# The Stumbling Of Man Upon The Uttermost West.



## YayGollum (Jul 14, 2006)

On yet another brisk day in what he considered his father's port in the Forodwaith, Brandor's first stop was his favorite pub. His full grin was barely pulled back into a self-deprecating smirk as he hopped through the door. "Barkeep, my usual! Ha! I still haven't learned any better than to come here first!" At the sudden interruption, several sailors turned, revealing a smattering of surprised, amused, and annoyed faces, most of which sobered when Narvi stomped his way up behind and closed the door. 

The two picked their way through a moderate crowd to a round table in a corner far from the bar. The short statue grumbled, only half to himself. "No, you haven't. Shouldn't we visit home first? We've been gone, what, a year, this time? Ugh. The only son of the most successful man in the business doesn't need to associate himself with the common employees! And he knows that even the smell of alcohol will get him sick!"

Once seated, the young man innocently gave a few steamed sailors a, "Forgive him," smirk. "Shush, Narvi. There's nothing common about the man that braves the open seas as well as these! Ha! Ah! My tea! Thank you. Say hello the family for me! And try not to let the word out that I'm back so soon." Already, though, several patrons had scuttled off to spread the news that the wandering heir of the shipping business that fed them all had returned.


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## Persephone (Jul 14, 2006)

_"There was no other way...he said to leave while I still can. So I did. I left him there."_

With the ship in even keel, Kastor decided it was time for another shot of Pöusse. The dark bottle warned, drink moderately, and it was good advice: Pöusse was the most potent liquor this side of Middle Earth. Kastor loved Pöusse and what it does to his wits despite the massive hangover he knew he'd get the morning after. He opened the bottle and the room was quickly filled with its strong aroma. A shrill squeaking sound from his right coat pocket prompted him to put the cork back in. After fastening the button of the flap, Kastor opened the bottle again and poured the golden liquid into a shot glass and downed the drink in one gulp. 

"He'll be in all the news by the morning." He said shortly. "Perhaps we can muster enough men for the next voyage, ey? We need to stop at the slops in town to buy me more of these here Pöusse." 

He stood and wobbled a bit, then looked out through the porthole and saw the dock was empty as a graveyard. He pulled out an old pocket watch and saw that it was only four in the morning. The sun would not show his hot face until eight. Kastor decided to make use of the dawn.

Taking his spear, he said, "He had a son, I believe. Lived here I suppose. Never did meet the lad but---" he sighed laboriously before heading out of his cabin into the alleyway. "---well, there's always a first time for everything."

He ventured off into the foggy morning, tightening his grip on the spear and making sure that his right coat pocket does not twitch too much.


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## chrysophalax (Jul 15, 2006)

An other headache creased Horatio's brow. _Must be the weather, the clouds have been gathering...either that, or trouble's on its way!"_ He paced the length of his office, high in the eatern tower overlooking the harbour below. Horatio made it his business to keep his eyes on his workers and woe betide they if he should catch them slacking! Time was money, after all.

The fact that his brother seemed to have disappeared on another of his daft "voyages of discovery" hadn't helped his temper, or his migraines. It had been months and the fool hadn't even bothered to have word sent! _Typical...leave me to handle the wages, the complaints, the orders to be filled...while you go off, shirking responsibility yet again!_ This had been an on-going battle bewteen the brothers for more years than Horatio cared to remember and now things looked like going in the same direction with his son, Brandor. At least, that's how they _had_ been. Just wait until the youngster got back into port! Uncle Horatio intended to have a long talk with the budding adventurer. A talk which would hopefully settle him down and make him see that if he wanted a place in the business, it depended on more than just having his father's name. It was time that he either assumed a more constructive role, or if not, find himself being dealt with.

A cruel smile lit Horatio's face as he poured ihmself a glass of miruvor, a delicacy he rarely indulged in. First the brother , then the son... and then maybe at last Horatio would have what he had always desired...exactly what he deserved.


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## YayGollum (Jul 15, 2006)

After only his second cup and his fifth visit from a fellow customer, Brandor perked up as he noticed who was coming in next. "Old man Dingo, is that you? You're looking as healthy as ever! It's Brandor! You remember me, don't you? Come on over! I've got room. Narvi, get up, won't you? That chair won't support you for long, and I'd like to give our visitors the chance to sit." The statue mumbled something about merely attempting to keep up appearances but stood and rooted himself protectively behind his ward. 

Old man Dingo, as he was oftimes called, veered his gaze away from the bar that he had come for, spotted the unusual duo, flashed them a surprised grin, and ambled over. Before taking the vacated seat, he gave the kid a slight bow and removed his hat. "Of course I remember you, Brandor. And Narvi, as well, of course. Your tastes certainly haven't aged in the last year, I see! A young man of your position could afford quality, but you insist on equipping yourself with only the simplest. Ah, well. To each his own. How have you been?"

With the perfunctory critique of his attire out of the way, Brandor hailed the bartender to order his visitor a generous gift of wine, even though he knew that the fumes would make him dizzy. With the perfunctory thanks for the generosity out of the way, the wanderer fumbled with his words, attempting to make a disappointingly routine journey seem interesting.


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## chrysophalax (Jul 18, 2006)

A knock on the highly polished oak door brought Horatio out of his reverie. "Enter!" _Now what calamity has befallen that needs my attention_ he thought as a straight-backed young man slid silently into the room. "Message for you, sir." he said softly, well used to his employer's moods.

Horatio took a long sip of his elven wine before sinking into the red leather chair behind the ancient mallorn desk. His brother's desk...now his. It had been in the family for several generations and even then had cost a fortune. At certain angles, it gleamed with a soft, golden light that never failed to make Horatio want to reach out and caress it. His fingers slowly made their way across the table's surface as he glanced up at his secretary. "Well? Out with it, man!"

"Sir, it appears that your nephew has been seen down by the docks, in an establishment called, " he consulted his memory, "the Dancing Ogre. It seems he is home, sir." Horatio twirled the stem of his wine goblet between his fingers. "Is he, indeed? That is...interesting news. Send for my horse! I must go and greet young Brandor." The young man bowed his way out as Horatio went for his cloak and hat. Home at last, was he? Now all that remained was to get him out of the way again...as soon as possible!


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## Persephone (Jul 18, 2006)

Although he limped, and the docks had creaking floorboards that tilted sideways when he passed, and very little light, Kastor found his way to the Dancing Ogre with ease. It was packed to the rafters with sailors, their lovers, and regulars that don't even like the smell of the sea but would pay good money for a taste of good ale and to hear a good tale. Kastor push his way through the throng and found his usual place in the corner right next to old Tobbald. The old timer nodded a greeting to Kastor before returning his attention to his mug. Kastor sat on the chair and lifted his left leg on another. 

Eana brought him his usual brew -- 1420 -- and Kastor sat back, watched and listened as the sailors animatedly took turns bragging about their voyages and their adventures and their women.

One voice rose above the noise and boasted, "I seen them lands, far back south where the Kings of old 'ave been said to 'ave stayed!" 

"That be nothing to what old man Jenkins told me!" Interrupted another. He stood up, pointed his forefinger into the air. "He's seen them elves! Lurking in that old forest!"

"Rubbish!" The crowd chorused; they laughed at him, and many went back to their drinks.

"He's seen 'em, I tell ya!" The man insisted. Kastor could see he was looking around for listening ears. Kastor avoided his eyes. 

The crowd relentlessly taunted him.

"Elves? Down in the old forest?" 

"There'd be dwarves as well?"

The man looked at him and said, "They don't live in trees!"

Silence followed that remark, then like rain, the pub slowly errupted in laughter. The man had no recourse but to give it up and he left the pub swerving from all the ale in his head. Several hours after that, the crowd went back to their tales and more ale and after an hour or so, most went out. The pub soon quieted down and Kastor very nearly fell asleep when a young man and what looked like a walking statue, came in. The whole pub hushed and gave them both a suspicious look. They made their way towards the bar and ordered something to drink.

"It's him." He whispered. "They look so much alike." His pocket twitched in answer. "Let him have his ale and then we'll tell him."


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## YayGollum (Jul 19, 2006)

Brandor slumped back into his seat with a baiting and unfulfilled look, once he finished telling what little he had to tell. Dingo caught onto the sense that the kid was still a bit miffed that he didn't see anything mythological and wanted to be cheered up. "Ah! Now, don't get discouraged, young man. The next time the wanderlust strikes you, be sure to remember me. I was a wanderer, too, you know. There are still several magical places left. You may not even get the chance to see them, though! Many responsibilities lie ahead, if you decide to stay, this time. You're much older, and your training has barely even begun!" 

After the kid's face grew a more decisive shade of dismay, Dingo continued, "I notice that you've been avoiding every opportunity to speak of your responsibilities here. The sailors look to your family for guidance. Isn't it about time you answered them? No need to rush home yet, but, Look there! Isn't that Kastor, one of your father's best men?" The old tailor nodded in Kastor's direction and attempted to hook his gaze but saw that Brandor was already taking the initiative and sighed to himself. "I'd envy your energy, if I didn't know where your status demands it to go."

Brandor, eager to meet someone who his father spoke highly of, stood and scanned in the indicated direction. Loudly, and in a fizzled attempt to boom, ending with a boyish grin ---> "Where's that Kastor? One of my father's best men, you say? A high claim indeed!"


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## Persephone (Jul 20, 2006)

Kastor watched with amusement as the boy and his friend ordered their second ale. Quite a heavy drinker for a young lad, he thought. Nin proded him to approach while the boy was still sober but Kastor was not bringing news for the sober. In fact, in his opinion, the boy needed a bit more ale and a soft bed after. 

"He'll find out soon enough." He whispered to her. She twitched and he felt her lift the flap of his coat a bit. He pushed the flap back and secured the button. "No, Nin. This is not the right place for --" 

A familiar figure entered the pub. His dark blue suit stood out in a room full of neutral colours. The hairy faced newcomer was a welcome sight for Kastor who had not seen him for many months. Dingo, he was called, and he was a werewolf; Kastor found out after his second voyage. The ship was crossing the Greyflood and picked several passengers from Tharbad Port on their way back up to Forodwaith. Dingo was one of them. The night before they reached Hoarwell Port, Kastor was mopping the deck. The moon was high that night and Dingo, the tailor, decided to take a walk. 

Dingo passed him a glance. Nothing more was exchanged between them and Kastor hoped he would not tell the boy about his presence. Dingo, expectedly, walked straight to the boy who, unexpectedly, seemed to be well acquianted with the werewolf. They exchanged words and Kastor wished not for the last time that he had the hearing of the elves. From the stories that he heard, they had magnificent hearing, but Nin never confirmed this information.

He went back to his seat and waited again. Dingo looked at him again and nodded and Kastor worried whether he had mentioned him to the boy already or...

"Where's that Kastor? One of my father's best men, you say? A high claim indeed!" The boy announced. 

"Dingo, you fool!" He said in an undertone. Nin twitched wildly and Kastor agreed with her cursing of the mangy nut. "He's going to get castrated with that mouth of his." 

Kastor decided it was time to tell the lad. He stood and said to him, "What is he to you, boy? Whether you find this man or not is of no importance to you..." Kastor's voice rang inside the pub and the few who had stayed behind to finish their mugs looked up to see this towering bulk move closer to the young man. There was fear in their eyes, he could see, for though he frequented the Dancing Ogre, he was seldom seen by anyone. 

Kastor stood a foot away from the boy and the odd looking individual standing valiantly at his side. "...Unless you need to hear news that only he brings." 

The young lad looked at him, his eyes brimming with curiousity. "You're Kastor?"

"Aye." Kastor replied. "And what is your name?"


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## YayGollum (Jul 20, 2006)

While straightening under the larger man's gaze, Brandor lifted his chin confidently. "Brandor, sir." He seemed to get distracted by the ceiling for a second, then brightened and casually stepped back to offer a seat at his table. "Oh! You mentioned news? I'm afraid that this is only my first day back home, actually, so, if it's about work, you should probably talk directly to my father. I'd like to take a couple of days to settle in before thinking about business, you understand. Ah...would you care for a drink?"

Dingo's ears pricked up at Kastor's seriousness. He attempted to slice the kid's genial behavior with a sharp look, then turned to the sailor with a comradely grin. "Brandor, don't try to shrug responsibility off before you even give it a chance. You would do well to earn this man's respect. He'll set you on the right path. Hello, Kastor. How was the weather?"

Narvi, although he had grown a bit of wariness when the sailor advanced, relaxed since he figured that if the guy was of such high status, he should know better than to actually harm the kid. He mused that getting stared down by some brute might actually be good for him. He didn't take the time to be polite enough to change his expression, though, and only moved when Brandor stepped back. After that, he just hunkered down again to observe.


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## Persephone (Jul 20, 2006)

"Brandor, sir." Replied the boy; Kastor sweeped a glance at the bar and realized his mistake. _No wonder he smelled like grass_. Returning to the boy who had mentioned something about taking the affair to his father, Kastor realized the mistake he was about to make again. He does not know of their voyage to the far south. He felt his pocket twitch and he quickly placed his hand inside it until Nin calmed down.

"Brandor, don't try to shrug responsibility off before you even give it a chance. You would do well to earn this man's respect. He'll set you on the right path. Hello, Kastor. How was the weather?" Dingo said shortly.

Kastor looked at him but did not reply; There was so much being revealed to too many ears. Dingo was an old acquiantance that had had other dealings with strange folk, himself being, no doubt, the strangest of all. It would not hurt to tell him of the latest adventure Kastor had gotten himself into. However, from what Kastor had learned from their last expedition, nothing must be left to chance. _It would have been different had they not been too careless_. No. Dingo cannot be trusted...yet. 

Then there was the odd looking individual who seemed to serve the boy as his guard. Kastor could not make out what he was exactly, and therefore his trustworthiness hangs in the balance. The bartender was also exceptionally interested that morning, and who wouldn't be? This must have been the oddest gathering of people in the Dancing Ogre in a long while. Kastor knew there were more ears pricked and listening and interested especially after Brandor, foolishly, announced his name.

Too many. Nin was right. He should have made the first move. His errand was to the boy alone. The news and all its detail should first be revealed to Brandor and the then to the other person in his list: Horatio. 

"Begging your pardon, but I cannot stay too long." Kastor declined the offer of a seat and another mug of ale. "However, I would appreciate a talk at a later time. Would it be possible for us to meet at your father's estate, Brandor?"


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## YayGollum (Jul 21, 2006)

A look of surprise and confusion popped onto Brandor's face when Kastor declined the act of generosity, but he nodded and gulped down the last of his tea. "Oh, well, of course. I'm just wasting my time here, anyway. I should at least start looking at what my responsibilities will be, I guess. Shall we go?" Eager to prove himself, Brandor whirled to make sure that Narvi was still behind him, then waved that they would be moving on. He would have rushed past and forgotten all about Dingo, if the guy hadn't stood to lean towards Kastor, which made him stop short.

Dingo, since he had been trying to go easy on the kid, was dismayed that he'd be headed for the ones who'd try most aggressively to pin expectations to him. He wanted to at least give him the opportunity to talk with more of the people he'd be helping by learning the trade. Of course, since he didn't know Kastor's news, either, he didn't know better than to lightly touch the guy on the shoulder and speak cautiously to him. "Is this news so important? Your most cheerful disposition is no different than when you bear the worst of news, you know. I was going to have you help ease the boy into his position, but you might have other plans?"

For the group, while attempting to whisk them outside and away from prying ears ---> "Now, then! May I walk with you, to Brandor's place of birth? Or could I tempt the young sir with a visit to my shop, first? Really, you could at least do with something warmer!"


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## Persephone (Jul 21, 2006)

Suddenly aware of the werewolf’s interest on the boy, Kastor turned his full attention to him. “Dingo,” Said Kastor, sweeping the boy aside as he strode closer to the bar; “’Tis been too long since last I saw you. How has your shop been, ey?” He looked at the bartender, again, the man seemed as aware of him as was the rest of the pub. _Something’s amiss_. “Lad, I changed my mind. It’ll be too rude if I shouldn’t at least take a mug before we left. Give me another of ‘em 1420’s, there’s a good man.” A mug was placed before him, and he downed it in one long gulp. 

The werewolf was little impressed; in fact, he was now looking at him with a grin on his face. Kastor could tell that Dingo had an interest on the boy’s affairs perhaps it had something to do with Brandor’s father and the business. “_Find Horatio”_ was the last thing he ever yelled before Kastor was out of earshot, and for many nights before they got moored on that forsaken piece of unmapped land, they’ve talked about nothing else except Horatio and his son, and how there are those who would like to claim the business for themselves.

