.


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## Morohtar (Feb 8, 2006)

*Evil*

Eos said nothing, and after a while the dwarf left his presence. Oh, how he wished to kill that wretched little thing. Listen to it gasp for air with lungs too full of holes and blood to be of any use. Watch as the life slowly drained from its eyes.

What was it in him that caused such hatred towards a race that had done him no harm? His hatred for orcs was easy enough to explain, having marred him and his sister deeper than any could. Perhaps it was the poison that coursed through his veins, created by Morgoth's Scourge, that twisted his mind to create such hatred for the Äule's creations.

_Or perhaps it is that they are what I see them as, detestable animals to be used and discarded._

He walked back to his bed and laid down, closing his eyes. He rarely slept while in the company of his subordinates, the chances of one wishing to avenge their transgressions on his throat was too high. But rest he must, if they wished to catch their prey.
~~~~~~~~~~

Eonä smiled as the dwarf walked away, knowing that it's time would come to an end soon enough. He brother left as well, and she watched him from a distance, hidden from sight to catch any assailant.

The rat Jakoval passed by, his eyes trained on Eos. Eonä dearly wanted to kill him, if only because his corpse couldn't smell any worse than he already did. In fact, there were few in the group that she thought should be allowed to live. Perhaps it was the similarities rather than the differences that she hated most, the things that she saw in them that she had as well. The thought of being at all similar to these people sickened her.


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## Ghorim (Feb 8, 2006)

*Evil*

Helmin's words went unanswered, and the collective enmity of the group seemed to bear down upon the dwarf as he stood in the mid-morning stillness. The sunlight glinted off the hardened faces of the party members, and beneath each squinted gaze seemed to lie an unspoken challenge. One stumble by the dwarf was all they desired. One stumble was all they needed. 

"So I shall stand without aid," thought Helmin. He savored that sort of thought. His will, his sheer lust for survival, stacked against the designs of the world at large. That was how it had always been.

A low chuckle came from his stunted form, despite everything that he faced, and because of it. The group seemed to tense all the more at his reaction, and though all would have him silenced, Helmin's mirth did not subside. The dwarf's laughter gushed forth now, spiraling up, cresting in deep intakes of breath as his eyes held their lock on the Dark Elf.

"And a good morning to you too, sir!"

He turned about swiftly, though his gaze lingered on the commander as he went. The dwarf's eyes now danced among his comrades, his assailants, as if he was plotting a bloody end for each one. He marched through their gauntlet without a second thought, parrying hatred with a swaggering indifference that carried him away from the crowd.

Helmin proceeded well off from the main camp, into the true wilds of the forest, where the trees allowed no set path to intrude. Their appendages jutted out from every conceivable angle, even spurting out of the ground itself, ravenous for travelers to ensnare. The dwarf, so used to the boundless expanse of the mountains and the plains, felt completely hemmed in. His posturing was done, his second wind departed. Once more he ached from weariness, with all of his thoughts aiming downward, toward rest and forgetfulness. 

His eyes came to stop on the moss-covered trunk of a nearby tree. Its green bed glistened gently in the darkness of the woods, inviting Helmin's shot senses with its soft texture and gentle, earthy fragrance. It was the smell of death. The dwarf approached in a near trance, and collapsed upon the tree. His weight likely would have crushed his intended mossy pillow had he not missed it entirely. Helmin groaned as his head struck the inhospitable bark. His helmet, gracefully, protected him from a more pronounced headache. 

"A fine mess I've lucked into," he grumbled, removing the helm and settling his emptied head upon the moss. Vainly he sought to strategize his next move, to discover the best way to protect his throat in this vicious gang. But hardly had he begun to consider his options when the weight of the exhaustion, the ale, and the events of the past two nights simply crushed whatever strength Helmin had left. His thoughts flickered and died, and sleep dragged him off into its deepest chambers, where hazy, disjointed visions awaited him.

His snores, of that peculiarly hardy, defiantly dwarvish sort, could soon be faintly heard even from the mercenary camp.


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## Mirelena (Mar 13, 2006)

Jakoval regarded the back of the retreating dwarf with curiosity. Such a small body, such a large mouth. He entertained himself by musing over what Eös must be contemplating. It was a well known fact that elves engendered no small dislike for the dwarven race. That he was imagining the hideous, bloody way he would kill this new addition was unquestionable. The dwarf would likely share similar sentiments. _The dwarf would share similar sentiments..._

Quickly Jak set off after the dwarf. If he could be convinced to help the Rat when the time came, it would make things so much easier. _He better keep his grubby hands off Eöna,_ he thought, _I am willing to share the spoils of victory, but to only such a point._
A low sawing noise reverberated through the trees. Warily Jakoval continued on. It was impossible to think of any creature inhabiting this land, aside from the malicious wanderer. As Jak crept cautiously through the underbrush, he tripped on a figure laying prone upon the ground. With a loud cry, Helmin sprang from his resting place and raised a small throwing axe to the ready.

"Thought you could sneak up on me unawares, eh, you-" the dwarf broke off into a string of insults which made Jak laugh, which just served to infuriate the dwarf more, "You won't be laughing when I get done with you!"

The Rat quickly realized that the dwarf was coming unstrung and he hastily tried to pacify him. "It wasn't deliberate, my friend. I was strolling through the woods and I tripped. If I had truly meant you ill, you would not be conscious of it because you would be dead. As it is," he continued, spreading his hands, "I have nothing that should serve to unnerve you. I have left my weapons back at the camp."

"A very foolish thing to do," the dwarf growled while eyeing the tall, suntanned sailor.

"Yes, but it gives me credibility, does it not? If I had come to you armed and woken you so rudely, you would surely have not believed me when I said I meant you no harm. However-"

"However," Helmin interrupted, "You might as well have said, as plain as daylight, that you were indeed looking for me. You weren't simply strolling in the trees, were you? You are a bad lier, bilgerat."

Jak smiled at the name, he had heard it many, many times before. "Yes, I am a bad lier. But that doesn't change that if I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead. Yet, here you stand, still alive. What say you to that? Can we be friends, dwarf?"


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## Mirelena (Mar 17, 2006)

"Where are we going?" Cair panted as he trotted beside Kilio. None of the others seemed to be having problems with the hike. Perhaps Cair was grown soft living among those who did not run him off at the sight of his face. Or perhaps Duathmin's constant swatting at his feet was an extra hassle the other's didn't have to contend with. Whatever the reason, Cair couldn't wait to stop for food and water.
Kilio's brow was furrowed as he contemplated Cair's question concerning their leader. "I don't know for sure," he answered, half to himself, "But Osgiliath is within a day's travel. Once we get among the crowds, I will have fewer worries."
"Fewer worries?" Cair parroted. "Why do you say that? That in itself, my friend, makes me nervous; that you would have any worries at all. What is it that troubles you?"
Kilio sighed and shaded his eyes with his hand. The glint of the River Anduin was bright from the sun that shone down upon it, glaring into the eyes of the travelers. Kilio was a man of few words and he took his time answering. 
Cairbrent muttered something under his breath about creating a mask that would dim the sunlight. Darkened and colored glass. I'll call them 'shades,' Cair thought, Every traveler should have a pair. One for each eye...