“The news I bear,” Kastor said shortly; “Is not for your ears, master tailor. So I’m afraid you cannot walk with us, although I expect,” He was now looking at Brandor, pretending to size up his clothing; “The young lad will have to visit you afterwards. He does need new clothing...and perhaps a bath.” 

The insult caught the boy off guard and Kastor saw him smell his underarms and the inside of his shirt before straightening it with both hands. _Gullible git_. Kastor sighed laboriously then went back to Dingo, then said, “So, if that’d be all. Boy, pay the good man and let us be off. I would like to finish my errand early today.”


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## YayGollum (Jul 22, 2006)

Dingo squelched a thoughtful frown and turned away as Brandor, not to be left behind, rushed past them to pay the bill. The old werewolf decided that whatever the news was, it was most probably important to the business or the boy's family. Nothing that immediately concerned him and which he wouldn't eventually find out anyway. Brandor, having merely intended to wait for the two to exchange farewells, suddenly caught his breath and rushed outside, looking green. Narvi just tutted and took his time with stomping out after him. 

After a brief smirk, Dingo caught Kastor's eyes to add an earnest plea ---> "He's a good boy, and very like his father. I know you'll keep him safe." He then took a seat at the bar to go about his usual interactions but touched his hat and tossed Kastor a wink before turning away. "Looks like the tea was too much for him!"


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## Persephone (Jul 26, 2006)

Kastor placed his arm around the young man's shoulders and leaned a bit on him. He could see that his weight made Brandor wince a bit. _So much like Doran_, he thought. "Do we really have to travel with that," Kastor threw a glance behind them to the walking thing; "That _friend _of yours?"

Brandor, after wiping his mouth, straightened and looked back at Narvi with sympathy, and said "Well, he is my friend, so, of course!"

"I've never seen anyone like him,” Kastor said shortly, again looking behind to see the fellow marching behind them. It was the strangest thing he had seen in that port in years and Kastor had seen many strange things. There was something about Brandor's friend that alerted Kastor's nerve and he didn't like the feel of it. "What _is _he lad?"

Brandor winked at Narvi, then grinned at Kastor before saying, "We're not quite sure of that, yet." 

Narvi took the time to cross his arms and look Kastor up and down with disapproval. "We are alone, now. What message have you for the young master?"

Surprised by the question, and somewhat alarmed by this uncanny character, Kastor stopped, sized him before looking at the boy and knew that they shared some kind of bond. It would not do well for him to try and pry them apart, nor would it be beneficial for them all if he were to contend with that bond that they share. However, his judgment had been challenged before and oftentimes it was proven wrong. Could he be wrong again on this occassion? He might be. Then again, maybe not. Maybe he was just being overly cautious and that this thing is a real friend to Brandor. At length, he decided to keep his opinions of this individual on neutral ground and wait for a sign to suspect him. 

He smiled at the boy and said, "The ground has ears, and the wind," he looked up into the open air filled with cold fog; "Can speak messages---” He struggled for the stranger's name; he couldn't recall if it was given or not in the many exchanges that transpired inside the pub. Deciding that perhaps he was not properly introduced, Kastor smiled wryly and said, "There are ears that have been waiting for the very message that I carry, Brandon's friend--- However, it is only meant for Brandon himself. I will discuss it in safer quarters." He turned to Brandon again. "Are we far from your father's house?"

Brandor, having never possessed much in the way of a sense of direction, looked around while glaring at the buildings studiously. Narvi, having always possessed very little patience and a much better memory, took the lead and pointed the way. "This way." He marched forward and when he was beside Brandon, he grunted, "We haven't been gone so long that you should forget where your own home is." 

Brandor mumbled about growth and development. Brandor saw Kastor shake his head and took it as a sign of disappointment. He decided to turn the table around and before moving along, he raised an eyebrow at Kastor and attempted to gauge his worth, something that had always sounded easy. 

"So, my father, how is he? Did you get back recently?"

"Aye,” Kastor replied. He was not going to answer the first question in the open so he decided to waddle in the second. "The ship is anchored there," he pointed to the biggest ship in the port with gray folded sails and a large white mermaid in the bough. "She's a beautiful ship. Doran's finest. We traveled to the South, her bilges are bursting with crates of mollusks and stone crab from Tharbad port. The market should be swelling with it by now."

Brandor, easily distracted, licked his lips then said, "Ah, a feast for my arrival! I'll ask if you can stay, Kastor, although, my father shouldn't mind, if you're as close as Dingo hinted. I'm sorry that I am not around more often. I really should know you better already. But my father has the sea and I have the land--- much to my family's dismay!" 

Cringing at Brandor's carefree laugh, Narvi grumbled over his shoulder at them. "I wish that your uncle would put a stop to that! He, at least, has a good head on his shoulders."

"Does he, now?" Kastor said, narrowing his eyes. _Hook_. "What is your name again?"

The statue halted in the middle of the alley they were passing through, stomped up to Kastor, and was forced to glare at least a foot up at him. "I was not given a name that I know but Brandor calls me Narvi." 

Brandor hastened to step beside the two since he couldn't exactly get between them. "Yes, Narvi. After an old Dwarf I heard about. It's a good name!" 

Narvi, giving the man a steady glare, spoke again. "Have you a distaste for those who can carry the weight of such a vast shipping business, even through the hardship of a brother like Doran?"

_Line_. "I have very little care for such things. The shipping business was Doran's forte. Mine is the sea and how to steer his ship across it and back. However, because of circumstances, Doran has entrusted me with matters concerning his shipping business and I hold it and its interests in high priority. I trust no one with it. Not unless Doran himself says he can be trusted." Kastor's lancing gaze bore down upon the creature that obviously wasn't human. Narvi just stared back. Both did not blink and Kastor barely moved. In his mind, the foremost thought was that his spear may not peneratrate the thick hide of this "thing". Brandor cleared his throat and Kastor looked up to see that a crowd was now beginning to form around them. He lowered his gaze, and even forced a small smile before saying, "Narvi. I shall keep that in mind. 'Tis a good name, lad, let us hope that he acquires a few of their traits. Just a few, Dwarves are known to be ruled more by greed than by loyalty."

Narvi gave the man a smirk before turning away. Brandor looked at the two worriedly and clapped Kastor's shoulder lightly, and then said, "Well, actually, I think that I might have met a few Dwarves already. They aren't so bad. But then, they might have just been descendents. Or just a few short loremasters. They're more cautious than greedy. And certainly very loyal, if you get to know them. You are actually very Dwarflike, Kastor! Well, not in height, of course. Your beard is quite lacking, too. But you do have the loyalty of a Dwarf. They don't even need to know their rivals to hate them, either! Ah, have you met my uncle, by the way?" the last, he said with an innocent smile.

"Yes," Kastor said. "I have."


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## YayGollum (Jul 26, 2006)

They made their way through the busy streets now loud with market-fare. The men from the ship, Evertas, have unloaded their crates of mollusks and stone crab and the merchants were now bargaining for prices. 

At long last they reached the manor, quite an estate from the look of it, and very palatial if compared to its very modest neighbors. The gates bore a large insignia of Doran's family. They made their way inside and Brandor thought it best that they talk in the library where the books and thick drapes muffled their voices. Not, of course, before he spoke to at least three servants about preparing a feast and gathering his family for a surprise. 

In the library, after Narvi shut the door and stood with his back to it, Brandor found a comfortable chair and motioned to another. 

"This should be fine. What news can you have for me that must be kept so private? Oh, I should have asked the servants for drinks!"

"Leave the drinks," Kastor said. He refused the seat once more much to Brandor's displeasure and this time he couldn't hide it. "I bring terrible news for you, Brandor."

With an honest gasp, Brandor said, "Oh? What happened?" Narvi stepped forward a bit, as the kid was normally too lighthearted to show much worry.

Kastor, who never learned to say things with a grain of salt, knew only of one way to disclose news: blunt and fast. "Your father is dead."

Brandor blinked once, then shook his head and smiled, looking around the room. "Is this a trick? Father would sometimes play tricks on me, but I never would have thought that he'd add one of his shipmen to a plot! Is it because I've been gone so long and should be so much wiser? Where is he now? He's not dead." Only a soft and hopeful laughter followed, though. Narvi, on the other hand, didn't doubt the man's tone, but started stomping around the room, checking behind drapes just to make certain that noone was hiding behind them.

Kastor didn't know what to say next. He just realized how young Brandor was and how gripping was the message he had brought. He couldn't meet his eyes. He felt a stinging jolt run through him as he listened to the young man's disbelief. I shouldn't have left him.

Brandor, showing a bit of annoyance, crossly said to Kastor, "Come now! Don't lie to me, Kastor. I've only just returned. What kind of welcome is this, to hear that my father is dead? Very bad taste, sir!" 

Narvi, after checking around the room, shook his head sadly and took a place beside his companion.

"I'm sorry, Brandor." Kastor regretfully said, and again he felt remorse coursing through him. "It is the truth. I come to give you this,” He took out an envelop with Doran's seal. "It is your father's will. It leaves the entire business to you." Handing it to the young lad.

Brandor shakily stood, while glaring at the drapes, to take the envelope, but he didn't open it. "Are you certain? Did you see him die?"

It was the question that Kastor feared to hear. He didn't have the stomach to tell the boy that he ran and left his master behind so that he can save his own life. Yes, he needed to stay alive and give Brandor what was rightfully his, and make sure that he keeps it. He needed to stay alive to make sure that the business and the house and all of Doran's belongings were given to his son, and not taken by those who have been conspiring to take it from him. Nevertheless, if he only stayed for a little while longer, and fought, Doran would not need to pass down his will. Not yet.

"Did you see him die?" Brandor asked again, and this time his voice shook.

"I,” Kastor hesitated. "I did not."

For a moment, Brandor's face held a confused glare, but after a deep breath, he dropped the envelope on his chair and gave another carefree grin, this one accompanied by a much harder voice. "Then I have no need for his will yet, do I? So, where did you leave him? Oh, and why?"

Do I tell him? Kastor could see how stubborn this boy was -- after all, he was Doran's son. He knew the task needed more than just a day to accomplish, and now that he has met Brandor it would take longer than he anticipated. His pocket twitched again. He steadied it but not quick enough, for Narvi's eyes quickly caught sight of it. He said nothing though, which added to Kastor's already growing suspicion of him.


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## chrysophalax (Jul 30, 2006)

Horatio was in high dudgeon. Rarely did he ever waste time and yet, here he was, apparently on a wild goose chase. His _dear_ nephew and several suspicious characters had left the bowels of a particularly rank pub near the docks not long before, most likely for home. _Hardly the establishment I would have allowed my son to frequent. I must speak to the whelp about the family reputation._ he thought as he rode hell-bent for leather along the cobblestones toward the mansion. His brother had obviously been remiss in the lad's education.

Candlelight blazed in the windows and lanterns had been lit all along carriage entrance Horatio noticed through narrowed eyes. A cynical smile graced his lips as he pulled the frothing horse to a skidding halt in the yard and leapt off. A startled servant darted out, as if from nowhere. "M-my lord! We had no news of your impending arrival! I..." He cuffed the boy's ear soundly. "Because I sent none, fool! Be off with you!" The lad needed no further encouragemant and lead the heaving animal to the stables, leaving Horatio to contemplate the reason for the gaiety within.

A frontal assault had never been his forte, so Horatio walked calmly to the rear of the massive stone structure, all the while thinking, ever thinking. It was obvious the young wastrel was busy spending the family fortune on those eccentric "friends" of his, the most dangerous of which in his opinion was Dingo, a rather dapper older man that always seemed to smell like a wet dog, for some reason. From the sound of things, young Brandor had to have done well on this venture and his unce was bound to find out exactly _how_ well. When he reached the back of the manor, Horatio slipped through the postern gate, to which only he and his brother had the key. Two flights later, after startling several bats that always lurked in the stairwell, he was once again in his apartment.

"He's back, m'lord." Horatio tossed hat, cloak and riding gloves into the ever-waiting arms of his life-long servant, Thomas. "Really? You mean that bonfire of candles downstairs isn't for _my_ homecoming? You wound me, Thomas!" A thin, perfunctory smile greeted the acidic comment. "M'lord likes his jest, I'm sure. Wine. m'lord?" On the table in the center of the drawing room sat a delicate crystal decanter, full and a goblet, also full. Inwardly, Horatio relaxed as he strode to the table, picked up the goblet and inhaled. "Ahhhh, Thomas. What would I do without you?" "Hire another servant, m'lord?" Horatio chuckled. "My cynicism has worn off on you, I see. Nay, nay. Come, tell me all. I want to be prepared before I greet my nephew with open arms."


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## Arvedui (Jul 31, 2006)

Meanwhile, in a dark corner in the library, a small, squat statue carven in stone, was standing. Immensely old it seemed, carven with humanlike features, but much shorter and broader. And even if it was just a statue, some sort of mysterious power seemed to emit from it if one got close enough.


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## Persephone (Aug 2, 2006)

Nin slowly made her way into the sleeve of Kastor's coat. Using every crease as though they were steps in a large staircase. She made it to Kastor's broad shoulders with very little effort and, hiding herself in the thickness of his hair, she whispered to him, "Remember Ankaragmir..."

Her slicing voice cut through Kastor's consciousness like a hot knife on butter. His mind was thrown out to sea on a day he will forever regret...

He was trying to log their bearing when Doran came down. Kastor looked at the piece of parchment that Doran had placed on top of the loxodograph. New bearings. _He wants to go further down south_. He never questioned Doran's decisions - not once - but today, after they have voyaged steadily southwards for months, Kastor was beginning to suspect that his master had lost his mind. 

"Captain," He called.

"Yes, Kastor?" 

"You want us to go further South?"

Doran nodded; he had that silly smile plastered on his face like the one you see in a child who had mischief in mind. He turned around and was heading out the door expecting Kastor to just follow the order that he had just given him. 

"Captain," He called again.

"Is there something wrong, Kastor?" Doran replied, his voice had a tinge of annoyance, which Kastor expected seeing as this was the first time his order had been questioned by no less than his first mate.

Kastor hesitated, unsure if he should tell him his fears. Then again, he had been getting warnings from Nin for many nights now. _Do not go down to the Dune; Ankaragmir is the birthplace of the Laminak_! 

"We are going to the Dune?"

"Yes. We are." Doran replied, suave and casual, as though the Dune Sea was a place he frequented.

Kastor knew he had to try and talk him out of it. He took a deep breath and said, "There is nothing there, captain. It's just a dead sea."

"We will port in Caldûne, and go inland from there. The town of Julus is famous for its pearls and torquiose, and..." 

"We will go inland, captain?" Kastor echoed.

"What is the matter with you, Kastor?" Doran asked, clearly bewildered by his obvious hesitation to go south. "I've never seen you this agitated before."

Kastor closed his eyes tightly and sighed heavily. He didn't want to reveal the existence of Nin. Not even to Doran. Especially not to Doran. He would be exceptionally interested with her; his lust to see such beings in existence had been the driving force of many journeys to unchartered lands. Journeys that nearly ended in tragedy and Kastor knew that if they continued teasing fate, she will tire of their jest too soon.

Doran walked back to him and placed a hand on his left shoulder, and then said, "You and I have risked dangers and garnered treasures that no man in Forodwaith ever had."

"Worthless treasure." Kastor reminded him.

"Treasure is not just silver and gold!" Doran interjected. "The history of our land has been kept in ice and water for many centuries. The books of lore have been sold to the highest bidder, who takes them out to sea only to be plundered by pirates."

"Legends!" Doran exploded. "Captain, these are nothing more than legends that we are after. You are risking your life for something that lies in mists! You have a son --- "

"Who loves the ground more than the sea!" Doran interrupted. 

"Still he is your flesh and bone and blood. _He _is your real treasure." Kastor insisted.

There was silence after that. Doran just looked at him and smiled sadly. Then he nodded and turned around placing a hand on his waist while the other rubbed his forehead. With Doran's back to him, Kastor bowed his head in shame knowing how much it pains his captain to remember his dead wife. However, Kastor needed to convinced him not to go on with this mad hunt to uncover the past and the only way he knew was to dig into the deepest wounds of his heart.

"You have neglected both him and the business in Forodwaith." Kastor said.

"Horatio is taking care of both while I'm away, Kastor, you know that." Doran replied.

Kastor limped toward him. He said, "Are you certain of that?" Looking directly into Doran's eyes, his own pupils glittering with words he could not utter. It was clear with Doran's confused expression that he understood. 