Finally Kilio called for a halt. Gratefully, Cairbrent threw himself upon the grass. A few minutes later, he felt the need to meander away and discreetly relieve himself. There was a small clump of trees not too distant from where he lay, so it was tagged it as a likely prospect.

He had taken care of his business and was turning back when, suddenly, he was apprehended from behind. A feline roar nearly deafened him. Rarely at a loss for some clever trick, Cair slid out of his leather jacket and his captor's padded paws. Duathmin growled in surprise as she shook the shirt like a rag then tossed it upon the ground.
Cair remained unruffled and began chiding the panther whose eyes narroweed and glittered in anticipation of a game.
"Good afternoon, my lady!" Cair said irritably. "You have tackled me far too often in the last weeks. It's not often I'm apprehended by someone I haven't cheated recently. I haven't cheated you, have I? I'm quite certain that I'd remember a face as unattractive as yours."
Elor's pet simply growled. Cair danced around for a bit, fumbling with his belt. Anticipating a quick attack on the part of his adversary, he feinted to the right. The panther easily followed his movement and pounced on him. She started swatting heavy paws at his head.
Somewhat startled at the fierceness of her attack, Cair rolled away while loudly reprimanding the massive cat, "My dear, you should know that attempting to disembowel someone you've just pounced, is NOT the way to make new friends. Now, if you were to try something like this," he said pulling out a pair of juggling balls and tossing them back and forth, "You might at least get a laugh from the person about to meet their fate!"
The shadow retreated a pace from where Cair stood amusing himself. She no longer looked at him, instead she watched the motion of the flying objects. Suddenly she crouched and gathered herself, then she sprang towards the unfortunate man.
Cairbrent had anticipated her move and a string of brightly colored ribbons was suddenly wrapped around her paws. Hobbled and humiliated, she loudly called for her mistress.
"I knew that taking part in some of Rohan's celebrations as an athlete would pay off someday," he sighed, "The ability to hog-tie has come in handy more times than I like to remember."
Cair whistled gaily as he watched the panther struggle against her bonds. Soon she grew quiet and appeared to give up. When he moved to approach her, she unsheathed her claws and scrabbled at him. In a twinkling she had given him a slash on the arm that was sure to leave a scar, if only for memory's sake.
Cair cried out in pain as she threw off her restraints and tackled him again. Cair yelled in frustration to the sky and struggled against the heavy animal that sat upon him. He squirmed under the weight. Duathmin purred in satisfaction as she began to lick the man's face. It was but the work of a moment, and her tongue only tasted woven cloth. Cair was hiding behind Elor, shirtless and holding his arm. He sighed in resignation.
"My lady," he said with a wince, "If you truly wanted so desperately to have my undertunic, you might well have asked to begin with. As it is, you have my shirt, my blood, my best leather jacket and a really angry friend...."


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## Ghorim (Mar 20, 2006)

*Evil*

"Can we be friends, dwarf?"

Helmin kept trying to blink the cobwebs off his eyes, still not yet fully awake. As the man's words came to him under the guise of amicability, the dwarf couldn't help but wonder whether his ears were also still recovering from his recent repose. He snorted out a harsh laugh, spitting the words back at the mercenary who had literally stumbled upon him in the woods.

"Can we be friends? How long have you worked in this field, vermin? Are you truly such a novice, or do you think me so inexperienced? Friends... ha! They are for children. For those such as you and I, they are a liability. There is a lesson for you to take to heart, boy."

"This I already knew, though I am grateful for instruction from such a knowledgeable teacher," said Jakoval with a wry grin, rather amused by the little traveler's bluster. "I couldn't help but notice, however, that you appear to be sorely lacking in allies at the moment within our camp."

"And what of it?" grunted Helmin, leaning against the tree that had cradled his weary head. Despite this relaxed posture, he kept his trusty throwing axe at the ready. "I need no assistance, especially in fending off such a group of pushovers."

Jakoval shook his head at the dwarf's audacity. "Now it's you who's being naive. That was a fine performance you put on back there, dwarf, but it did not endear you to any of our comrades, least of all Eös and his sister. Granted, you have seen neither in action, but surely you must sense that those two are none to be trifled with?"

Helmin sneered, pulling down his helmet so that his dulled eyes peered up at the man from just beneath the brim. "I've dealt with worse..."

Jakoval leaned up against the same tree as Helmin, bringing his face up close to the dwarf's. "Maybe so. But you ought to be glad that it was me who found you slumbering out here and not one of them, else you'd lie in permanent repose."

The dwarf, sensing a challenge in the rat's disrespectful manner, leaned in even closer, until Jakoval could very distinctly smell the ale that still lay thickly upon his breath. "And why all of this concern for the well-being of my throat when you ought to be ensuring that yours stays intact?"

Despite the veiled threats and offensive odors that now assaulted his senses, Jakoval's smile grew. "Ah... so you can see that I am not overly popular in camp either. Well, dwarf, that is precisely the reason why I sought you out."

"You've something to propose?" asked Helmin gruffly. "Best ensure that neither of the Elves are anywhere close by. They can hear a flea on an orc's back from two leagues distant."

Jakoval chuckled at the expression. "Worry not... they are presently occupied elsewhere, that much I am certain."

"Go on then," said Helmin, carefully maintaining his detached air. "Make your offer. We'll see if it pleases me, aye?"


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## Elorendil (Mar 20, 2006)

*Good*

Elorendil lay stretched out in the grass, watching the clouds drift by in the clear blue sky above. Her peace was disturbed by a loud exclamation from Cairbrent. Knowing that Dúathmin was, most likely, responsible for his cursing, Elorendil gave a resigned sigh and sat up. As she had expected, she found the panther nearby, sitting atop the Rohirric man with a smug look on her face as she licked him affectionately. She couldn't help but laugh as Cair pulled one of his many tricks and vanished from beneath her paws, leaving nothing but his shirt behind in the beffuddled feline's paws. Looking a bit miffed, Cairbrent took refuge behind Elorendil and glared at Min over her shoulder. 

He sighed in exasperation. "My lady," he said sarcastically, "If you truly wanted so desperately to have my undertunic, you might well have asked to begin with. As it is, you have my shirt, my blood, my best leather jacket and a really angry friend...."

Elorendil turned and looked at him, taking in his shirtless torso and wounded arm. Dúathmin slinked nearer, preparing to pounce on the object of her affection yet again. Elorendil brought her to a halt with a single command. Looking a bit chagrined, the panther lay down obediently, almost vanishing into the tall grass as she did so. Elorendil produced a strip of clean cloth and some ointment from her small travel sack and quickly cleaned and bound Cair's injury. She shook her head as she finished. "My apologies, Cairbrent. I do not know what has gotten into Min. Though, I must say, I doubt that scratch was completely unprovoked. Still, I shall endeavour to keep a closer watch on her for the rest of our journey," she promised.

She motioned for her friend to sit. Elorendil rummaged through her pack as she seated herself beside him. "Have you eaten?" she asked. Cair shook his head. Elorendil quickly produced two cakes of bread, a little dried fruit, and some salted meat. "Perhaps you will allow me to make up for Dúathmin's treatment of you by sharing my dinner with you." She offered one of the sweet tasting breads to Cair, along with a piece of meat and some fruit. He took them gratefully and began to eat hungrily. She broke a corner off of her own piece of bread and popped it into her mouth. As she chewed the slightly dry and stale stuff, she assessed her food supply. There was enough for three days, six if she was sparing. She turned to Cair. "How much food do you have left, my friend?" she asked.