He asked, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Horatio seems to be ecstatic everytime you leave for the sea and disappointed whenever you show up at the harbor..." Said Kastor, looking out the porthole, then turning back to Doran again; "...alive."

"Madness! What are you implying, Kastor?" Doran asked. "Horatio is my brother! I doubt the people he mingles with but never him. Blood is still thicker than water after all." Kastor looked undeterred by it, and in an attempt to win the debate, Doran spoke again, more sternly now, and said, "If you---_ know _something--- tell me."

"I only know what I feel in my gut, captain. My gut is telling me not to trust Horatio." Kastor said. "Blood may be thicker than water but it dillutes faster when you're always out in the sea. Soon, the ocean will have disolved everything that ties you both."

Doran sighed laboriously, and said, "I know why you feel so strongly about Horatio, Kastor. But your squabbles doesn't concern me. I trust him fully."

Kastor could see that he could not contend with that yet. Maybe he'll never be able to. _Doran you fool, how can you be so stubborn_, Kastor thought. He could desert him once they port in Caldune. He has paid his debt and earned enough to start a life somewhere. He can leave now. However, Doran was the only friend he has ever known. The only one who even showed the slightest sign of humanity towards him when he was about to give up on the human civilization entirely. He can never turn his back on him. _If I have to die defending him..._

"Aye, captain."

"Now," Replied Doran , grinning; "Shall we go to the topdeck so you can steer the ship to our next destination?"

Kastor could do nothing but agree. His pocket twitched madly in revolt and he had to endure the sting of Nin's rod in his hand for at least an hour.

Narvi was still looking at him when he shook free of the memory. Brandor was talking about something; he couldn't recall what it was, but he was certain he mentioned something about finding Doran. Nin had made her way back into his pocket. 

"No," Kastor said, realizing he interrupted Brandor in mid-sentence, he walked closer to the boy holding out a large hand in front of him as though he was trying to clear some fog. Narvi quickly went between them. "I will not harm him, Narvi. He is my charge---"


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## chrysophalax (Aug 7, 2006)

Following a lengthy debriefing by Thomas, Horatio sat back in his orc-hide recliner and pondered. That his nephew had returned was, in itself, nothing that would normally cause him any distress, for thus far the young man had shone no great promise as a businessman and seemed more than willing to let his uncle take all the responsibility. However, the fact that Kastor was with him boded ill. He had never seen eye to eye with Doran's friend and captain and in Horatio's view, Doran valued the man's opinion far too highly. And then there was Dingo...

The elegant werewolf had always intrigued Horatio, much as a deadly snake is intriguing merely because of its deadliness. His eyes narrowed in thought as he wondered why Dingo had chosen to come to the mansion with Brandor and he could find no reason that seemed good to him. He had the uneasy feeling of a trap slowly closing in and he didn't like it one bit.

"Thomas? Alert the appropriate people, will you? I want no trouble here. Make sure my "guests" are well taken care of and stay close. And tell my nephew I will receive him in the library." Thomas nodded. "Of course, my lord." Then he disappeared without a sound to do Horatio's bidding.

As Horatio made his way to the library through one of the many secret passageways, he smiled to himself. Thomas had been one of his father's more interesting discoveries. The man was more than half-elven, a rarity in this day and time and his loyalty to the family (meaning Horatio primarily) was beyond question. Early on, Horatio had discovered that Thomas was passionate about his elven heritage and Horatio had used this knowledge (albeit illegally) to acquire many treasures long thought lost and even allowed Thomas to own one or two himself. He had proven so grateful that the fact Horatio was a scoundrel at heart made no difference. Together, they made a formidable pair when it came to smuggling.

Upon entering the library, Horatio was instantly watchul. For some reason, he always had the feeling that he was being watched here, so it was rare that he ever came to this room in person. Horatio held out his hand, clasping Brandor's in a firm grip and pointedly ignoring the other people in the room. "Welcome home, nephew! Come, sit you down and tell me of your venture. I trust it was lucrative?" Brandor stood before him awkwardly for a moment and Horatio exclaimed, "Of course! Where are my manners? Would you like tea? I've recently acquired a very aromatic blend from Umbar and a delightful herbal tea from the hillsides just west of the Misty Mountains, where there once stood an elven settlement, it is said." Horatio seated himself and waved Brandor to a chair near the fire. "Tell me everything."


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## YayGollum (Aug 7, 2006)

Although his eyebrows perked up with interest at the mention of the tea, Brandor winced at his uncle's liveliness. He was used to feelings of annoyance and impatience while he was around the guy, which made him feel horrible about having to keep him informed. He picked up the will and handed it to his uncle before sitting down and offering a comforting smile. "Heh. An unfortunate homecoming, this time, Uncle. I was just talking with Kastor here about my father. He wasn't dead when his first mate abandoned him, at least. What do you think we should do?"

Narvi backed away as Horatio entered. Although he was used to only looking after Brandor, he admired this businessman and had gathered that Kastor could be a bit unreasonable, hence his need for a better position. He ended up standing politely to the side of the fire, but still what would be too close for a normal human's comfort. After providing a slight nod of respect for the what might be dead, he noticed another statue. Interest in the conversation quickly made him forget about it, though.

Dingo unexpectedly appeared from behind a curtain, probably by way of a secret passage, and only noticed by those who weren't focused on other things. He silently glided towards the group, giving a sympathetic nod to any who noticed him. If much surprise was shown, he'd flash a grin and whip out a dashing new outfit, obviously meant for Brandor. Saying nothing, his own eyebrows perked up when he spotted the will.


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## Persephone (Aug 10, 2006)

The silence brought upon by Kastor's uncanny mumbling and abrupt motions toward the young man placed all three of them on alert. Brandor was particularly confused and curious by the look in his eyes. Kastor had to compose his thoughts carefully knowing he had to win the trust of this young man. 

"Do not be afraid of me," He began. Narvi was not convinced though; he stood stock still as a graven image between the sailor and Doran's son. Kastor did not feel he needed to gain anything from this creature but it was evident that he had quite an influence over Brandor. "Your father," Said Kastor, addressing the young man directly, "trusted me with his will and made me swear, by my own death, that it reaches your hands. There is no need for wariness, I'm your guardian, Brandor. As your father had wished---before he died."

Suddenly, the library door opened and a man entered and announced the arrival of Horatio. Kastor knew that one day they'd have to confront each other, if now was the hour, so be it. Hobbling over to a large cushioned mahogany chair with a high backrest, Kastor sat, waiting anxiously for Horatio to appear through the door.

"Welcome home, nephew! Come, sit you down and tell me of your venture. I trust it was lucrative? Of course! Where are my manners? Would you like tea? I've recently acquired a very aromatic blend from Umbar and a delightful herbal tea from the hillsides just west of the Misty Mountains, where there once stood an elven settlement, it is said." 

"Heh. An unfortunate homecoming, this time, Uncle. I was just talking with Kastor here about my father. He wasn't dead when his first mate abandoned him, at least. What do you think we should do?" Brandor replied shortly. Kastor did not like the suggestion of abandonment but knew it was exactly how it appeared to anyone who would hear the tale.

"How came this to be in your possession, Kastor?" Asked Horatio, politely; "And how do I know this is not a forgery? I have been given no news of my brother's untimely demise and, believe me...I would have known." 

Though the tone was polite and Horatio's face hid well it's true meaning, Kastor understood it completely and the malice that dripped through the words that had been spoken. Narrowing his eyes at the accusation against his honor, Kastor felt compelled to lash out against this pompous immitation of Doran. 

However, something within the heavy curtains behind him moved, and at once his nerves were on the alert. 

"Confounded scoundrel!!" Kastor exploded, standing up from the chair, his spear drawn and aimed at the newcomer. It was Dingo, and now that his presence had been laid bare the library felt like it was shrinking. Each one looking at the other with surprise and suspicion in their eyes.


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## YayGollum (Aug 11, 2006)

After his mischievous grin and presenting the new outfit to Brandor, he blinked and scoffed at Kastor's reaction. "Scoundrel? I'm sorry to surprise you. It's just that these soft boots are so much more comfortable than those heavy ones, which, I'm sorry to say, are much louder." He glared at the spear for a beat, then threw his hands in the air to show that he was unarmed and casually took a seat of his own. With a nod to Horatio ---> "Forgive the servants for neglecting to announce me. I'm not one for such trivialities, anyway. Ah, but don't let me interrupt! Brandor, I hope that you find your homecoming gift useful. Should I have made it in black, though?"

Brandor's look of suspicion was merely a curious, "How did he get in without a door opening?" He accepted the clothes with an amused look, since Dingo's wares were usually too dressy for his tastes. He placed them to the side before waving calming hands at the others. "No, of course not! We have no reason to suspect that my father is dead. He is an experienced adventurer, right, Kastor? I'm sure that he's just taking his time coming back to us, as always."

Narvi's look of suspicion was also curious, but mixed with a lot more shock that he hadn't noticed the tailor approach. At Kastor's reaction, he ran a few scenarios in his head and didn't look it but was ready to step in and unarm the startled human. He did glance at the floor where Brandor had dumped his new clothes, though, and ordered himself to remember to chastise the kid for his lack of respect. Although Dingo was mysterious and eccentric, Narvi had known him and his reputation a lot better than Kastor's.


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## chrysophalax (Aug 11, 2006)

News of a will other than the one locked in Doran's safe upstairs in his office surprised Horatio. With a raised eyebrow he looked at the dubious object lying on the table as though it offended him. "How came this to be in your possession, Kastor? And how do I know this is not a forgery? I have been given no news of my brother's untimely demise and, believe me...I would have known." As the two glared at one another, suddenly there was a movement of curtains and the flash of a spear. Dingo appeared with a grin and a bow with a gift for Brandor, which went barely acknowledged.

"I see you still remember the old passageways? To what do I owe this pleasure?" Horatio watched as the tailor took a seat, steepling his long, elegant fingers to observe the proceedings."You must forgive Kastor. It seems his nerves aren't what they used to be." He turned to the old sailor calmly. "Would you like to join us...after you've set aside your most unnecessary weapon...or would some fresh air do you good? I'm certain I can find someone to escort you outside for a brisk walk in the garden should you require it." His words were that of a politley concerned host, but the tone of his voice was silk over steel. Horatio was never to be challenged on his home ground.


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## Persephone (Aug 11, 2006)

"Scoundrel? I'm sorry to surprise you. It's just that these soft boots are so much more comfortable than those heavy ones, which, I'm sorry to say, are much louder." Dingo said, scoffing at Kastor's startled reaction. 

"I see you still remember the old passageways? You must forgive Kastor. It seems his nerves aren't what they used to be. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Horatio greeted and that casual exchange of pleasantries did not escape Kastor's watchful eye. 

Turning his attention to Horatio, Dingo continued, "Forgive the servants for neglecting to announce me. I'm not one for such trivialities, anyway. Ah, but don't let me interrupt! Brandor, I hope that you find your homecoming gift useful. Should I have made it in black, though?"

"No, of course not!" Brandor quippep. "We have no reason to suspect that my father is dead. He is an experienced adventurer, right, Kastor? I'm sure that he's just taking his time coming back to us, as always."

Kastor was torn between pity and annoyance at Brandor's remark however it was expected. Doran had warned him that the boy would not readily accept a claim unless he sees solid proof of it- which was the purpose of the written will that Doran had sealed. Kastor thought it would suffice. But his claim came with the sad news of Doran's death, and now he fears that Brandor would need a cold and rotting corpse before he'd accept it as fact. The issue of trust lies heavily between them; he had just met Kastor. You cannot tell a man to trust you; you have to earn it.

"Would you like to join us...after you've set aside your most unnecessary weapon...or would some fresh air do you good? I'm certain I can find someone to escort you outside for a brisk walk in the garden should you require it." Horatio offered. 

_That's right, that's where you want me, outside and far away_. He unhinged the joint of the spear and it retracted into a small folded piece of steel, the pointed end tucked under a thick covering of yak hide. After placing it back neatly within the folds of his coat, Kastor said, "I've had my fill of clean air from the sea and I despise flowers. I would stay here, with _my charge_, as he had been assigned to me. I can assure you, Horatio, that the will is genuine; Doran's seal is upon it. Have you read it's contents? It has nothing to do with me. Doran left everything..." Kastor paused and cast a firm, but short glance toward Brandor before returning to Horatio with a smile of mockery in his face, and continued; "...to his son."


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## YayGollum (Aug 11, 2006)

Brandor, never the best at gaining information from a tone that wasn't also in a person's words, frowned with confusion at his uncle. "Ah, I would really like to hear what Kastor knows, first. You might need to organize a crew to go out and rescue him, Uncle. Of course, I doubt that it's as serious as that. Perhaps he sent his best man back alone for a reason? I'd like to learn." At his first realization that Kastor felt obligated to stay in his service, he made a quick check for a jealous look on Narvi's face, but it hadn't changed much from its latest watchful one. At the news of what his father had left him, he fell back in his seat for a second with a worried look but quickly recovered with his usual carefree one.

Dingo sighed and rolled his eyes at his gift's reception, then tossed an innocent and receptive look at Horatio. "Oh, my shop isn't far, as you know, and I had been saving this gift for your nephew until his return. Nothing more. But, with this news, I would like to hear what Kastor has to say, as well. Forgive me, but Doran is missing and presumed dead? This will be most disheartening to tradesmen up and down the coast! A rescue team would certainly be called for, if we have reason to suspect that it would be of help."


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## Persephone (Aug 11, 2006)

"Ah, I would really like to hear what Kastor knows, first." Brandor interupted. Kastor's eyes remained glaring at Horatio. "You might need to organize a crew to go out and rescue him, Uncle. Of course, I doubt that it's as serious as that. Perhaps he sent his best man back alone for a reason? I'd like to learn." 

At this, Kastor whirled in disbelief. _A search party?_

"I would like to hear what Kastor has to say, as well." Dingo added and with that remark Kastor threw a glance back at Horatio. However, his face remained unchanged. "Forgive me, but Doran is missing and presumed dead? This will be most disheartening to tradesmen up and down the coast! A rescue team would certainly be called for, if we have reason to suspect that it would be of help."

_Return to the Dune? _Kastor had to stop this from happening. There was no way he would return to that accursed place. Only with an army will they be able to withstand the Laminak. _This is madness!_

"The news is troubling, no doubt...but I can assure you it _is _true." Kastor insisted. "Sending a party to search for the dead is useless. Brandor, you must stay here and run the business as your father had wished."


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## YayGollum (Aug 11, 2006)

Brandor swung back in his chair in horror at Kastor's assumption that he had even considered sailing into uncharted waters to look for a professional explorer who had gone too far. He quickly calmed himself only to look down at his hands with worry at the responsibilities that would be heaved onto his shoulders, if he stuck around. After a moment of thought, he looked back up at Kastor with his eyes bright and darting, as if he wished to escape. "You have no proof that my father is dead. Yes, you were convinced to leave him and deliver this will, but I have yet to hear why we should give up. Oh, I'm sorry. You wouldn't have left him if you thought that you could help, I'm sure, but, could you find him with a stronger force, maybe? Uh, I could stay here and try to become a good businessman. Uncle Horatio would be a great teacher, I think, but, hm, yes, I'd much rather leave this city, maybe give the business to him. Maybe he could help me with starting my own business on one of the trading routes on land? I'd like that very much! But I'm sure that there isn't anything to worry about. Father might have just been delayed, and you were sent ahead to meet me, maybe to keep me interested in the family business? Right?"

Narvi nodded with agreement that Brandor should start getting accustomed to running his father's business, then closed his eyes in pain and sympathy as the kid rambled and dodged. Dingo, on the other hand, stepped up and placed a hand on Brandor's shoulder to calm him. "That may yet be. Your father always was a rapscallion! You are certainly right not to jump to any conclusions regarding his presumed demise. Now, if you wish for a rescue team, why don't you organize it? That'd certainly show your doubters that you have the qualities of a leader, and your father might even be home by the time you're finished!" After a hesitant smile from Brandor, he turned to Kastor. "I wasn't there with you, so I can't be sure that Doran is dead. Why are you so certain? If there is any chance that he is still alive, you should be the first to volunteer for a rescue mission, I would think!"


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## chrysophalax (Aug 13, 2006)

Fixing Kastor with an icy glare, Horatio cleared his throat. "I believe it's time to sit down and let calmer heads prevail. Please gentlemen, have a seat and let us rationally talk this through." Nimbly he plucked the will from ther table and carefully examined the seal. "It appears to be intact, but until I know for certain that my brother is deceased, neither will is going to be opened." Horatio then rang a silver bell which conjured Thomas from this air. "Thomas, will you be so good as to deposit this in the family safe? There is the possibility my lawyers will have to examine it later." With a bow, Thomas took the will and vanished as quietly as he had arrived.

"Now, Brandor. I greet with enthuiasm the knowledge that you wuld like to learn more of the family business, but even it gratifies me that you are willing to search for your father. Doran Enterprises can hardly function without him at the helm, after all!" he said, followed by a polite cough. He then turned to Kastor and smiled. "What my wise acquaintance, Dingo, says has merit, Kastor. You are the finest captain Doran's fleet possesses. Who better to bring him back...dead or alive? I can assure you that no matter what, I will continue to run my brother's business as I always have, with the family in mind. There is no reason for you to tell my nephew to assume leadership while there is a crisis as long as I am here! It is hardly your place to say so, as I believe _you_ are a company employee, not I."


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## Persephone (Aug 13, 2006)

"You have no proof that my father is dead. Yes, you were convinced to leave him and deliver this will, but I have yet to hear why we should give up." Brandor contested.

Kastor would have told him, right then and there, what exactly happened. However, Horatio was there, pinning him with a glare as sharp as knives. He also distrusted the sudden appearance and somewhat friendliness Dingo had towards Doran's ambitious brother. The fact that Dingo knew the secret passageways of Doran's manor means only one thing: _he is a frequent guest here_, and since Doran is often out to sea, the invitation must have come from someone else who lived here.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You wouldn't have left him if you thought that you could help, I'm sure, but, could you find him with a stronger force, maybe?" Brandor continued. "Uh, I could stay here and try to become a good businessman. Uncle Horatio would be a great teacher, I think, but, hm, yes, I'd much rather leave this city, maybe give the business to him. Maybe he could help me with starting my own business on one of the trading routes on land? I'd like that very much! But I'm sure that there isn't anything to worry about. Father might have just been delayed, and you were sent ahead to meet me, maybe to keep me interested in the family business? Right?"

Kastor could see that Brandor sought assurance from him -- or maybe doubt. _The Laminak spares no one_, Nin warned. Kastor could still feel the searing pain of the poison as it ate his skin like living gangrene. Nin had to suck the poison out and that, too, was a pain almost too much to endure. 

He was still deep in thought and regret, when Dingo came between them and said, "That may yet be. Your father always was a rapscallion! You are certainly right not to jump to any conclusions regarding his presumed demise." _Presumed demise? _"Now, if you wish for a rescue team, why don't you organize it? That'd certainly show your doubters that you have the qualities of a leader, and your father might even be home by the time you're finished!" 

With that last statement of encouragement to the boy's deadly and foolish intention to search for Doran, Kastor's suspicion for the tailor grew greatly. He wants the boy out of the way. Looking at Horatio, cold and calm a satisfied expression on his face, Kastor was almost certain he had bought the werewolf's services. Another pawn playing in this deadly game.

"I wasn't there with you, so I can't be sure that Doran is dead. Why are you so certain? If there is any chance that he is still alive, you should be the first to volunteer for a rescue mission, I would think!" Dingo added.

Before Kastor could swipe at the tailor for what was obviously a sneer at the authenticity of his report and his honor, Horatio cut in, and said, "I believe it's time to sit down and let calmer heads prevail. Please gentlemen, have a seat and let us rationally talk this through."

Breathing hard through flared nostrils, Kastor slowly moved away from them and limped heavily towards the chair he earlier occupied. He did not wish to sit down, nor turn his back on them, rather from that distance he was able to get a very good look at all of them at once-- he decided to remain standing. Horatio had just taken the will from the table; examined it and nodded when he found it still sealed. 

"It appears to be intact, but until I know for certain that my brother is deceased, neither will is going to be opened." He ordered his manservant, Thomas; another uncanny individual that Kastor could not place with any of the locals within Forodwaith. Perhaps from somewhere on the other side of the Litash port. They have strange looking people there he observed. "Now, Brandor. I greet with enthuiasm the knowledge that you wuld like to learn more of the family business, but even it gratifies me that you are willing to search for your father. Doran Enterprises can hardly function without him at the helm, after all!" 

That smile was practiced well, Kastor thought. Looking at him beside the boy, with Dingo on the other side, Brandor looked like a lamb, about to be slaughtered, but was willingly going into the slaughterhouse. 

Suddenly, Horatio approached him, and said, "What my wise acquaintance, Dingo, says has merit, Kastor." _Wise? Foolish more like. _"You are the finest captain Doran's fleet possesses. Who better to bring him back...dead or alive? I can assure you that no matter what, I will continue to run my brother's business as I always have, with the family in mind. There is no reason for you to tell my nephew to assume leadership while there is a crisis as long as I am here! It is hardly your place to say so, as I believe you are a company employee, not I."

"You are right," Kastor replied. "And as a dutiful employee, I have done all that my master ordered me to do. That was why I came here and gave Brandor the will and make sure it is executed. Those were my last orders from Doran." He took a deep breath before he spoke again. "And no, I have no proof with me nor on the Evertas of his death. You can doubt my report if you wish, but since _none_ of you _were_ there," casting a glance at the Tailor, "I believe my report is just as valid as your doubts. Although I was rather expecting, since the ship returned without him on board, you would realize that something had gone wrong. I would never abandon him and return to Forodwaith if I knew he was still alive." He then turned his attention to the boy who was keenly observing the conversation, although there was much confusion on his face. "If you really want to look for him, I will go with you and guide you for that was part of my orders. However, I have to warn you, Brandor, the journey is perilous and we may never again set foot in Forodwaith." Then with a knowing smile on his bearded face he turned to Horatio. "Which would serve your plans pretty well, I should think. Wouldn't it, Horatio?"


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## YayGollum (Aug 13, 2006)

Of all of the expectations that he had been coming across recently, Dingo's sounded like the most fun. He'd be seen as trying to help the family business while he'd just be talking to people who wouldn't mind a good adventure. He figured Kastor to be too embarrassed to admit that he had abandoned his father and didn't really blame him, since he didn't know what the situation had been. He openly gasped when the guy seemed to be accusing his uncle of some ill will and looked back at him with more concern than disgust. This man obviously didn't like his uncle and had been ordered to guard his best friend's son, Brandor decided. 

Might as well focus his energies on a better task, if he'd be stuck with him. "Now, now. There's no call for that, Kastor. I never volunteered myself for any rescue missions, but organizing one doesn't sound too hard. You can help me with that, then. I see nothing dangerous about that mission, at least!" After a grateful nod at Dingo, he stood and gathered his new clothes from Narvi. "I'm not signing up for any rescue missions yet, Uncle. I'm sure that I'd be useless on the sea. But scrounging up adventurers sounds like fun!"

Dingo winced with sympathy when Kastor glanced at him. Sensing that the guy wasn't an especially large fan of Horatio, he planned on speaking with him privately about what forced him to return without Doran, since the offer to tell anyone hadn't been made yet. At Brandor's eagerness to perform for the adults, he smiled and gave him an encouraging nod. "Good! Then it's settled. I can recommend a couple of places to start, actually."


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## chrysophalax (Aug 24, 2006)

After an uncomfortable silence, Horatio stood and bowed to his company. "This has been a most instructive evening, gentlemen. I approve my nephew's noble mission to go in search of his father and, in addition, I will place at his disposal whatever supplies or manpower he may need...within reason." He nodded to both Brandor and Dingo, pointedly ignoring Kastor. "Brandor, I would like to speak with you privately before you embark. Sooner, rather than later and remember, if you have need of anything in the meantime, you have but to ask." 

He crossed to the door, then paused. "Please, help yourselves to the refreshments Thomas has prepared for you in the next room. Can't have the books being soiled, now can we?" With that he swept from the room. leaving the others to ponder his proposition. Meanwhile, Horatio took the long way back to his apartment, his mind racing. Could Doran actually be dead? If so, why had he acted through Kastor? Why has he not trusted his _only brother?_ The old jealousy rose like bile in his throat. _I have done nothing to deserve this suspicion...nothing! However, if there must needs be a reason..._ Horatio's thoughts trailed off as he reached the sanctuary of his tower. The room was lit by a warm glow from the fireplace and his soft, deep bed was waiting for him. There would be time enough in the morning to discover the truth behind Kastor's animosity, then time enough for recompense.


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## Ghorim (Aug 24, 2006)

Long, bony fingers, crisscrossed with veins, immune to trembling… sharp, shrewd eyes, able to discern the minute secrets of powder and wires… a probing mind, naturally drawn toward the perfection of symmetry… these were the heirlooms that came to Glauer by virtue of his race. With these gifts he crafted devices of great destruction, lethal mixtures of elements that shook the Ered Luin to the roots when deployed. All that power, and the riches and accolades that came with it, lay within Glauer’s nimble hands… and yet they had always felt empty. The dwarf’s eyes would ever turn upward from his base labors, to trace the elegant curves of the Ered Luin's subterranean domes, marvel at the indomitable thrust of the columns, and bow reverently before the towering statues of his folk’s ancient heroes. 

These things had all been crafted long ago, when the Khazad were yet a young and sprightly folk. They were tributes to Mahal, every one of those creations a sprawling manuscript written in ode to His boundless powers. Glauer looked upon them as the pillars of a glorious past that he could never hope to touch. Those immaculate architectural lines cut at his personal sense of significance, the stony eyes of the statues bore into his spirit and questioned its merits. What were his petty explosives next to these immortal works? What had the dwarves of the Ered Luin become, now that _he_, Glauer, was regarded as their greatest creator? The dwarf fled these questions, fled the underground, rushing into the hot sunlight of the surface world.

Living at this mannish village was supposed to be temporary. Glauer felt tempted to travel to Khazad-dum, where it was whispered that great works were still being wrought well beneath the Misty Mountains. And yet the dwarf had assimilated into the fabric of this small town so completely, that he soon felt too entangled to pick up and leave it. Though of strange, secretive ways and peculiar appearance, Glauer’s works endeared him to the community. He had come into town with a sizable cart filled with all manner of building materials and chemical substances, and plenty of coin saved up from his years of service as the Minister of Demolition. Suddenly freed from the demands of the mining families, and faced with the seemingly boundless needs of his new customers, Glauer’s slumbering sense of creativity suddenly blossomed as it never had before. 

The greatest beneficiaries of the dwarf’s personal rebirth were the children of the village, for whom Glauer fashioned the most elaborate of playthings. His wooden soldiers seemed to spring to life at the turn of a crank. He crafted other, less threatening dolls who could blink their eyes and turn a jig. Through intense trial and error, Glauer even created a bizarre, putty-like substance that could stretch into any conceivable shape without breaking, as well as bounce off of walls and transfer ink marks from one piece of parchment to another. Adults called it “silly,” but their juniors simply couldn’t get enough of the stuff. 

And then there were the fireworks displays, magnificent tapestries of shimmering light that brought spectators into town from miles away. It was during one such exhibition that Glauer sat in his darkened tomb of a workshop, facing away from the small oval window as his creations burst into millions of dazzling embers outside. He no longer took joy from the sight and sound of those things, all empty noise and garish color. No, he did not take joy from much of anything these days. 

He felt his own mind a fuse, fast burning down to its inevitable detonation. How much longer could he fritter away his years in this human settlement? He was avoiding his own kind, avoiding the investigation of those titanic questions that shrouded his waking thoughts and seemed to hover behind every dream. Perhaps it would sting him to leave his business and acquaintances, but it would be only a superficial wound. If he received only that in exchange for more knowledge of where his folk came from, and where they were headed, it would be more than worth it.

A knock at his door snapped Glauer from his reverie. It was one of the townsfolk, a young man peering meekly into the gloom and shadow of the dwarf’s workplace. 

“Evening, Glauer. Some folks want to speak with you.”

“What about?” asked the dwarf, not yet stirring from his meditative pose, those bony fingers laced together in a delicate, pensive formation.

“They say they want to see the man who put the fireworks display out here together.”

“Hmm…” only now did Glauer open his eyes. “Fine. Send them in.”

The dwarf stood to make preparations for his guests. He produced a tinderbox from one of the two massive sets of shelves that stood guard over each side of the workshop. Everyone in the village used matches except for him. Moving with smooth, efficient steps, Glauer came to a hanging lantern that swung drowsily above the main workroom’s center. From its shade Glauer had cut the shapes of crescent moons, stars, and mountains. Once he lit the lantern, these forms projected all along the walls, giving the workshop an otherworldly appearance. 

The room contained a staggering sprawl of equipment, but all of it neatly arranged by size and function. There was that pair of shelves first and foremost, stocked with various metal tools, cogs, nuts and bolts, wooden planks, sandpaper, and devious-looking contraptions that were by and large foreign to human eyes. Half-finished dolls gazed dumbly from wooden pedestals; others dangled limply from wires. A mighty oaken workbench, equipped with two attached vices, dominated the center of the room. There was a small but comfortable looking chair sitting just beneath the window on the far wall. Glauer’s meager and rarely-used bed lay in an attached room. A door on the far right wall guarded the stairs that descended into the dwelling’s basement. All of the dwarf’s most dangerous materials – the explosive powders and strange-smelling chemicals, his miles of wiring and his fiery forge, lay beneath the main room. Tellingly enough, the subterranean element of his home was far more extensive than the above ground level. 

Glauer was just settling back into his chair when the door seemed to blow open from a gust of wind. In marched a peculiar group, with inquisitive and roaming eyes.

“Well,” said Glauer sharply, as if he needed to draw their attention from all of the workshop’s inanimate distractions. “I am the fireworks maker. Call me Glauer. And what would you have of me, now that you’ve succeeded in finding me?”

He sat back in the chair casually, folding his fingers together once again and drawing them to his chest. For an instant, he seemed to fade in with the various decorations in the room, becoming just another lifeless accessory of the workshop.


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## YayGollum (Aug 25, 2006)

Having merely entered to generously express his gratitude for the entertainment before heading for the nearest inn to look for interesting travel companions, Brandor burst in with a grin. The shade's influence distracted him for a bit, producing a childlike look of wonder, but once he took in most of the room's inventory, he drew in an almost disgusted sounding breath. "Ugh!" was a quick musing to himself, "Is this man some sort of inventor? All of this equipment can't be for making fireworks! Why can't people just live like the elves did? Simply, harmoniously? This guy probably doesn't give a whit about the old stories! And what is that smell? Oo!" 

Distracted yet again, this time by a doll, he stopped short when the strange little man called attention to himself. "Oh! Ah, Glauer, then. Greetings. I am Brandor, explorer extraordinaire. How are you? We just came in to thank you for your talents. I'm sure you are quite used to it, of course. I really have never witnessed a fireworks display as spectacular. Ah, and where is the nearest inn, by the way?" A bit embarrassed at how his enthusiasm had dimmed since talking his companions into coming with him, he scratched his arm and gave a far shakier smile at the guy.

Narvi, who hadn't seen much to appreciate about the entertainment, stomped grudgingly in. After scoping the place out, though, he nodded approvingly to himself at the level of skill that his host seemed to have. He jerked his head with surprise at the uncharacteristic distance that Brandor seemed interested in keeping with the guy, though.


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## YayGollum (Sep 10, 2006)

After directing a belated bow at the door Horatio had rushed through, Dingo sighed and gestured in the direction of the dining room with a ---> "Ah, it's been months since my last taste of your cook's meals! You must be missing them, as well, Brandor. Shall we go?" Brandor looked up from his fingernails which he had been examining with nervousness at the idea of having a serious talk with his uncle, but he nodded and led the way. "Of course. We can plan on how to mount a rescue party there."

On the way through one of the old halls, he reflexively hunched his shoulders. He always imagined the house sucking his energy away, crushing him, the portraits of great men glaring down at him. He walked quickly with his head down, until they passed a window. He was startled out of his depression at the view of a black ocean in the distance, as it had gotten dark outside. After a nervous grin and an admiring shake of the head at Kastor, he pushed on to the dining room. Once there and settled, he focused on the food for long enough to be seen as rude for ignoring guests. 

Dingo merely plucked at a few delicacies and waited for Brandor to slow down. "Exquisite, as always! It is a pity that you don't have much time to appreciate such skill. But, yes, to business. We shouldn't spread the news of your father's disappearance, for many reasons. So, if any volunteers that you might be hoping for are regular employees, they should be advised to keep this information to themselves. I suggest looking for help beyond your uncle's, or your father's, resources. Adventurers like yourself. Allow me to supply some suggestions, and to wish you good luck!"