An inspection of Cair's supply yielded similar results: enough for a few days, but certainly not enough to last as far as Osgiliath. Elorendil ate only half her piece of bread and saved the rest, then went in search of their leader, Kilio. As she looked for him, she came across Danaeth resting against the bole of a rowan tree. A gentle breeze moved through his light brown hair, sending a stray lock blowing across his strong forehead. She paused to watch him for a moment, taking in his tall, well-muscled form and handsome features. As if he sensed her watching, his eyes flickered open and met her own. Elorendil blushed a bit at being caught watching him and quickly glanced away, then met his intense, blue gaze. "Danaeth, forgive me for disturbing your rest, but I am taking stock of what food we have left. I fear we may not have enough for the journey to Osgiliath," she said softly.

Danaeth obliged her by digging through his large, leather satchel. "I seem to be running a bit low on supplies, too," he said. "I have four days supply of food, though I suppose I could make it last a little longer than that, if I had to."

"But not long enough for our journey to Osgiliath," she mused, thinking out loud. "We shall have to stop in a town for supplies, even if it is somewhat out of the way."


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## Morohtar (Mar 22, 2006)

*Goodie*

As he opened his eyes he caught the gaze of Elorendil, who stood nearby in midstride. He saw the same shine in her eyes as always, despite the bright midday sun that obscured his vision. She shied away for a moment, then asked, "Danaeth, forgive me for disturbing your rest, but I am taking stock of what food we have left. I fear we may not have enough for the journey to Osgiliath."

He hadn't thought yet about what effect their hasty retreat would have on the journey to Osgiliath, and realized that much of his food had been left out that night. He sat up and pulled his satchel towards him, lighter than he had hoped it would be. Sure enough, he had only a meager supply of meat and bread.

"I seem to be running a bit low on supplies, too," he said. "I have four days supply of food, though I suppose I could make it last a little longer than that, if I had to."

"But not long enough for our journey to Osgiliath," Elorendil said. "We shall have to stop in a town for supplies, even if it is somewhat out of the way."

Danaeth shook his head in agreement, regretting his laziness. Two minutes of effort and he would still have his rations. _Well, not much to be done about that now. Doubtless our enemies would not wait while we return to fetch our things._ Elorendil went off to speak with the others, and Danaeth sighed as he stood to refill his canteen. His sleep had been more restful than expected, and he wondered how long he had slept. His dream had lasted some time, though he knew that time had no reign in the land of dreams.

The stream he found nearby was dark and deep, and he took his time drinking his fill and cooling himself with it. As he returned to his pack Kilio approached and explained their predicament.

"Well, it seems that between us we have enough food for a few days journey. While we could potentially make it to Osgiliath on the supplies we have, we would be hindered in our journey, and any delay could be fatal. Our idea now is to make for Pelargrir, and hopefully lose them in the crowds. There we can resupply and make for Osgiliath."

"True," Danaeth said, "any delay would give our hunters the chance to make up the distance we put between us today. And Pelargrir would provide us a place where our footprints would be lost."

Kilio didn't seem wholly convinced by the plan they had, his brows furrowed and his eyes focused on something not seen. "Aye, it seems to be a decent plan, although any fool would be able to guess we make for Osgiliath, and they seemed numerous enough to find us there. We need another destination, one which is out of the way and in which we could wait a while, allowing our foes the time to tire of their chase."

They stood contemplating this new quandary for a while, and Kilio finally sounded his arrival at a solution. "Ah!" he said, "and the answer lies with you, Danaeth! You hail from Dol Amroth, do you not?"

Danaeth cringed at the mention of his childhood home. "Yes, though I haven't been there for years upon years, and surely those who I knew as a child would either have forgotten me or passed away."

"And yet the geography of the city could not have changed that much in the intervening years. Surely it provides us a better chance at escaping our fate as any other city within our reach?"

Danaeth agreed reluctantly, and soon they were on the road again, making for Pelargrir. They made camp long after the sun has set, and broke it before the sun returned. They reached Pelargrir at in the afternoon the day following their encounter.


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## Morohtar (Mar 29, 2006)

It seemed to Kilio that he had only rested for a few moments before he noticed Elorendil walking slowly towards him, a disconcerted look on her face. Kilio sat up and said, "Well, something must truly be amiss, if such an expression shades such a beautiful face," echoing a conversation had some time ago in the Crystal Goblet. She smiled, but the look remained.

"It seems that in our rush, we left much of our supplies. I have tallied and we have food enough for four days journey, full ration. Any more than that and we shall have a hard journey ahead of us." 

Kilio produced his pipe and filled it with tobacco. "Aye, I shall sorely miss that wheel of Camembert; such a fine cheese is hard to replace. Well then, Osgiliath seems out of our means, eh?"

"At half rations we could make it, barely." Elorendil said, sounding as though she thought such a plan was folly. "If we had no need for a quick journey we could slacken our pace, though need now drives us harder than our supplies would allow."

He lit his pipe and puffed on it thoughtfully. "Yes, we must make for our destination with all haste, wherever that may be. I suppose our only choice is Pelargrir; it lies not a day southwest from here."

Elorendil nodded her approval. "Indeed, it is close, and it's cobblestones will hide our footprints. From there we can make for Osgiliath or further if we choose, after stocking our supplies."

"Then Pelargrir it is, and quickly. Though I think we have time to rest a while longer. We must all be well rested for the journey ahead; we shan't be stopping till night, and we should be far away from here by then."

Elorendil left and Kilio quickly finished his pipe. He didn't empty it, but simply put it back in his pack. He knew that it would be hard enough to lose their followers without giving them a breadcrumb trail to follow step by step. He packed his things back up, then went to explain the plan to the others. He met Danaeth first, who was walking back to his things.

"Well, it seems that between us we have enough food for a few days journey. While we could potentially make it to Osgiliath on the supplies we have, we would be hindered in our journey, and any delay could be fatal. Our idea now is to make for Pelargrir, and hopefully lose them in the crowds. There we can resupply and make for Osgiliath." Hearing the plan again he realized that there was something about it that seemed wrong, something they had overlooked.

"True," Danaeth said, "any delay would give our hunters the chance to make up the distance we put between us today. And Pelargrir would provide us a place where our footprints would be lost."

_Yes, we would lose them, but for how long? _"Aye, it seems to be a decent plan, although any fool would be able to guess we make for Osgiliath, and they seemed numerous enough to find us there. We need another destination, one which is out of the way and in which we could wait a while, allowing our foes the time to tire of their chase."

Danaeth thought on this, as did Kilio. _Where else is there to go? Minas Tirith? No, it shares the same road with Osgiliath, and that is a road that we must avoid. West? Dol Amroth? _"Ah!" he said, "and the answer lies with you, Danaeth! You hail from Dol Amroth, do you not?"

"Yes, though I haven't been there for years upon years, and surely those who I knew as a child would either have forgotten me or passed away."

"And yet the geography of the city could not have changed that much in the intervening years. Surely it provides us a better chance at escaping our fate as any other city within our reach?"