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## chrysophalax (Sep 11, 2006)

A blinding headache throbbed in Horatio's temples. What was Kastor up to? Was he trying to turn Brandor against him, and if so, to what purpose? While it was true that he and Brandor had never been close, it could never have been said that Horatio had ever failed to lend support (by whatever means) to his nephew's flights of fancy, or to his more ambitious ideas (few though those might be). Doran had failed (in Horatio's opinion) to encourage the young man in the development of his instincts, in honing his business acumen to the razor's edge this business required. Ruthlessness, attention to detail and a healthy dose of paranioa. _Those_ were the qualities Horatio saw as sadly lacking in his nephew and they were just the qualities that he himself had in abundance.

A hint of movement caused Horatio to tense as he entered his sitting room. "It is I, my lord. I heard every word that was said. Shall I...have something arranged?" After a moment's hesitation, he replied. "Nay, Thomas. Not this time, at least...not yet. However..." A smile slid its way across his face. "I feel myself in need of another set of eyes and ears. If possible, much like your own. Brandor, it seems, will be going to sea in search of my hapless brother and as I can't spare you, well, you see the difficulty?" Thomas smirked. "Of course, my lord. I know just the man, an old acquaintance of mine. Is a meeting to your liking?" "I should trust your recommendation completely, but then, I never trust anyone completely." Horatio crossed to the wine cabinet. "No offence, of course?" 

"None taken, my lord." came the practised reply. Thomas knew what side his bread was buttered on. Horatio turned with two full goblets in his well manicured hands. "Excellent! Come, Thomas, drink with me to Brandor and a successful outcome to his latest venture." He sipped his wine thoughtfully. "And to new alliances. May they be as profitable as the old ones!" A single perfect note sounded as goblets met in a toast between conspirators.


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## Persephone (Oct 8, 2006)

"Ah, it's been months since my last taste of your cook's meals! You must be missing them, as well, Brandor. Shall we go?" Dingo said, and Kastor noted a nod towards Horatio, before he continued, "Of course. We can plan on how to mount a rescue party there."

Uncertain and doubtful of this spontaneous plan to delve into the depths he left behind, Kastor reached into his pocket and felt soft small hands caress his thick thumb. Nin agreed. That was good. Dingo looked admiringly outside to the open sea then shook his head as his gaze landed upon Kastor's hulking figure. There was a time he intended to befriend this person finding his "_other_" side quite interesting. However, this ardent acquaintance with Horatio that has enabled him to master the secrets of Doran's house is troubling; there was no sense in founding such a relationship unless this conspiracy provided something both of them want.

"Exquisite, as always!" Dingo announced. Kastor's appetite, diminished greatly, accepted only bread and wine. "It is a pity that you don't have much time to appreciate such skill. But, yes, to business. We shouldn't spread the news of your father's disappearance, for many reasons. So, if any volunteers that you might be hoping for are regular employees, they should be advised to keep this information to themselves. I suggest looking for help beyond your uncle's, or your father's, resources. Adventurers like yourself. Allow me to supply some suggestions, and to wish you good luck!"

_Suggestions_? Kastor once again saw the edges of a net slowly surrounding both him and the boy. "The bleeding bastard does not know the peril he is in!" Kastor thought. Nin tried to weed her way up his shoulder but scuttled quickly back into his pocket, making Kastor look sharply to the left. The butler, Thomas, had come in, following him were two plump female helpers carrying white blankets.

"My lord asked me to provided you with these, and to guide you to your rooms once you have done with your dinner." He said.

It was too much for Kastor. He would never spend a night in Doran's house without Doran in it. "I'm afraid, I cannot stay here for the night. Brandor, if you still desire to search for a party, I will follow you. The ship will be ported here for the meantime while we search, and will be stocked as necessary before...we set out." He turned to Thomas, and sighed, "Please tell your...master, I will sleep in my cabin. G'night!" He nodded towards Brandor, whose open-mouthed objection was almost comical enough for a smile. He looked away. Then towards Dingo, who nodded back. Slightly. Then headed out the door.

The night air was chilly and Kastor drew his coat tighter around his body, rubbing his hands together then placed one inside his pocket to warm the shivering creature inside. 

~~~~~

Kastor's drawn face felt numb with icy dew; the porthole stank of Gull droppings and his head seemed to have been pushed against it's slightly opened glass. He tried to move and a bottle fell loudly on the floor. His mouth was parched and his throat felt sore. He ran his swollen tongue around his mouth and felt a stinging pain in his lower lip. Grunting and groaning with the stiffness of sleep still deeply embedded in his joints and numb limbs, Kastor heaved his heavy body off the table and stumbled to the floor, hitting the wall so hard the room shook a bit. He struggled to get up; his head was swimming with alcohol, and his eyes were heavy with sleep. He leaned hard on the chair and pushed himself unto it and sat a while, gasping for air. A small voice peepped like the sound of a mouse and he realized that Nin was no longer in his pocket - She was lying on the table in a pool of Pöusse. He smirked, remembering their argument a few hours before midnight.

"Ol' girl!" He nudged. "We will head out in an hour and meet with Doran's son." She mumbled. "You may be right, Nin, we may be headed for death, following this fool, so much like his father. But I am tired of running away." She groaned.

But run away he did. The pang of guilt stripping away that hard, thick layer of numbed conscience that was Kastor's only saving grace. He shook his head, picked up the elf and placed her slowly into his pocket. 

~~~

It didn't take long for them to see the first member of this search party. A small figure hobbled to a house of sorts while outside the sky was lit with colours and lights. Fireworks like nothing Kastor has seen before exploded in mid-air, sending children and adults into a frenzy. 

He followed the boy, who seemed to know where he was headed, towards the house where the small figure had entered. 

Brandor did not even attempt to knock, but merely lifted the door latch and pushed it open. Then, as flabbergasted as the man inside, Brandor gasped at the assortment of trinkets, and gadgets, and whatnots that welcomed his eyes. 

"Is this man some sort of inventor? All of this equipment can't be for making fireworks! Why can't people just live like the elves did? Simply, harmoniously? This guy probably doesn't give a whit about the old stories! And what is that smell? Oo!" He said.

“Well,” said the small man, sharply; “I am the fireworks maker. Call me Glauer. And what would you have of me, now that you’ve succeeded in finding me?”

"Oh! Ah, Glauer, then. Greetings. I am Brandor, explorer extraordinaire." Brandor said. "How are you? We just came in to thank you for your talents. I'm sure you are quite used to it, of course. I really have never witnessed a fireworks display as spectacular. Ah, and where is the nearest inn, by the way?" 

_Inn?_ Kastor shook his head and grunted loudly. He went out of the room and signalled to Narvi that he would be close by. He didn't wait for a reply, and instead headed towards the edge of the crowd that huddled watching the display of colour and light above. 

"I cannot stand such ridiculousness, Nin! We've travelled since dawn, and all we found is this bloody festival! Now he needs an Inn!" Kastor grumbled. "It will take us months before we can do the usual route again."

"Perhaps the boy will wisen up and decide against it, Kastor." Nin suggested, hiding herself behind the thickness of his dark hair.

"Perhaps..." Kastor replied. "Sooner is better than later; I want to leave this place."


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## chrysophalax (Oct 14, 2006)

Morning dawned and Horatio was in an ill-tempered mood. Not only had he failed to get a good night's sleep, but what sleep he _had_ had was plagued by images of conspiracy, of Kastor and what he might be trying to coax Brandor into. Testily, he rand for breakfast and in due course, the dutiful Thomas arrived with a full platte. One glance told him that conversation would be most unwelcome.

He therefore went about his usual routine of flinging open the heavy draperies, laying out Horatio's clothes for the day and, in general, tidying up. Horatio was thinking and when Horatio was thinking, it was best to go about one's business without a sound. Being of Elven heritage had its advantages. Yet, even with this advantage, today it wasn't enough.

"_Must_ you do that just now?" Can't you see I'm..." "Thinking. Of course, how clumsy of me. Shall I retire for now, my lord?" Horatio sighed heavily. "No, no. The damage is done. What am I to do wbout Kastor? His machinations fill my dreams. I must somehow put a stop to it. To him!" Thomas cleared his throat gently. "Might I make a suggestion, sir? Might it not be possible to send me along on this rescue mission? In that way, I can verify indeed if he has spoken truly of your dear brother's death and if he is found to be false, I can, with your permission of course, make him see the error of his ways?"

*************************

Brandor entered his uncle's apartment with trepidation. He had never felt comfortable around the man, even though Horatio had always been of help to him. There was just...something, something a little dark and sinister there that he couldn't put his finger on. Kastor has insisted on being with him at this interview, but Brandor had waved away his concern.

"Good morning, nephew! Have a seat and help yourself to tea and refreshments." Brandor surveyed a table overflowing with small cakes, fresh fruit, sandwiches and a large silver pot of tea. After filling a plate, he sat down across from Horatio to hear what his uncle had to say.

Horatio sipped his tea and ate a couple of iced cookies, then he asked. "How are your preparations going for the venture? Do you need anything in the way of provisions...or cash? You know the ship's stores are always open to you and I can provide names of contacts you can rely on all along the coast should you find yourself in need of anything. So tell me what you require and how I might be of service...and why Kastor thinks my brother is dead."


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## YayGollum (Oct 17, 2006)

Brandor had his mouth open and ready to answer with requests for money and supplies, but he closed it with shame when his father was brought up. He cheered himself up and cleared the negative emotion away by stretching luxuriously and taking a couple of nibbles of food. With a small sigh, he gave his uncle what he thought of as his best determined look. "Kastor hasn't told me much yet, but I'm sure to have that out of him by the time we return. He's just feeling bad about having to leave him somewhere, I hope. Ah, but, as to any help that you can give, I thank you, Uncle. The farthest I plan to travel on this trip is the Lonely Mountain. Dingo says that I could find a good loremaster there, but there are also a few detours that we might make, if we don't have much luck on the shortest route. You know, it's too bad that this family loves the sea so much! I'd love to have had towns farther inland that'd take care of me the way they do here. oh well. I'm sure that you can spare the funds for such an adventure."


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## chrysophalax (Oct 17, 2006)

"The Lonely Mountain, you say? Fascinating. I must say, I've never known Doran to travel in the northern part of the world, but if you think there's a chance, well, you would never better than I you father's inclinations. Would you be needing a boat as far as Rauros for your men and supplies? That would save precious time. As to money, I'll have a strongbox of gold awaiting your departure and as to help along the way, I have many business partners, nephew. I can extend to you a line of credit you will be able to use along your journey. Take this." Horatio removed a ring from his left ring finger. "This is my personal cipher, see take you take good care of it. It should be all the proof you need of who you claim to be to my associates." He dropped it onto Brandor's hand and watched as Brandor turned it into the light.

"Interesting design, uncle. Why an eye?" Horatio carefully swallowed a mouthful of wine before answering. _How much has Doran taught him of the family history?_ he wondered. "It was handed down to me by our father. He gave Doran his own signet ring and to me he gave this. I treasure it, but I have no true idea of its meaning. All I know is that it has brought many, shall we say...unlikely sources of revenue. I consider it a lucky piece." 

He could see that Brandor was eager to be off, so he set aside his goblet and stood. "One last thing, Brandor. I will have a messenger bird sent with you. A hawk. If you will, you have keep me posted on your progress and let me know what you find out about Kastor." He drew closer, almost whispering. "I don't trust him, Brandor, so be careful. Take care in whom you let into your confidence!"


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## Ghorim (Nov 1, 2006)

"Oh! Ah, Glauer, then. Greetings. I am Brandor, explorer extraordinaire," said the lead visitor, a lad who didn't strike Glauer as entirely trustworthy. "How are you? We just came in to thank you for your talents. I'm sure you are quite used to it, of course. I really have never witnessed a fireworks display as spectacular. Ah, and where is the nearest inn, by the way?" 

With a barely audible grunt, Glauer stood, revealing his height to be little more than four-and-a-half feet. A wisp of a smile came and went. The praise of this young stranger had roused something in his heart, but only temporarily. He wandered absent-mindedly over to one of the expansive shelves, his words coming out mechanically.

"I do my best." That was how he always responded to compliments. "Now... an inn? The nearest one is clear on the other side of the village."

Glauer's thoughts were elsewhere. He dragged over a wooden stepping stool and climbed up it to reach one of the higher shelves. Down he came with a strange, winged model in hand.

"First thing you do is go out the way you came, make a left. Down that street 'til it branches in two..."

The fellow's hands worked on their own accord as his tongue droned on, reciting lefts and rights, signposts and landmarks to note, almost as if he were purposefully attempting to give incomprehensible directions. Glauer now had what looked like a set of pliers in hand, digging into the model's abdomen. It was a butterfly, its wings fashioned from a translucent blue material. 

Brandor wasn't getting anything out of this strange man's instructions... if they followed these directions, they'd be headed in circles for hours. He would simply have to ask someone else. And yet he felt compelled to cut out of the little fellow's workshop as politely as possible. Just as Glauer was telling them about another fork in the road, Brandor cut in.

"Ah, excuse my curiosity, but what is that you're working on, exactly?"

Glauer didn't glance up, didn't put down his pliers, but simply adjusted what he was saying. 

"This? It's for a client. Well, his daughter. The motor's given me fits all day."

He withdrew the pliers, grabbed a screwdriver and quickly sealed the abdomen once again. 

"Let's give it a try, shall we?" he was muttering to himself, seemingly having forgotten his guests already. 

He hurriedly wound up a crank attached to the right side of the abdomen, and once he let go, those lightning blue wings started to flap at a tremendous speed. With a gentle push, Glauer sent the model into the air. It hovered forward briefly, suspended in air for a few magic moments. The tinkerer's eyes held upon the model all the while, scrutinizing its performance. Soon, the engine lost steam and the butterfly drifted toward the floor, landing not far from Brandor's feet. 

Glauer smirked a bit and shook his head. "Getting there," he said, walking over to where the model lay upon the floor. Only by directly approaching Brandor did he seem to remember the fellow's presence.

"Oh!" he remarked in surprise, as he rose from retrieving the plaything to find Brandor standing right in front of him. Suddenly Glauer felt compelled to say something. Why was this group in here, again? The fireworks... oh yes, and the inn!

"Eh... an inn you say?" asked Glauer, returning to his workbench hastily. "Travelers, then?"

Brandor nodded.

"Whence headed?"

"A fair question," responded Brandor with a curious-looking smile. "We intend to cover a lot of ground before all's said and done. We'll go as far as the Lonely Mountain, I believe."

Glauer froze, and in an uncharacteristic twitch nearly dropped the toy in his hands. "The Lonely Mountain?"

How silly! The first thought that came to Glauer was to ask to come along. Why, who knew what his kindred there were up to? Perhaps... perhaps they still lived honorably, as in times of old? Was there still a King Under the Mountain? 

But no! Glauer shook his head sharply, trying to dislodge these useless, fanciful musings. He had business to attend to here. Why, he'd never traveled that far in his life, besides! Who did he think he was, planning to trudge all the way out to Erebor?

Brandor watched all of these movements curiously, attempting to discern the thoughts that lay beneath them. Clearly, the name of that place had struck a chord with this odd little bloke. 

"Yes, the Lonely Mountain. Have you ever visited?"

"No, never," said Glauer quickly, trying to eradicate all doubt.

"Ah... well, we'll just be off to the inn, then." Brandor turned about. "Come along, Narvi."

Glauer's head shot up. _Narvi?!_ The greatest creator his folk had ever known! Was this not a sign? A chorus of whispers urged him to seize the moment. 

"Wait!" he called, just as Brandor was about to shut the workshop door behind him. The lad stuck his head back through the threshold inquisitively.

"Allow me to lead you," said Glauer, his voice suddenly choked with a strange sensation... it was that same desperation he had felt just before he fled the Ered Luin...

"Oh..." Brandor paused, wondering how badly the tinkerer would get them lost if he were to take the lead. But how could he refuse such a generous offer? "Certainly. Show us the way."

Glauer nodded, snatching up a ring of keys which jangled merrily as he marched out the door. There was a strange vigor in his step; it did not suit his dour features. He locked the door with a quick turn of the key, and sprung past a confused Kastor to seize the lead. 

"It's not hard to find," he called back to the group as he proceeded onward, his movements jerky and nervous.


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## YayGollum (Nov 3, 2006)

It was late, and the fireworks display had merely been a brief touch of excitement in an otherwise sleepy town. Brandor had been through this town before and had visited hundreds like it in his travels. Those facts combined with the promise of a close inn, and he couldn't help humming contentedly and stumbling once, due to increasingly weighty eyelids. Narvi quickened his pace to leave his customary and watchful rear guard position to give a sharp clearing of the throat noise and grip his shoulder in a not especially comfortable but effective haze-clearing manner. 