Danaeth consented, though Kilio could see that he did not enjoy the thought of returning home. They left soon there after and arrived at Pelargrir quickly. The city was large, as could be expected from a port town, with the usual rich and poor and beggars and robbers and all other manner of folk that flock to such places. The streets were well maintained in most parts of the city, cobblestones set firmly and tightly together so as to avoid horses injuring themselves. Carts laden with fruit and fresh vegetables, and others with trinkets and clothes, lined the streets, the loud voices of the vendors adding to the cacophony of sounds that flowed through the streets. The usual pickpockets could be seen in the alleys, waiting for some naive lord or merchant with a heavy purse to stray into their hunting grounds.

They found a nice enough Inn close to the docks and arranged their accomodations. Fortunately no pickpockets had thought them worth their while; they had barely enough money for their rooms and had only a few coins left after purchasing their supplies. They almost allowed themselves to relax, then some sound or sight would remind them that the world held more danger than usual for them, and they kept a watchful eye open for any signs of their hunters, though they knew little of their actual appearances. The voice was almost the only thing they knew of their enemy, and they all wished never to hear it again.


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## Morohtar (Jul 17, 2006)

Eos rose before the sun on the day of their hunt. The others slept in their beds, some soundly and others ready to wake and defend themselves at the sound of a knife unsheathed or the feel of hands on their throats. Few of them had ever known trust, and those that had also knew the sting of betrayal, and it was these few who were ever watchful. Eos saw several hands slide to their sides, reaching for hidden weapons, as he passed through the camp. He walked slowly to the rock he had stood behind the previous morning, and looked into the camp that had been abandoned. Some small part of him was disappointed that they had not chosen to make there final stand here; the sounds of battle and death and agony would have to wait for another day. But the chase would be worth it, he knew. 

He walked about within the camp, searching for signs of the last moments before their flight. There were many; so frightened they had been that they didn't take the time to hide their tracks at all. The fire had died, but the coals still glowed in the early morning twilight. Much of their supplies sat untouched in packs, meaning that they left with more haste that Eos had thought they would. There path headed west, making for the road which headed either north to Osgiliath or south into Harad. With what supplies they had a journey for Osgiliath would be impossible; they would have to make for the nearest city, Pelargrir. And there they would be caught and killed, and Eos' hunt would be over. Perhaps they could even find some noble with a grudge or some other person in need of their less than savoury skills.

"They make for Pelargrir." The voice came from the same stone that Eos had stopped at.

"Indeed, and they travel at an... inspired pace. They will be there today, and from there to Osgiliath." Eos smiled as Eonä descended into the camp with her graceful steps. She held in her hand the arrow that had been fired at them the night before. It was Elven, although they barely needed it to know that, the voice of the one who had fired it told them that easily enough. Finely crafted, even by the standards of the elves, inscribed with runes blessing it's true and faithful flight wherever it was meant to go. Eonä handed it to her brother.

"Keep it. Some immeasureably sweet cruelty could come by it, and I would hate to miss such a chance."

_Always the Sadist_.

They were soon joined by the remainder of the group, scruffy and degenerate the lot of them. Weapons drawn and standing in a slightly misshapen semicircle around them about 10 paces distant, they looked as if threatening a mutiny. Eos simply said, "Let's go." Silence fell, each waiting to see if someone would dare insubordination. Finally they broke, hastily gathering there things, and their hunt began. They moved swiftly, the clues of their quarry numerous and evident enough not to need delicate interpretation. Footprints betrayed their creators, broken twigs brazenly called out their paths. But these things were unnecessary, given that Eos already new their destination.


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## Mirelena (Sep 7, 2006)

The dwarf's saucy banter was beginning to wear on Jak's nerves. He paused for a moment to collect himself and ponder his answer. The shadows from the leaves overhead danced upon the forms of the tense figures below.

"Well?" the stocky figure pressed.

"It would be better for you to have someone watching that pretty neck of yours. It would be better for me to have someone watching mine. I have the loyalty of all the strongest in the camp. Everyone is quickly becoming sick of Eos and his sister. You saw what they did just this morning, he is becoming weak and irresolute. We are tired of acting on his whims and wishes."

"All I hear from your mouth is 'me,' 'us' and 'him.' Where do I figure into all of this and what is my reward? 'Better' is nothing to me. Tell me what I want to hear," Helmin growled, "And then make good on it."

Jak watched, unruffled, as the dwarf exhausted his tyrade, and then continued.
"In payment for your service, the spoils your earn, you keep. In addition, your contract is considered complete. You are free to stay or leave as you choose. However, I believe the most satisfying reward by far is the contentment you will feel as you stand over the cold, dead body of the immortal elf." The Rat was quiet and waited to let the sinister words sink in.
"Each member of the company is ready to act at a word, but the time to act is not yet at hand. When the time does come, can I count on you- and your skill?"

All was silent, save for the sound of the wind in the treetops. When a horn sounded a summons to depart, Helmin reached down to heft his pack to his shoulders. Jakoval laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and hissed a caution.

"Do not wait too long before you make your decision. I'm watching you- friend."

The dwarf gave a non-commital grunt and the duo set off to find their place among the shabby ranks.


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## Morohtar (Oct 5, 2006)

Danaeth watched and listened to the bustling street through the small window in his room. A light breeze brought the scent of the ocean into the room, a smell he knew well, though it had been long since he had experienced it in earnest; his journeys rarely brought him to places that gave him more than a hint of the sea. The colourful fabric of the curtains danced for a moment, then stilled. 

"Cheese?" The slightly muffled voice came from Cairbrent, who was munching on some delicious looking Camembert. He held out a piece of bread with some of the cheese smeared on it.

"Where did you get that?" Danaeth asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer, but not so against the idea of eating stolen cheese as to let it pass by. He stood and walked towards the bed that Cair was lounging on to retrieve the treat.

"Well, I noticed it on the ground by Kilio's supplies that he left at the camp, and I thought that such a fine cheese would be hard to replace, so I saved it for him. I'm just taking what I consider to be my fee." Cairbrent spoke with such a nonchalant confidence that Danaeth was almost convinced that this was a commonly understood bylaw.

"I'm not sure which will prove the stronger, Kilio's joy at the return of his treasure, or his anger at the pilfered portion. You'd be best to leave it somewhere for him to find." Danaeth sat back down in his chair by the window, looking out for a face sinister enough to match the voice he had heard. He saw many faces, some swarthy and scabrous enough to warrant a second look, but none with elvish features. 

"Find them."

The voice came from directly below the window, and Danaeth recognized it at once. He heard no response, only the light shuffle of feet heading off in different directions. He heard the door to their Inn open, and thought of the others. He dashed to the door, and hoped that they were still resting in their rooms.


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## Seregon (Oct 10, 2006)

Triste looked around the crowded inn, not too sure about the savory nature of it's inhabitants, fearing some assault or beating would await him. Yet at the same time, he was strangely comfortable among these people. Even the ghostly elf sitting in back, gazing almost through him.

"A pint, please." He said to a passing barmaid, who nodded, and kept going, barely seeming to notice him. Yet that was alright - he'd rather be unnoticed and able to go about his various quests than noticed and reprimanded...

~~~~~

Litos laughed at the man dancing on the table, clapping at the shiny objects jingling on his sleeves. He bit his lip and stared around the bar for a moment, before the jester caught his eye again, and quickly forgetting everything, he began to clap and laugh. People stared at him, sure, but that was okay - better to be a known fool than an unknown soldier. When the jester finally retired from dancing on tables, and Litos lost his interest in the things around him, he got up to leave, accidentally bumping into a man rather roughly.

"Oh, sorry sir, I don't mean no harm. I just... I..." He bit his lip once more, staring at the wall and the ground, trying to think of something to say, opening his mouth and firmly closing it when no words came to mind.

"Oh, no it's my fault really. I should have been more careful, I'm sorry. Do you need any help getting home?" Litos paused for a moment, rocking back on his heels.

"No... No I knows my home." He said, rocking once more and staring at the wall. The man nodded, apologized again, and left as Litos quickly disappeared through the door.

Down the alley just a little ways, in cover of darkness, he walked more confidently, instead of with the lurching gait he used in public. A smile that was of true mirth came to his face, and he pulled out a bag of silver, tossing it in the air and catching it with ease. And through the quiet streets, a few giddy laughs could be heard as the shadows grew denser and enveloped the man...

~~~~~

_"What does it do?" The elf stared with piercing blue eyes. "I mean, I'm sure it's important, but what does it actually do?" I looked down at the beautifully carved ring. The gold shined beautifully in the firelight, and the ruby seemed like a huge eye embedded in the metal, bigger than my own and probably five times as knowing. I'd been pondering over the inscriptions for well over forty years, yet I still had no idea what any of them meant. Study books as I may, through asking wizards and kings and librarians, I still had not the slightest insight even as to the race that wrote it, or the time period, or the type of alphabet! I caressed the jewel. It was beautiful, alluring, yet there was something menacing within that beautiful depth. "I've been over every history book, through every race. I don't know anything about it, still!" I was close to tears with frustration, and the elf's face was already fading. "NO! Why won't you help me?!" I screamed in frustration, clutching the large, bulky ring tightly. Yet the elf was gone, again, with no more answers than before, and it almost seemed like I had less than when I started..._


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## Elorendil (Oct 13, 2006)

Elorendil sat in the concealing shadows of a dark corner of the Inn, surveying its inhabitants warily. A sense of uneasiness troubled her, a sensation she had learned to trust. It was likely their pursuers would guess where their path had led. It wouldn't be too difficult for them to search the handful of inns in the town and find them. She let one hand drift down to rest upon the hilt of her finely wrought elven-sword as she listened to the conversations swirling around her for the distinctive accents of a dark elf.

Her blood suddenly ran cold as the rough, uncultured tones of a baritone fell on her ear. "I'll have an ale," it demanded in an all too familiar accent. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the hilt of her sword, half rising from her seat. Her gaze swept the room until her eyes fell upon the dark skinned man that voice belonged to. _An Easterling!_ As quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself, Elorendil rose and made her way to the door. 

As Elorendil stepped outside into the darkness, the noise and the bustle of the inn fell away, leaving her only with the sound of her pounding heart. She sharply exhaled the breath she had not realized she was holding. _What is an Easterling doing here? _she wondered. _Surely this has nothing to do with..._ Her thought was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind her. She whirled, dagger in hand, to find Danaeth emerging from the common room of the inn. A troubled look clouded his handsome features.
"What is it?" she asked, smoothing a frown from her own delicate brow.


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## Ghorim (Oct 15, 2006)

Jakoval was a rat. This fact Helmin knew, even without really knowing, without hearing the man’s comrades whisper the moniker with such acidic disdain. The dwarf had dealt with these types of vermin before, small-timers who thought they could glimpse the grand scheme of things. 

_He thinks this’ll be simple as seedcake, doesn’t he?_ thought Helmin with a snort. _Taking out two Elves! They aren’t to be trifled with…_

Especially not with this motley group… especially if they were pledging their loyalty to this pup. Helmin eyed Jakoval as the rodent made his dubious claims. 

_Am I to cast my lot in with this one? No doubts the Elves won’t let me leave this party with my skull intact... _

Now was not the time to be making any definite plans. Helmin was still trying to ascertain his standing in the group, figuring out not just who he could trust, but who was worth trusting. Was there anything in the rat’s eyes to inspire confidence? The dwarf squinted. No, not in this moment, only empty guile. He saw his own futile gaze reflected back at him. 

A horn sounded. The hunt was on. Helmin was gathering his supplies when he felt that dirty paw on his shoulder. 

"Do not wait too long before you make your decision. I'm watching you- friend."

There was that word again, intentional this time. It hung in the air, strange and ominous, as if the pair’s individual fates were now suddenly and inextricably bound together. A light breeze stirred Helmin’s beard. It was the daytime. Everything in the wilderness teemed with unseen life. 

Helmin felt but a moment’s hesitation, the kind that he could so rarely afford to make. But there it was – for an instant, he knew not how to react. Then instinct kicked back in. He shrugged the reedy hand off his shoulder and set to marching, checking his arsenal as he went. 