Brandor squelched a small yelp and looked with hurt and confusion at his friend, but he missed the guy's earnest nod towards their guide, since he was awake enough to check on Kastor's convergence with the group. When he assured himself that the old sailor was following along, he only caught Narvi's exasperated sigh and rolling of the eyes. "What? Why'd you pinch me? I'm not a baby, Narvi. I think I can make it to the inn without injuring myself!" The sculpture removed his hand with a, "Pheh!" and nodded towards Glauer again. "I'd love to believe you, of course. Now, if you wouldn't mind, before you nod off again, I'd like you to introduce me to this craftsman." 

It took Brandor at least another building's length to figure out why it had seemed necessary to ask him to help with such a trivial thing. Narvi attributed the dim-wittedness to a need for sleep and helped the kid along by rearranging his features to give what he thought was as close to a pleading look as he was comfortable with wearing. With a start and a grimace, Brandor patted the guy on the shoulder and sped up to Glauer. "Please forgive my negligence, sir! I was just reminded by one of my companions: Introductions! Kastor, an expert sailor, trusted right hand man of my father, a seasoned traveller who's had a bit of bad luck, actually. And Narvi, an interesting discovery of my own. Found him near a cave in the White Mountains. Nobody's really quite sure of how he got there, but we're always looking to find out. Ah, well, he's always very appreciative of fellow artisans, which he's sure he's one of the best of, although I've never seen him make anything. oh well. Heh. A bit scatter-brained, you know. You two could chat all night, I'm sure. He's just a bit shy." <--- This last bit with a wink.


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## chrysophalax (Nov 19, 2006)

"I'm not at ease in my mind, Thomas." Horatio said as he paced back and forth in his spacious office. "Something just isn't right and I don't like it when all my instincts are telling me there's an ill-wind in the offing. I blame Kastor for this. It is my belief that he is the author of my brother's unlookedfor departure and it is he who will be made to pay!" 

Thaomas watched patiently as his employer stalked about the room. It was more thna obvius to him what needed to be done, but far beit from him to suggest such a course of action. Besides, if he knew Horatio, the man would come to the same conclusion as he himself had. Indeed, even as these thoughts were wending their way through Thomas's mind, Horatio turned to him and fixed him with a particularly keen glance. "He has to go, Thomas. Kastor needs to "disappear" as it were. His influence over Brandor is alarming, to say the least, to say nothing of Doran's vanishing into thin air. There is only one problem..." Horatio moved to sit behind his desk. He was about to say something he had never imagined saying and for the first time in many a year, he felt regret.

"I can entrust this task to no one else, Thomas. I need the best and you, my friend, are the best. I know that you will rid me...and my family, of this troublesome man's interference in our business." A crease formed between his brows. "This will leave me vulnerable, I know, but I deem that ridding me of Kastor takes precedence over my own personal safety at this point."

Thomas raised one well-groomed eyebrow slightly. Never had he heard Horatio speak with such fervor and, dare one say it, concern? Nay, he must ahve been mistaken, surely. Thomas stepped forward confidently. "As ever, I am in your service, my lord. How soon shall I leave?"


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## Ghorim (Nov 23, 2006)

Suddenly, everything was shot through with vivid color and life. The same avenues, once drab and uninviting, seemed to glow in Glauer's eyes, even in the light haze that hung in the air from the freshly-deployed fireworks. By Durin! How long had it been since he had left his workshop? Now the confines of that little tomb were exploded, and suddenly the whole of the world's great expanse seemed to sprawl before him. That silly idea was growing in might now... why not travel East? There lay not just Erebor, but other, strange vistas that Glauer's eyes had never seen... places he may never see if he allowed this opportunity to drift past.

Even with his stubby legs, Glauer set a demanding pace as the inn approached. The directions were no longer confused; the fog in his head had lifted. When Brandor approached him to introduce the others, Glauer found himself nodding along eagerly to each word, as if every minor detail about these two other fellows held some hidden but essential meaning. 

"A sailor, eh?" "White Mountains, you say?" Glauer gave a quick glance back at this... Narvi. What a strange demeanor... devoid of a certain warmth... curious... aye, Glauer would have to talk with him.

When they reached the building, the tinkerer smashed open the door with his palm, having temporarily forgotten the strength that lay dormant within his well-worn hands. Smiling somewhat sheepishly at the surprised innkeeper who stood at his post behind the bar, Glauer rubbed those strange reedy hands together as he entered the main room. It was perhaps the most generic little establishment in the land, and yet being there only further served to excite Glauer. It smelt to him of the open road, of excitement and danger and the glorious discomfort of travel.

"Give these fellows your best room!" he boomed, as if he had the authority to command this proprietor. They had a passing knowledge of each other, Glauer and the innkeeper, but they had never socialized under any context. Still, the fellow knew right away that something was ignited in Glauer that had never caught alight before. No telling what the little fellow was capable of in a state like this... best to appease him.

"Of course, sir, right away, sir..." he said with the meek formality of a servant, moving up the stairs with a ginger limp to prepare a room. Before leaving, he tapped one of his assistants, a waifish lad whose voice was still straddling the line between youth and manhood. 

"Drinks?" asked the boy, instinctively deciphering his master's non-verbal order.

"Aye!" Glauer pounced upon the invitation savagely. "A dark ale for me. Stout, if you have any!"

The tinkerer cautiously mounted one of the barstools as the travelers observed his rather... _off _behavior with some interest. 

"Good brew here?" asked Kastor skeptically, trying to probe about at what had this little eccentric so excited.

"Oh... I'm not certain... I've never stopped here," said Glauer. "But my customers have only praise for the establishment."

"Ah... well, in that case..." Kastor turned with a broad motion toward where he thought the assistant would be standing, but found the young fellow had wandered off into the stock rooms in search of Glauer's request. Perhaps the lad wasn't overly familiar with the drink selection...

"Come," said Glauer, trying to temper his enthusiasm a bit, even though he was feeling prickly stabs of nervous excitement all over his body. "Sit a spell. I'd like to hear more of just what you fellows are traveling for."

Exchanging weary glances, the others drifted to stools, almost out of some unspoken obligation to humor this fellow. 

"Narvi..." said Glauer thoughtfully as the stern fellow settled in to his left. "Nar-vi..." he pronounced each syllable with great care. "How does one come into a name such as that? And what's this matter... of Brandor 'finding' you?"

An intense curiousity shown in Glauer's eyes as he leaned forward to listen. If this Narvi character were indeed his divinely arranged sign to embark upon a lengthy journey with this group, Glauer had best learn all he could about the fellow.


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## YayGollum (Nov 25, 2006)

Narvi's wish to speak with the little man forgotten, Brandor held an amused smirk at finding that he had unexpectedly come across what was normally a goal of his travels: eccentrics. "Oh, the name is nothing, really. He didn't come with a name, at least not that we knew, so I gave him one. I thought that he was kind of Dwarf-shaped, so I gave him an old Dwarvish name. Who knows if I'm offending any long-lost creators? Heh. 

"But the story of how I discovered him is a bit more interesting. It was actually during my first adventure. My father dropped me off at the closest port to the wildest half of the White Mountains. I had heard tales of an ancient and primitive sort of man that still lived there and thought that it didn't sound like too dangerous of an adventure. Of course, the tales one hears in taverns seldom tarry on details like preparing for such a trip. Let me think. I had a sword that I didn't even know how to use because the hero always has a sword, right? A pack with a few days worth of food because much more would be too heavy, and, of course, I had always heard that the land was generous with adventurers. A waterskin, one change of clothes, poorly made shoes for hard travel, although they were fine for city life. 

"Ah, luckily, Narvi has a bit more common sense than I did. I barely gave him a glance as I stumbled into his cave, looking for shelter from a storm. Lost and out of food, I was resigned to my fate and had begun writing my tale and leaving a warning for anyone who found my remains. This guy showed up and made me a fire, then left and returned with food. Of course, I was afraid, at first, but help like that is easy to warm up to. I talked to him for days, but he barely said a thing, and then only in some language that nobody seems to understand anymore. Kind of elfish, I'd say. 

"Anyway, I must have talked enough that he learned a few things, because it didn't take him long to start talking back. Seemed kind of confused, didn't know who made him or why it hadn't occurred to him to do anything until I showed up. Only images of anything before that, most notably, the one where he saw what he's sure was a she-elf with some beautiful black weapon. He thinks that he knows her somehow. We've been looking for her and any Woses, who probably made him, ever since. You probably wouldn't know anything about that, living up here, would you?"

While Brandor favored Glauer with a look that informed that he didn't expect any help in that area anyway, Narvi glowered, annoyed that the kid didn't seem to mind talking about a time in their lives when they were both embarrassedly inexperienced. He also didn't think that enough was said about how great of an artist he was sure that he was, but the story had been told many times before, and he didn't try to amend it anymore.


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## Ghorim (Dec 22, 2006)

"'Made him?'"

Glauer's face lit alive with the flame of sudden realization as he picked out that singular phrase from Brandor's tale. His strange, hairy face suddenly danced with peculiar glee as he leaned closer to Narvi, giving his nearsighted vision its first good look at the fellow. His breath faltered in his throat. No, this thing before him was not breathing flesh, but lifeless rock! And for an instant, the dwarf was as feverishly curious as a child discovering a new toy. 

Unthinking, Glauer ran his fingers along Narvi's face. To his shock, the cold, dead stone reacted to his touch with a granite scowl. Glauer's drink came. He did not notice.

"Exquisite!" 

Glauer's whisper was hushed, reverent to the astounding craftsmanship that had gone into this... well... was it merely a statue? No... it was a being as much as any, with thoughts and words at its disposal! He turned to Brandor, and then a queer noise arose from him, the sound of a snort and giggle smashed together. It took Glauer aback to hear it... he hadn't heard himself express such delight in what seemed ages.

"I... well, Brandor, it's been on my mind to tell you the whole walk over here... but this about cements it. I shall accompany you to Erebor."

Despite the foreign pangs of emotion that were bounding through him, Glauer's statement of intent came out sounding remarkably clean, each word polished, his meaning unmistakable. Brandor was looking to Kastor for a reaction, but Glauer was already hopping off his stool, moving with crisp efficiency. 

"But I must pack. And there are many things to bring for such a lengthy journey. It will take some time. You fellows rest your legs, and I shall meet you here upon the dawn of the morrow."

He was marching for the door with this speech, ignoring every stray glance the other patrons sent his way. Their puzzled faces vanished in a mist, as Glauer's head flooded with calculations as he planned his schedule for that night. Each item fell into place...

"Ho now!" called Kastor angrily. "And what about settlin' your tab here?"

Glauer stopped in his tracks, and dug his nimble fingers into his coin pouch. He didn't particularly notice how much he produced from inside the purse. Distractedly, he tossed the gold piece at Kastor.

"And the drink?" asked the sailor.

"Try it for yourself," said Glauer curtly before exiting. And with short choppy strides he cut back into the night, thinking of the best way to store his explosives for travel...

He only returned to the inn just as the sun peaked over the hills in the East.


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## chrysophalax (Jan 6, 2007)

Anxiety was not an emotion with which Thomas was accustomed and he was annoyed with himself for allowing such a petty thing ruin a perfectly good lunch. He had stationed himself early on in the day at a table by the window of one of the few pubs in town with decent food...and waited. Waited for any sign that Brandor and his "friends" would be actually setting out on this rescue mission. A dry chuckle escaped into his mug as he slowly drained it. _That young man is barely capable of staying out of his own way, much less leading an expedition to..._ Thomas suddenly caught himself. It would never do to even allow the faintest glimmer of a thought to cross his mind, for he was playing an extremely dangerous double game. One that would bring him freedom and great wealth, or an agonising death.

The last he wanted was to be forced into the position of joining this motley crew, yet his patience was wearing thin and now, now that he had _finally_ caught a glimpse of Brandor and company leaving..._hmmmm, was that a dwarf? Interesting._ He had to find a spy, someone that even he could trust. Did such a person exist?

Just as he was about to despair (having just glanced at the check, had he been here that long?) a faint movement in the corner caught his eye. A thin man in tattered clothing sat huddled near the fire, his eyes fixed greedily on the landlord's young daughter. Thomas's lip curled in mild distaste, but something about that look...where had he seen it before? He peered closer, trying pierce the gloom and then it hit him. Of course! Here was the answer! Now all that remained was to bag his quarry.

Whistling merrily, Thomas approached the bar to settle up and complimented the landlord on having such a charming child ( the words nearly gagged him). He slipped a gold piece from his money pouch and twirled it the length of the bar toward her. Her bubbly laugh grated on his nerves but he feigned delight as her greedy hand caught it. From the corner of his eye, he could now see he had the man's attention and he would have to act quickly, less he find himself short a limb or two. It never paid to fool with a creature like this.

Thoughts of caution came too late however. In the blink of an eye, his quarry had vanished, causing the hair on the back of Thomas's neck to rise. Forgetting the girl entirely, Thomas scanned the room, knowing the man had either fled or was in hiding. Neither possibility was suitable and Thomas was becoming vexed. He moved down the bar toward the fire, then spotted the open door to the back alley. With a muffled curse at his own complaisance, Thomas went to the door and listened intently before crossing the threshold. More than once he had witnessed this one's unique killing ability and he did not want to be on the receiving end of the creature's wrath.

Once in the alley he moved without a sound, grateful once again to his elven ancestors. This time however, it didn't matter. A swish of cloth was all he heard before he was attacked from behind. Thomas spun, twisting and dodging to avoid being stabbed. He managed to roll atop his adversary, pinning him. He went limp but his eyes glowed with anger. "I know you." he hissed through clenched teeth. "You're that elf. The one that works for..." "Yes, yes." Thomas interrupted. "We both know who my employer is. Now. Are you willing to listen to a proposition, or must we continue this foolishness?" The man glowered, then shrugged. "Get off me, then we'll talk."

With a smug grin, Thomas stood and held out his hand, which Nandreeson ignored. "Go on, I haven't got all day." "As you wish." Thomas leaned against the rough-hewn fence that ran along the alley to the street. "I'll get to the point. I need a spy and there's no one better at tailing that I no know of. The man I need an eye on is Brandor, my employer's nephew and heir to Doran's shipping fortune. Doran has gone missing and Brandor means to find him. I need to know his every movement and if need be...well...you'll receive instructions. Money is no object and you will have every resource at my employer's command." He pulled out a scroll and held it up. "This bears his seal. Show this to those who wear the same seal around their necks and you will have anything you need. However...should you use this to betray my master in any way, I will know. This scroll is enchanted and the consequences would be dire for you if you, shall we say, become lax? What do you say? Do you wish for wealth and adventure? If so, take this scroll and with it my master's goodwill. Well?"


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## YayGollum (Jan 12, 2007)

With a lazily skeptical look, Nandreeson slid back to his feet. "Goodwill, eh? What's that mean? Just a longer delay in my meeting with a noose, I'd bet. Ah, but I could use some of those resources. Hey, c'mere!" He lunged forward merely to spook as he snatched the scroll and displayed it to the guy as if it were on auction. "I've got here a genuine cursed scroll of 'more than I could spend,' so how 'bout you go snatch that little morsel in there? Or get one of your goons to do it, if you don't want to dirty your dainty little claws. I saw you eyeing her, too, though. All I want's a snack. You can have the rest or lose it, I don't care."

With a contented belly, a decent pair of clothes, and what information the elf had on Brandor's party, Nandreeson loped towards the edge of town, picking his teeth distractedly. "They're already on their way out. Gotta make myself convenient. If the information is reliable, all I have to do is bump into him, and I'm a travel companion. Kastor's alright, just dull as dirt. Not sure about that Dwarf, though. Dragon-slayers, they are! Ah, well. Probably doesn't even believe in such things. What does Nandreeson care?"

As the recently outfitted group happened upon a bit of a crowd on their way out of town, Brandor peered over a few heads to see what kept them. He was pushed back as a hefty female retreated with a half frightened, half gleeful yelp at a performer's stunt in the crowd's center. Nandreeson, grinning his almost fanged grin from ear to ear, spat fire at another torch and started juggling. It was impossible to tell if his near mistake was from spotting Brandor and pausing to stare, or if it was merely a fake-out for the audience, but he quickly extinguished the flames in the dirt and rushed over.