It wasn’t about profit anymore, as much as the dwarf insisted on talking about his fair share of the spoils. He just needed to survive this ordeal. Supposedly, the mercenary clan was hunting the party of adventurers. But in reality, they were now beginning to encircle each other, drawing ever closer, blades at the ready. The loose confederation of killers was set to burst.

_Might be just me who makes it out of this lot alive_, thought the dwarf idly as the trees parted and the rest of the group came into view. _Aye, it’ll be only me…_


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## Rosalee LuAnn (Oct 15, 2006)

*Bad! *play Darth Vader theme song**

“So… they have stopped at an inn for the night.” Rheddry allowed himself a small laugh. A saying he had once heard, though he had long since forgotten the source, ran through his mind; he whispered it, though he knew nobody could hear him. “Don’t you know that _Short cuts make long delays, but Inns make longer ones_?” (*wink*) 

And these travelers were supposed to be in a hurry. Ha. Perhaps they did not think themselves to be prone to the kind of delays Inns tended to produce. Or perhaps they hoped that those they _knew_ were chasing them would not wish to enter so populated an area. Yes, that would probably be it. He was certain they did not know they had an additional pursuer. He knew his trade well. 

He stayed in the shadows between the buildings across the street from the Inn. The only lights nearby were those coming from the Inn, and those weren't strong enough to reach to where Rheddry stood. He would not be seen unless someone was to enter the shadow that now concealed him and allow their eyes to adjust to the light, and he would be around the back of the building and away before anyone could identify him.

He caught sight of some movement at the door. He smothered the instinct to pull further back into the shadows; such a movement would more likely give away his position rather than help conceal it. The two drunken men who had just left the inn made their way down the street, leaning on each other and singing loudly. _I need to relax. Being excitable won’t help me at all. _He forced himself to calm down and think about his options. 

_Should I enter the Inn? Get a better look at them?_ He was sure that those he was pursuing had never yet seen him, and he knew ways to become invisible when in plain sight, a hard learned lesson that had been perfected with experience. Was it worth the risk of possibly being seen, remembered, then later recognized and suspected? While carefully weighing his options, there was another movement at the door. He glanced up, and again almost instinctively moved deeper into the shadows, but again forced himself to be still.

_It’s her_, he thought triumphantly. She had made the decision for him. There would be no need to enter the Inn, at least not for now; he would simply watch from here, without the risk of being seen and later recognized. 

_Perhaps luck will be with me in this endeavor, _he thought triumphantly to himself. He was no fool, but he was not one to refuse the advantage of luck. 

He watched her carefully. She seemed tense and uneasy, but she hadn’t seen him. Something that had happened while she was inside must have upset her. He watched her carefully, and his heart sank as she was startled by the appearance of that young-looking man with the sword. If Rheddry weren’t trying to stay hidden, he would have cursed, loudly. 

For a moment he had hoped, wildly, that it could perhaps have all been finished with that night, sooner than even he had expected. It was not to be. Perhaps it would be better to withdraw, to wait for a time when he had a greater advantage, less risk of being seen and discovered. He carefully pulled further back into the shadows, still watching carefully.


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## Seregon (Oct 16, 2006)

"Where did you get that ring?" Triste looked up immediately. The pale, strong, dark looking woman was standing over him, her eyes transixed on the ring dangling from a chain necklace. He touched it, feeling its giant, red ruby - as big as his eye, its runes, covering the sides, corners, every little bit of it. The gold glinted in the light.

"It was given to me." He paused here, looking into her eyes. "By a friend." She stared at him for a moment longer, light, ice blue eyes wide and filled with some unidentifiable emotion. Then, she leaned in close to him.

"Do not trust what it tells you. It lies. It lies, and it's evil. The best thing you could do would be to kill it, or bury it. Throw it in the deepest ocean of the world. *Do not trust it.*" The words were urgent, and whispered, though they seemed the loudest words that Triste had ever heard in his life. Yet before he could ask a single question, she was gone - dissipated into the crowd like a fine mist.

He let slip one curse word - just one, and no more, before sighing, and retiring to his room.

Her words echoed through his mind. _Do not trust what it tells you..._ The voice suddenly seemed thin, stretched, strained... like some ghost or apparition telling him. _It lies..._ 'How can it lie?' He thought, 'It doesn't speak. It doesn't tell me anything. It's a ring. An heirloom. I only got it because I finished my training, and acted like a son when Litos needed one the most.' _It lies..._ Yet the voice came back, and it couldn't help but give him chills. He picked the ring up, and looked at it. "It's ridiculous. You don't lie." And he was filled suddenly with the overwhelming feeling that that ring was the only honest, beautiful, good thing in the world. That it was the only thing he would have when he was shoved into the gutter and left for nothing. It was the only thing he could cling to. The only shred of anything decent and sweet left in a world of creulty. And he remembered his life, and he wept for the truth in the thoughts he beheld. His parents had left him, Litos had left him. To all the rest of the world, he may as well be dead. But the ring... the ring was good. The ring was sweet. The ring was the one thing that would never leave him. Never...

And it was honest...

_It lies..._

~~~~~

"One room please." He said it in an odd way, as if he were uncomfortable with words, and he looked off to the side, staring at the wall and biting his lip while handing the innkeeper three coppers. The innkeep didn't even say that a room was five coppers, he just smiled, and handed Litos the key. Litos took it, shifted his weight, and garbled out, "Thank ou." Before fumbling his way up to his room, and closing the door.

He smiled. Oh, how he loved this. With a slight laugh, he threw the new bag of coins he had acquired in the air and caught them perfectly, before setting them on the nightstand and preparing to sleep.

~~~~~~~

_I felt drained. The deed had taken far more than I’d ever hoped. *One soul is not equal to another.* The words seared through my mind as my eyes burned again. I put my hand up in front of my face, yet still, I saw only darkness…_


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## elfgirl (Oct 19, 2006)

"HEY!" Moraur jumped toward Draeki, his staff in his hand. Every breath sent screaming pain throughout his side and chest. Draeki turned, eyes wide, shaking with the excitement and apprehension of battle. "You broke something!" Her entire posture slouched, and she sighed.

"So I should've just let them kill you, hm? Let them stab you will you slept? You should be thanking me!" She hissed the words at him, and started turning back to the battle.

"No! But you could've woken me without starting the job yourself!" Now, Moraur was hissing too, eyes wide with anger and pain.

"Well, going up against me, I suppose they deserve a head start." A wry smile was spread across her face, and her tone was suddenly completely sweet, and her face a mock-innocence. "Besides, you're not all that useful anyway." The smile was now spread across her entire face, teeth showing, eyes glittering with mirth. It was a very odd thing to see Draeki smiling, and there was a certain tint of evil that made everyone who saw uncomfortable.

"I'm more useful than you!" He spat.

"Oh please, you can't even stand a few broken ribs!" Moraur was shaking.

"See how you can!" He screeched, slamming his staff into her side. She barely flinched, before turning around and slamming the flat of her sword into his head. His head swung to the side, pain searing through his skull and blood pouring down the left side of his face. "I swear, you *********** whore-" He whispered, lunging at her and swinging his staff around to try and catch her in the head.

She quickly ducked, coming around behind him and smacking the flat of her sword against his back. He stumbled for a moment, then turned to see her step backwards a few paces, quickly following her, drawing his sword.

They spun, danced, parried, thrust, blocked, lunged, and chased each other through the forest, darkness casting deeper shadows than even they could see through. Trees let loose their leaves to fall upon the two fighters, and the underbrush was barely stirred with the footfalls of the elves. Draeki got in a cut on Moraur's arm, he got a bruise on her leg - she cut his chest, he slammed his staff into her head. It was only when they were deep into the forest, and half the night had passed when Moraur stumbled, wavered, and fell with a rough snap to the forest floor. Draeki was about to get another blow, but stopped short, paused, and started to call for the others, suddenly realizing that they were deep in the forest... and lost. She looked down at Moraur - his head was still bleeding, his arm was cut, there was a slash across his chest, one on his left thigh, his right calf, several smaller cuts, and numerous bruises. Suddenly, she was struck by the fact that she had only a bruise on her head, and a few on her arms and legs - only one cut, a minor one from a branch slanted above her left eye.

~~~~~

Moraur blinked. It was day... _Shouldn't it be brighter?_ It was only then that he realized there was a makeshift canvas above him, filtering out even the weak light that made it through the trees. He started to sit up, only then realizing that one of his arms was bound. He let out a small cry of surprise, looking down at himself. All of his cuts had been sown, bound and treated, his forearm had been set and bound, there was a patch over his broken ribs, and all of his bruises were fast disappearing, having been treated with something. He also noted an odd, sort of rotting sweet taste in his mouth. He started to stand, only to notice that his ankle, too, was bound. _When did I break that?_ Suddenly, a very pale face with big, blue eyes popped in the canvas.

"You're awake." Moraur nodded - it was all he could do for shock. "Good. You might not want to stand on your ankle yet - give it a few more hours to set. And drink this." She handed him a big mug full of a bluish-green liquid he didn't quite trust. He took it with his left hand, the only one that was free, looked down into it suspiciously. "Don't be so picky." She said acidly, her eyes burning holes in him. _Ah, here's the Draeki I know._ A faint smile crossed his face, and he downed the whole mug in front of her, meeting only with a steely look.

"Thank you." He said with a smile, his eyes following her out of his makeshift-tent. He moved just a little, so he was sitting right in the entrance. "When did I break my ankle? And where did you get all of these cloaks?" He pulled on the canvas-like material. She looked up at him, mixing herbs in a bowl.

"Your foot caught on a root when you fell. You lost a little too much blood and passed out. And the cloaks are mine." Moraur looked around at them in shock.

"You carry all these with you?!" She shrugged, her face blank while she poured some more green into the goey-grey substance.

"I have body heat issues. Now here, have some meat." She handed him a well-cooked piece of deer. "We'll need to leave in a couple of days - we're lost out here, and it will be hard finding our way back to the group." To his surprise, she didn't add a remark about how it was all her fault. Instead, she drank the liquid she had prepared, and started cleaning her products. She left after a little while to replenish her herb supply, leaving him to sleep.

He slept maybe twenty-two hours of every day... Possibly more. Two days later, all of his wounds had long-since healed, leaving no scars, and his bones had already mended. He was amazed at how well Draeki's herbs worked. When asked, she had just said the principle was the same as making poisons, which didn't comfort Moraur much, yet was good enough, really. As long as they did what they were supposed to, and didn't turn him green.

~~~~~

"They would be coming through here. Now go off and play like a nice little *boy*." She smiled darkly at him, and he laughed nervously, going off to get a room and a drink... and maybe a nice, hot meal. It would definitely beat all of the cold, cooked meat Draeki had supplied him for the past two days.