"Hey, ah, Brandor, right? Yeah, and his artful companion, right. Oh, and Kastor! How'd they pry you from Doran's side? Heh! You know me. It's Nandreeson. Well, I've worked with you a few times, but I'm never with the same crew twice. Never actually got introduced to the little guy, though! How are ya?" To the miffed and still expectant crowd, then back to the group ---> "Oh, yeah, sorry. Show's all over! Just drop your coppers in the center there. Heh! So, where you guys headed? I hear that you're just as adventurous as your old man, just on land, as if that was any fun, eh, Kastor?"


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## Persephone (Mar 30, 2007)

The beer was bearable, but barely. Though he knew that very few brews could match the one produced at Litash, still he expected better this far inland than the bitter throat-wash he was served. Kastor could not complain vocally because his mind was filled with worry for the son of his master, Doran. _He’s very careless!_ he said to himself. _Going after his father like a damn mercenary! BAH! It’s so like Doran! Running into the unknown; risking his life and mine!_ However, even as his thoughts berated Doran, his conscience would not let him rest. He left him there to save his own life and it is only right that he gives his life for Doran’s son.

"I... well, Brandor, it's been on my mind to tell you the whole walk over here... but this about cements it. I shall accompany you to Erebor,” said the dwarf, Glauer. _Erebor, _he said to himself. He had heard many stories of that mountainous region, but none stuck out since all of them were legend. Nin spoke little of the elven race that used to reign in that region.

The dwarf prepared to leave, and Kastor reminded him of the bill he had to settle lest they found themselves in contention with the Bar Keep. However, Glauer only tossed a coin at him, and bade them a good night’s rest. Kastor agreed with the last, his legs—even the stiff one—was painful from walking. 

Suddenly, Nandeerson said, “Hey, ah, Brandor, right? Yeah, and his artful companion, right. Oh, and Kastor! How'd they pry you from Doran's side? Heh! You know me. It's Nandreeson. Well, I've worked with you a few times, but I'm never with the same crew twice. Never actually got introduced to the little guy, though! How are ya? Oh, yeah, sorry. Show's all over! Just drop your coppers in the center there. Heh! So, where you guys headed? I hear that you're just as adventurous as your old man, just on land, as if that was any fun, eh, Kastor?"

Kastor winced at the almost comical figure staggering towards Brandor. _He's perfect for the group_, Kastor thought, _another worthy addition to this growing circus_. He shook his head and grunted, but felt Nin prick his side with her lance and understood that she required something immediately. He had almost forgotten about her. He put his hand on his pocket to let her know he was going to move to better location. 

“Brandor, I’ll just walk about a bit; my legs are stiff and I need fresh air,” he said to Brandor.


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## chrysophalax (May 7, 2007)

Having secured Nandreeson's services for his master, Thomas set off to return to Horatio's (that is to say Doran's) manor. He felt quite pleased with himself, knowing that he had escaped a stint of arduous physical labour for which he was highly unsuited mentally, feeling himself too far above that sort of thing. Far better to serve as he had always done, seeming loyal above reproach, yet biding his time, carefully assessing the rise and fall of his lord's fortunes.

Happily for Horatio, said fortunes could not have been more profitable than now. As word of Doran's disappearance has spread, he had been concerned that their custom might fall away. Doran (ungrateful figurehead that he was) was nonetheless very popular among those ports he had visited. Always generous, he never failed to amuse and impress his fellows when at table with stories of his adventures and his capacity for cheating death just in the nick of time. Such people were easily amused Horatio hasd often thought, yet Doran had never failed to win confidences and fat contracts, both of which had helped thier enterprise to grow the shipping empire it now was.

Therefore it had become essential for Horatio to reassure all and sundry that a rescue operation of unheardof proportions was well in hand to secure the return of Doran, alive if possible. _He'd better be._ thought Horatio as he sent yet another dozen messengers off along the coastline. _If by his foolishness he has cost me this fortune, I'll kill him myself once he's found! Hmm, perhaps..._

Quickly, Horatio set himself down at his writing desk, picked up a quill and began to compose a letter. He had decided to call in a favour and he only hoped the recipient was still alive to make good on a long-forgotten promise.


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## Persephone (Jun 5, 2007)

Nin had made her way into the thickness of Kastor's hair, and from behind his right ear, she whispered hoarsely: “The boy will lead us to disaster!”


Kastor knew what she meant and agreed with her even before she spoke. Brandor was too eager to begin his search that he welcomed every person who had an inkling to join him. 


“He does not test them; loyalty is earned, Kastor. Sometimes, it is bought!”


“I know,” he replied. “I cannot dissuade him; he is too much like Doran. Perhaps it is my fate to guide those who are eager for death into those lands.”


“Or your punishment,” she said coldly. She left the shadows of his hair and crept back into his pocket with a hiss.


Kastor decided to go back inside and finding the seat next to Brandor empty, he sat down and decided to quiz the boy about his plans.


“I think we have more than we need,” Kastor began. “We should head back to the dock and make ready for our voyage. We have traveled too far inland already, unless you want to make for the Dwarf's mountain.”


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## YayGollum (Jun 6, 2007)

It took Brandor a couple of seconds to realize that Kastor asked him anything. He had, of course, already asked Nandreeson to teach him how to juggle. Only really hearing the last two words ---> "Hm? Oh, yes, thank you, Kastor! We should get going. Everyone ready? We'll just follow this road. Do you think we should see if we can get a ride from someone? Ah, but I prefer walking. Well, I suppose that we are in a bit of a hurry. To the Lonely Mountain, friends!" Without a second thought, he started marching. A couple of seconds later, he remembered to start looking for something like a trader's wagon. "Uh, Narvi?"

Narvi twitched an annoyed eye but maintained a look of almost exhausted patience. Nandreeson was a performer, an artist of sorts, but not the sort that he could easily tolerate. "A wagon headed east, then? Looks like we'll need to hire a whole caravan, at this rate." He nodded to Glauer and Kastor, then made to hurry off.

Nandreeson, however, grinned and waved him still. "What's this about a Dwarf's mountain? Weren't they all Dwarf mountains? Well, there were Orcs and dragons, long ago, too." Brandor's eyes lit up, and he almost started a story about some evidence that he had found that Orcs had actually existed, but Nandreeson tossed him a wink and continued, "But I know some folks who might be willing to give us a ride. We'll probably need two wagons, though, if we'll be taking your sculpture with us, but I think they can handle it. Huh. Well, it looks like I've just invited myself along, doesn't it? But I'm headed out east, anyway." Narvi halted and crossed his arms expectantly. Brandor nodded vigorously.


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## chrysophalax (Mar 2, 2008)

The parchment, when it arrived was not greeted with enthusiasm, far from it. The nondescript urchin that had crammed it into his belt slipped through his fingers, slick as grease. For a moment, he considered sending Serra after him, but on refelction, what harm could come from a message? He couldn't have been more wrong.

The light was fading in the backwater town Artos had been hiding out in for the past few days. It didn't pay to overstay ones welcome when one tended to eat part of the local population once a month. Fortunately for all concerned, this was the beginning of a new moon cycle and therefore all and sundry, had they known they were at risk, could breath easier. He still tended to keep to the shadows however, a habit from long ago, before the betrayal. Shadows hid things. Reactions, for example. 

The waning light barely reached the end of the alleyway in which he chose to open the mysterious message. A gasp followed by an angry snarl and the sound of shredding parchment would have told anyone passing it would be unwise to venture down said alley just then. "I thought he was dead! By the-How did he _find_ me?!"

Yes, the message had been sent by Horatio, calling in a debt long owed by a killer of such...unique? ability and of such secretive nature that he had made it possible for Artos to rediscover a semi-normal life...for a price, of course. The message had told him to seek out one, Brandor, a callow youth who's life was, for want of a better term, no longer necessary. It would be in his (Artos') best interest if he would see to it that the aforementioned youth not be allowed to reach his destination of Mt. Erebor. He (Horatio) would have ways of making certain Artos fulfilled his debt to Horatio, etc...

"An assassination? _That's_ how he wants me to repay him after all these years? He wants me to slay an innocent?" Serra cocked her head at him as though to say "It's not as though you haven't slain the innocent before, you know." He grimaced as he ran a hand distractedly through unwashed hair. "That is completely beside the point. That isn't really me...and besides, I get hungry." He paced the length of the alley several times, all the while mumbling, "There has to be a way out of this, there has to be!" Serra finally grabbed him by the calf as he passed her and bit, hard. "Why don't we find this Brandor and tell him his life is in danger? You can worry about the actual killing later." Artos grinned. "And they say pigs are smart. At least it'll buy us some time, eh?" He rubbed her ears for a moment when she jumped up on his chest, then pushed her gently down and together they headed for the nearest boat dock on the Anduin. Hopefully they'd find news of this Brandor among those hiring out boats on the river. At least it was a plan.


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## YayGollum (Mar 2, 2008)

Weeks later and in the Vale of Anduin, the wagon rolled along a busy cobblestone road. Brandor annoyed the driver by yammering and pointing enthusiastically at each new sight. Narvi sat cross-legged at Brandor's back, apparently sleeping with one eye open. Nandreeson sprawled and rolled around in a heap of clothes and blankets, grumbling in his sleep. At the sight of a huge inn, Brandor ordered a halt. "Everyone, look! It's the Big Rock Inn! Adventurers from all over are supposed to gather here. I've never been this far east, but I hear that they have great storytelling! We must stay the night!" 

As the others began to stir and the driver maneuvered through traffic, Brandor hopped off of the wagon and studied the building. It was close to the Anduin with, yes, a great view of a big rock. Built at the founding of the city, it sported several generations of extensions and obvious re-modelings. Brandor bounded up the wide stairs, took a second to grin at the halfway wrapped around porch filled with old men and sturdy furniture, and struggled to open one of the huge doors. Someone on the other side accidentally helped him, bumped into him, and stomped off with an, "Argh! Kid, standing in my way!" 

Brandor shrugged with amusement and ambled around the common room, looking at the decorations. Paintings, carvings, tapestries, and graffiti in many languages kept him ignoring the innkeeper and bothering several who were attempting to enjoy their drinks. The others entered at their own paces, Narvi holding the door for everyone, then depositing himself in the center of the room, watching Brandor but interested in a few of the decorations. Nandreeson sauntered straight up to the bar where he started asking about any local entertainer's guild rules he should be worried about. 

When Brandor finished his second circuit around the room and started peeking down hallways and up stairs while wondering what artifacts they held, Narvi made an impatient and throat-clearing noise. Brandor gave him a quizzical look then waved his hand at the innkeeper. "Oh, yes, yes! Why we are here! Innkeeper? Barman? Do you know of a man called Truor? I was told that he frequents this inn. A storyteller, the adventuring sort?" 

The innkeeper, a large and patient-looking man, blinked with surprised interest but shot him a look of mild suspicion. "Many'll tell you of old Truor, lad. What do you want to know?" 

"Oh, well, I'm looking for him! I hear that he might like to sail the high seas again. Or that he might know others who would?" 

The innkeeper smiled a little as if remembering a childhood tale, but he shook his head as an idea came to him. "Hm! Old Truor might be able to help. He just left, actually. Said he was on a quest for a decent honey cake, although he knows that ours are the best! I recommend them, and I'd say to wait here. He'll most likely be back tonight for our mead, best in the city." Upon the lighting of Brandor's eyes and his apparent settling in movements, the innkeeper sent a serving boy off to track Truor down and deliver the message.

__________________________________________________________

In a smaller town just to the west of the party's current location, a tall and gangly stableboy encountered a man and his wolf. "Uh, I think I saw the one you're looking for, sir. He was traveling with quite a group. They were quiet, but for him and the juggler. They're headed east, he said. Tried to get me to drop everything and run off an adventure, he called it. I told him I've got work to do, sir. Uh, I don't really remember much else. It looked like he almost had bodyguards, or just some who were watching out for him. An older gentleman, and a little one, but strong-looking. There was the juggler, too, and another little one, but he looked more like an old man, to me. Ah, is that dog of yours safe?"


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## chrysophalax (Mar 3, 2008)

"Does she look safe?" The boy backed away nervously as Artos chuckled darkly. "Easy, lad. She won't harm you unless I say so. Here, get some food." He tossed several coins in the lad's general direction, then he and his companion left the dockside hurriedly. "So, Brandor has company, some possible bodyguards, an old man and, for some reason, a juggler. Interesting." Quickly, Artos headed back into town where he had seen a farrier who had a couple of horses for sale. A horse seemed like the most logical way of catching Brandor's party quickly without attracting attention in any event.

After much heated haggling and the pointing out of a foundered mare, the farrier was made to see reason and gave Artos a fair price on a gelding that looked like he still had a good bit of life left in him and even included a decent saddle. Without further delay, they set off east, toward the Anduin. Artos was none too happy about their apparent destination, the former Carrock of long ago. Many tales were told of the former inhabitants of the place and some even said they still existed, men that were part bear and strong as oxen. The sooner they found the young adventurer, the better in his estimation.

As they travelled though, Artos couldn't help but wonder what would bring an enemy of the powerful Horatio this far up the Anduin. From what the boy had told him of Brandor's travelling companions, they seemed harmless enough, so what would draw them to this forsaken part of the world? He hated to admit it, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.


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## YayGollum (Mar 6, 2008)

The group settled themselves in. Brandor paid for a couple of rooms and bounced back with the keys to check them out. Also in the common room are: a few humans at the bar, loiterers, just people taking a break and socializing, mayhaps looking at the group with a bit of interest, one table with two humans at it, and an unattended sack at one end of the bar. Nandreeson was just about to peek inside of it when the door slammed open again to admit a honey cake-munching as well as raggedy-looking old man. He glared around the room until he found the sack, to which he stomped. He grunted as he plopped down into a stool and searched through the sack with a couple of glares at Nandreeson. To the innkeeper, while holding up the honey cake, "See? This one's good! There's a bakery down the street, better than you! What's some kid coming to me for, asking about adventuring?"


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## Ghorim (Mar 21, 2008)

Even with him slumped half-dozing in the back corner of the wagon, Glauer’s spindly fingers stayed in constant motion. He hadn’t realized that he would miss his labors this much. They had fueled him all these years living amongst Men. Now, without a sturdy wrench to clutch or vice to turn, his hands felt limp and dead – such absurd and useless appendages. 

The lust for adventure that had shoved him away from his cozy workshop faded with each day of traveling drudgery. Glauer began to hang back from the others like a wounded animal. His eyes took them in with a renewed distrust. Why ever did he take up with these queer strangers? Could he trust any of them? 

They arrived at an inn. Brandor nudged Glauer back around before bounding off to explore. With numb fingers the dwarf gripped his metal traveling trunk. Inside, wires and flasks of strange powders rattled against dried provisions and changes of clothes. 

Glauer walked in past Narvi and through the main room with his hood pulled low, trying to evade every glance. He went straight up to one of the two reserved rooms and dropped his trunk with listless indifference. Brandor seemed to move all about him in a cyclone of youthful energy, but Glauer could only sit on one of the beds and stare blankly ahead.

“Coming down?” asked the lad, standing at the threshold once he tired of examining the room. 

“Maybe later,” said Glauer in a thin voice.

Brandor was gone, and the dwarf tried to work out his predicament in his head. But it was not like putting a toy together – the thoughts followed no set logic, slipping out of grasp as soon as they took shape. What to do? He couldn’t turn back now... but what would happen to his workshop? He had locked it up tight, but what if...? Suddenly, the image of a gang of young hoodlums ransacking his shelves filled Glauer’s mind, and he shuddered all over. 

“No, it’s no good either way...” he muttered, his hands continuing to twitch and fiddle at each other. “Can’t just sit here, though.”

He rose to his feet, deciding in a sudden rush of resolve that he might as well drink himself under tonight and see how tomorrow looked when he awoke. It was enough of a plan for him.

Glauer walked down the stairs and to the bar with a ridiculous, affected swagger. It was a brave show, but he was not like the dwarves of old: too scrawny, feeble-eyed and soft-spoken to make his front seem genuine.

“One ale, if you please!”

“What kind?”

Glauer startled out of his fantasy act.

“Oh! Ah... let’s see...”

“Something not too strong, I ‘spose?” 

The innkeeper wiped at his bartop idly, eyeing this peculiar customer with detached amusement.

“Why, I could handle your worst, I could!” Glauer squeaked, running a hand through his tangled beard in a gesture of offense.

“All right, all right!” the man held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll whip up something that will make your beard fall out.”

Glauer smiled, thinking himself the victor, and a few minutes later marched over to the fireplace with a large, foul-smelling flagon in his hands. 