~~~~~

Draeki kept her eyes on him. There was something familiar about him, some feature, something that was so eerily similar to the past. She couldn't quite remember what it was... She sat thinking for hours, barely stopping to sleep. The next day, she saw it. That ring. That beautiful, horrible, evil, vile, vicious golden ring! But no, no... it wasn't even the ring, was it... it was the jewel - it was what was *in* the jewel. Memories flooded back, errors upon errors upon errors and pain - ferocious, vicious pain searing through her head, and burning behind her eyes. She couldn't remember how it began, it was like the memories slowly faded in... Yet she knew enough. Quickly, extremely quickly, as subtly and quietly as she could, she went to him. He jumped, stared at her, as her eyes locked on the ring, dangling from the chain about his neck

"Where did you get that ring?" Her voice was urgent, lifeless. He fingered the ring, looking up at her with wide eyes, then down at the ring.

"It was given to me." He looked up at her with not-so-big, fearful eyes. "By a friend." She stared at him, remembering all of the fights - all of the talks, all of the anger and sweetness and blinding beauty. He didn't even know about it. She was suddenly filled with something she had not felt in a long time - fear. Absolute, extreme, horrible, blinding fear.

"Do not trust what it tells you. It lies. It lies, and it's evil. The best thing you could do would be to kill it, or bury it. Throw it in the deepest ocean of the world. *Do not trust it.*" The words were whispered urgently. She knew that if he did destroy it, she would be gone with it, but at this point, she didn't care. All she wanted was for that ring to be gone from the face of the planet. The fear of that ring was too much, too deep in something too shallow. Too much of her was gone to feel fear under normal conditions - what was there left to lose but a little bit more of her? And even that, was far too little to make her care. Yet that ring - that ring could do things to her that nothing else could. It could restore her, it could kill her, it could take over her consciousness and body. It was evil... _It must be killed. Even if I have to do it myself._ These were her thoughts, as she drifted into sleep.


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## Elorendil (Oct 20, 2006)

*Eviiiiiiiiilllllll!*

_Another Inn, another town_, Beril thought as he nursed a mug of ale, having just finished his master's business. _Another mercenary assassin. _Unknown to Falathiel, the elf-assassin he had hired just days earlier, he had been given the names of two such bounty-hunters to hire. The second mercenary was a lanky human who was just as eager for money as the she-elf. It would be interesting to see which caught their prey first. 

Beril raised the glass to his lips and drained the last of the pale liquid, then contemplated the emptied mug. After a moment, he pushed the glass in the old bartender's direction, with a rough sounding "Barkeeper, another ale." The bumbling old fool kept going about his business, seeming to not hear the Easterling. "Sir, another drink, if you please!" He said a little louder. _The old fool! _He thought impatiently. The Easterling stood and tapped the ancient barkeep none too gently on the shoulder. The wizened old creature nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the hulking Easterling towering over him. "I'll have an ale," he said, nearly shouting in the old man's ear as he thrust the empty mug towards him.

When he finally had a newly filled glass in hand (minus a few drops that the trembling bartender had spilled), Beril turned his thoughts to what he would do, now. If he followed his orders, he would return to his master. But returning to his life of slavery had never been *his *plan. No, he intended to stay in this land so far away from his home, beyond the reach of his master, until he had earned enough money to buy his freedom. _Freedom_. The word had such a sweet taste to it. He hadn't always been a slave. He remembered what it was like to be one's own master. It was a feeling he had craved for nearly twenty long years, ever since his own father sold him into slavery to pay a debt. 
And once he was free... Once he was free, he would be able to achieve his dreams: a wife, a home, a son and heir. A smile played about his thick lips as an image of the dark-haired beauty who had captured his heart danced through his mind. Yes, Earid would make a fine wife. _The little ones will have her deep brown, almond shaped eyes. And her- _Beril cut off his train of thought. He had to think of the here and now, find a way to earn the money that would buy his freedom. But where should he go to find work?

As if in answer to his question, the door of the inn swung open...


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## elfgirl (Jan 10, 2007)

_"Draeki?" Her eyes were open, yet there was something odd in them. "Are you okay?" He didn't know what was wrong about them, but he knew it was something. And then, her pale, almost-white eyes widened and engulfed him and he fell into a white, bright space. He looked around, and his eyes fell upon a woman, of Noldor descent, with beautiful, blonde hair and ocean blue eyes. He was at a loss for words. "Who are you?" It was said with little breath, and much shock and awe. She just smiled, and shook her head. She spoke without speaking, a simple phrase._ You are a part of this now as much as anyone. _And before he could speak a word of protest, she was gone._

Moraur woke up, breathless, and jumped out of bed, running to the room next to his, and peering in.She was awake, pacing.

"Good lord, do you ever sleep?" He said in disbelief. It must've been two in the morning.

"Yes. Do you?" He knew he wasn't meant to answer. It was one of those questions that wasn't a question, yet some stab against your character. It was a moment before she stopped pacing, and looked at him. "Why are you here?" He contemplated saying something, before stopping himself. He could imagine her look if he told her he had a bad dream. Yet she was pacing again, and didn't seem to care. "Do you want to hear a story?" She had stopped in front of the window, and the breeze was only lightly touching her hair. For a moment, he felt as if she'd known his thoughts, before realizing it was a genuine question.

"Sure."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And it's here?!" His voice was tinged with a slight sense of alarm. Draeki was still at the window. It was a question not meant to be answered. If Draeki had seen it, she wouldn't mistake it. _If..._ "How do you know of this?" _A dark servant..._

"I know. Nothing else is important." _So that's why she's dark... evil... wasted..._ And then, a thought occured to him.

"What race are you?" The answer was instant.

"None." She turned to him, and he saw angry determination written all over her face. "I've told you enough for one night. Now, for the question. What do we do?" He pondered. It was difficult. They couldn't change the situation at all.

"We monitor. We observe. We work around it, so-"

"How?!" Her voice was sharp, desperate, enraged. It was a look he'd never seen on her.

"We're going to need to talk to Cair."

~~~~~~~~~~

"I want to bring someone into the group." Moraur, naturally, was the one doing the talking. "He's a good fighter, and young." He tried to have something more to say, but he didn't know what else he could say.

"You mean both of you." Draeki refused to be absent from this. If worst came to worst, she could always hurt him until he assented. Moraur looked at Draeki, as if he'd just seen her, paused, and nodded.

"Yes."


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