The head of a great elk presided in vacant majesty over the mantelpiece, its antlers jutting out like bony tree branches. The dwarf stopped for a moment to stare at the spectacle, nearly spilling his drink, before stumbling into a chair. His eyes locked on the beast’s blank expression, and a chill seemed to brush past him. Glauer took a deep drink and tore himself away from its eyes. The brew tasted sour and fiery going down his throat, and he nearly gagged. 

There came a chortle from a nearby seat. Glauer’s gaze shot to his left, falling upon a squat form that had sunk back into a tall, winged chair. The chuckler wore a leather cap cocked sloppily to one side, and his broad nose poked out haughtily from above a thick lump of dark facial hair. 

“What’s such a laugh?” demanded Glauer, suddenly possessed by a heedless abandon. Aye, he’d pick a fight, and he’d deck this scoundrel without spilling a drop of his drink!

“Never did see one of the tribe make such a face after a sip,” came the stranger’s reply.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” spat Glauer, taking another quick pull on his flagon to prove he could take it. “My tribe’s not yours.”

“You’d put coin on that?” asked the other, sitting up as his eyes flashed at the challenge.

At first, Glauer had imagined that the cushy armchair was swallowing most of the fellow’s body. But now he could take in the stranger’s full form... and he was not so very tall. In fact...

Glauer’s brows knitted upward in curious surprise. The other narrowed his eyes and curled his lip. The conversations of the inn danced about them in snatches of phrases and laughter. 

Glauer clutched his flagon and swallowed a gulp of stale air. He groped blindly for the words. “Are you...?”

The stranger reached behind his chair, silencing the hesitant speech. Glauer saw the axe blade flash briefly as the other drew it up to the light, and his breath fled him.

“_Baruk Khazad_,” said the fellow, stranger no longer.

“_Khazad_... _aimenu_!” Glauer glanced around as he murmured the rest of the expression.

The other dwarf shook with laughter. “Words once bellowed from the mountaintop, now whispered like a mouse! But they shall soon ring in the ears of our foes again, aye?”

Dumbfounded, Glauer could only offer a hesitant nod and a nervous grin. He held his flagon forward to fill the unsettling silence that followed.

“Would you like...?”

“Thought you’d never offer!” And suddenly the fellow had Glauer’s drink pressed to his lips, the foam licking up and over his mustache. His free hand, thick and calloused, shot out to grab Glauer’s brittle forearm.

“Barulin,” he announced between gulps, “last adventurer of the Khazad, at your service.”

“I...” Glauer winced at the hardened grip. “Glauer! Call me Glauer.”

“Glauer, my kinsman! Well, then... let us drink until we cannot tell night from day!”

“Aye!” Glauer gushed in shock and joy. It wouldn’t be until a couple of hours later that he realized what he had just agreed to...


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## YayGollum (Mar 31, 2008)

The innkeeper was about to answer Truor when Brandor wandered back in. Instead, the innkeeper nodded towards Truor with a, "He might be the one you're looking for." He tossed an innocent shrug at Truor and edged over to the other side of the bar. Brandor sized the older man up and offered a hand, which Truor sniffed. "What's one of the Forodwaith doing so far from home, eh?" Nandreeson backed away from the sack, bowing and apologizing, then hustled over to the two Dwarves, who he started hugging on and shaking hands and joking around with, plenty of friendly slaps on backs. 

Brandor shook his head at both strange actions and waved at Truor to get his attention, since the guy looked ready to bound in the direction of the Dwarves. "Ah, hello, Truor, I believe. Yes, I am from the Forodwaith. How did you know? I shouldn't be too famous out here yet! Anyway, Dingo recommended you. Do you remember him? He said that you could be useful to our quest." 

Truor, Dwarves forgotten, turned on the kid with a glare. "Argh! Dingo? Yes, I know him. And if he remembers me, he'd have you come with a good reason for me to help." 

"Well, um, I think he said that you might like to come with us. Or that you might know some other people who might like to. It's an adventure! A missing person! I'd pay you, of course. And, ah, I was under the impression that you were a friend of Dingo's?" 

"Hmph! He's too sneaky for me, but yeah, he's better than some. Why should I care about some missing person? I've got no reason to leave. Except to get away from sheep like these!" Some employees ignored him, some rolled their eyes, but a few averted eyes shamefully as he swept an arm at them. 

Brandor bit a lip in sympathy for them, then sat down next to the guy and spoke to the ceiling, attempting to sell the quest to him. "Hm. Looking around for some missing person isn't really much of a quest, and I wouldn't be searching for adventurers so far away if I didn't have to. You've done some sailing in the past, I believe. My dad - he's the missing person - was a great explorer. Kastor there has sailed with him for years. He can tell you about their adventures. You'd be sailing the high seas, exploring forgotten continents, fighting corsairs, defending your lone ship against giant sea monsters!" 

Truor didn't even blink at the information that Brandor's dad was the missing person, but he did grow a glint in his eyes due to the kid's enthusiasm. He shrugged slightly to himself. "Eh, okay. I've been sitting around the Vale for too long anyway. These people aren't so fun. I can show you to a couple of able-bodied adventurers, at least. They've sailed before, too, but they have some other, more useful talents. How long do we have? Would we have time to head for Dale, at least?" 

"Oh, I don't see why not. I'm sure that my dad is fine, wherever he is. We'll be on the road long enough just to get back home, so another detour won't kill him. Uh, probably." <--- the last with a look to Kastor.

"Good. Let me grab a few things. Bartender!" The bartender gave him a, "You bellowed, crazy old man?" look. "Where's my stuff? It's time for me to get out of this corrupt city! You people make me sick!" The bartender just rolled his eyes and started pointing around the room, not even looking, as if he'd done this several times before. 

Truor blinked with surprise when he noticed that the guy was pointing at various weapons and pieces of armour attached to the walls. He couldn't help grinning from the flattery as well as the eagerness to be on the road, but he still grumbled as he trotted around the room, retrieving items. "Putting my things up where anybody can steal them! I'm not coming back after this! Huh! Vale of Anduin's getting worse all the time!" 

Upon nearing the Dwarves, Nandreeson apparently found himself thirsty enough to order something and spill half of it on his shirt. Truor barely paid attention to him, since he was reaching up for a large shield with a golden bear embossed on it, but once he got the thing, he nodded respectfully at the Dwarves. With a wink, "I just hope my senses aren't playing tricks on me! It's good to see that you guys aren't all gone!"


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## Persephone (Apr 28, 2008)

Vexed by the relentless travel on land, and aching for the salty, sea air again, Kastor made one more attempt to convince Brandor to skew from the road and head back down to the quay where his ship had been docked for several days now. However, Brandor was set to carry on with whatever plan he had and soon they were in the Vale of Anduin, riding in a wagon with the circus Brandor had collected along the way. 

Suddenly, Brandor said, “Everyone, look! It's the Big Rock Inn! Adventurers from all over are supposed to gather here. I've never been this Far East, but I hear that they have great storytelling! We must stay the night!”

Kastor grumbled. If there was anything he hated more than tarrying about it was staying at another Inn, listening to foolishness from men who hardly know the world. But Brandor was eager to get in and Kastor realized that the kid was tired from the travel and needed a place to stay the night. He followed him inside, eyeing every corner of the Inn with suspicion, and found the patrons to be nothing more than the common swags that he’d seen in many safer lands. 

‘There is no threat here,’ he thought to himself, and then lowered the spear in his right hand. He slowly fixed it so that it fit back into his thick jacket again, hidden from the eyes of those around him. 

"Oh, yes, yes! Why we are here! Innkeeper? Barman? Do you know of a man called Truor? I was told that he frequents this inn. A storyteller, the adventuring sort?" continued Brandor, and Kastor scowled at usual carelessness in his tone.

The Innkeeper replied, "Many'll tell you of old Truor, lad. What do you want to know?"

"Oh, well, I'm looking for him! I hear that he might like to sail the high seas again. Or that he might know others who would?"

"Hm! Old Truor might be able to help,” said the Innkeeper. “He just left, actually. Said he was on a quest for a decent honey cake, although he knows that ours are the best! I recommend them, and I'd say to wait here. He'll most likely be back tonight for our mead, best in the city."

Brandor then proceeded to get them roomed, and after he paid the fees, the others decided to settle themselves in. Kastor, however, was too anxious to rest so he decided to scour the area surrounding the Inn, studying the passageways in case they needed to make a hasty retreat they could do so without getting into more boiling water.

He found that right behind the Inn, there was another pub and this one had burly men and stout women for patrons. Many of them looked harmless enough, easy to kill since they are all soaked in ale, but there was a group settled in a dark corner that looked different. Four or five of them sat with their faces hidden under hoods, huddled so close that one push and they’d be kissing each other and probably end up in a brawl. They whispered and gazed at the other people in the pub with mistrust, but always went back to the secret conversation they had. It would have been easy for Kastor to ignore them had they not stared at him with recognition. They made no inkling that they would approach him, but something told Kastor he should not stay and wait for them to make a move.

He knew he had overstayed. Kastor made for the Inn again this time holding his spear on ready just in case those men decided they wanted to lynch him. But none of them followed and soon he found himself back at the bar and found Brandor drinking ale with an unknown man.

“You must be Truor,” Kastor said. His booming voice surprised the rest and he was delighted to see that even Brandor’s newest acquaintance seemed intimidated by his presence.


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## YayGollum (Apr 28, 2008)

Truor, who had been ranting about how he was forced to drink the ale because nobody knew how to make any decent mead anymore, hadn't seen Kastor come in. He jumped at the voice and quickly raised his shield. He peaked above it to sniff. He furrowed his bushy brows at a naggingly familiar smell but forgot about it when the man's clothes caused him to sneer with disgust. He lowered his shield and craned his neck to glare up at the guy. "I am Truor. Who else would I be? And who are you? Some great hunter? Everyone praised you for being able to shoot animals while hiding in some tree, huh? Try that here, see what it'll get you!" 

He shot a glare at the bartender. "Oh, but times do change, don't they? We'd probably just ask him to pay a fine!" The bartender winced but shrugged with confusion along with most others. He informed Truor in a calming and quiet voice, "I think he's with the boy. You might want to discuss things in the privacy of a room." Truor snorted at the guy and made to lead the way down the hallway towards the rooms. "I might!" On his way, the half-forgotten smell coming from Kastor came to brain. "Argh..."

Brandor slapped Kastor on the back and chuckled, "Well, he's a lively old man, isn't he? Come on! He says that he'd be willing to help. And he even knows of some others who could be useful!" He then tossed him a grin and trotted after the little guy.

Narvi raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips at the meeting, but he figured Kastor to be too mature to let it bother him. Either way, he wasn't especially concerned. He hesitated since Brandor was the only one following the addition but stomped after them, just to be safe.

Nandreeson tossed Kastor a nod and a wave, then exited with a, "I'll find out where we're going. Right now, there's money to be made! Quite a busy little town, this!"


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## Persephone (Jul 15, 2008)

"I am Truor. Who else would I be? And who are you? Some great hunter? Everyone praised you for being able to shoot animals while hiding in some tree, huh? Try that here, see what it'll get you!" said the strange man. "Oh, but times do change, don't they? We'd probably just ask him to pay a fine!" Kastor saw the bartender wince and shrug at the statement made by Truor, and no other comment or reaction was made by anyone else. The man continued with his speech. "I think he's with the boy. You might want to discuss things in the privacy of a room. I might!" And Truor left them, snorting as he went.

Then Brandor slapped Kastor on the back and chuckled, "Well, he's a lively old man, isn't he? Come on! He says that he'd be willing to help. And he even knows of some others who could be useful!" 

_‘Everybody is too willing to help you, Brandor, and that is my problem!’_ Kastor thought as he followed them to the said _private room._ Before the noise of the bar completely faded, Kastor heard Nandreeson say, "I'll find out where we're going. Right now, there's money to be made! Quite a busy little town, this!" 

As the door shut close behind them and Truor and Brandor sat as if in a conference, Kastor decided it best to remain on his feet. Nin made her way up to his ear through the thickness of his jacket, seemingly unseen by the eyes of the others though Kastor caught a glimmer of curiosity from Truor’s eyes. But it quickly faded though Nin warned him to be wary of the man.

“He knows more than he lets on,” she whispered. “Tell the boy to leave the land; if we are to journey down south, then we best leave while _Arien_ still smiles upon us from above.”

Kastor grunted his agreement. He hoped she’d return to the confines of his pocket, but for some reason, she remained by his right ear. Something about Truor made Nin uneasy—or, _excited_?

Truor, who had deposited himself in the largish bed, began to evaluate with crossed arms every person in the room. Kastor understood the apprehension—one could never be too careful in these parts—looking at Brandor, then Kastor. 

Then he said, "So, he isn't really some great huntsman, is he? Ah, maybe he's not so bad, but he smells like salt water. It's probably just cold up there, so he needs his fur, right? Fur's the best, I'll admit."

“Do you always make it a habit to speak to yourself, sir, or is this the result of some injury to your head?” Kastor asked with amusement. 

But Truor ignored his query, stroking his beard, he stared at the ceiling for a bit before focusing on Narvi. "Hm!" A flinch. "Argh! But everyone probably asks what that guy is!" He said with a flippant wave, giving way to a glare of a puzzle solver. "I know him, though. Woses made him a long time ago. But I didn't know they walked! Argh! They didn't teach me everything, I guess." 

Then Truor leaped from the bed and shoved his way past the others to slam the door open again. "Why are we paying attention to some bartender? Follow me, and bring your friends! I'll take you to honey cakes! Better than the crumbs they serve here!" He said with an unpracticed wink. "Besides, an old Beorning bakery's best for adventure planning! Can't let any old wanderer in on this, right?" 

Narvi rumbled inquisitively to himself and glared at the back of the guy's Orcish ring mail. Brandor winced, half with amusement, half with embarrassment. He called and waved to the others to follow, then tried to catch up and listen to the old man's musings. 

"...but would he come? He's dug himself a cave up in the Withered Heath, thinks he's no good to anyone. The other'd come, although he's getting on in years..."

Without the mentioning the destination, Nin seemed to have deduced from his suggestion that Truor wished to bring them to a place she dared not visit. “I do not wish to visit the bear-people!” hissed Nin. 

"How did you--?"

"Shush!" she said, pressing her head against the back of his ear. "He is bringing us there! Further from the sea and closer to folk I've no intention of seeing! Order the boy to stay behind!”

"If he refused?"

"Then we stay behind!"

“My duty is to watch over the boy,” countered Kastor. “I cannot leave him in the hands of these clowns! They could be sent by Horatio!”

“Then we should tie him up and bring him back to the boat with use!” Nin said.

Truor seemed to have caught the sound of her squeaking voice for he stopped in his rambling and turned about, but then, like before, he turned back towards the hall and continued with his musings.

“Please calm yourself, Nin,” said Kastor, breathing deeply. “Remember that no one must know about you. No one must see you until we are closer to your people. Who knows what these folk will do to one that is descended among elves? They might cut you up!”

Kastor felt her shiver in fear, but again, she would not go back to his pocket.

“Please, go back!”

“I will not go into a bear’s house!”

“Brandor.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think it is wise for use to venture further inland,” Kastor said. “We are already very delayed as it were, and I think you have all the people you need. There is no use for more—”

“Nonsense!” Brandor cried. “I want to visit this Beorning person! Don’t you like honey cakes?”

_Patience, Kastor, patience!_ He had to remind himself that Brandor was a boy—his master’s son—a person he was indebted to and promised to guard against danger. 

“You can have your fill of food at this inn; there is no need for us to—”

“Lighten up, Kastor! A few more days of inland travel and then we’ll go back to the port and set sail.”

“But there is no reason for you to go to—”

“Kastor, I want to see this Beorning. I want to see his house.”

Kastor scowled, but he was outnumbered here. He was, after all, a servant to the boy and nothing else. “Very well,” he said at last, he grunted and groaned and protest but said nothing more.


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## YayGollum (Jul 15, 2008)

*I, The YayGollum Person, Moved This. Because It Looks Better Here?*

Lurking in the shadows just two doors down from the inn's entrance, Artos waited. He had watched the group surrounding his intended victim through thick, watery glass and he pondered. Why in the name of Nahar's sweat-stained saddle does Horatio want this boy dead? He seems harmless enough, though he does seem to have an inordinate amount of security around him...maybe he does pose some sort of threat....

All instincts telling him to think before he acted, the wolf-trainer and his wolf faded into the stream of people moving quickly along the main street, each focussed on their own problems. Artos' ability to blend with his surroundings ahd always stood him in good stead, enabling him to discover things many people wish would stay buried. Coupled with the fact that Serra often became a second set of eyes and ears for him, the two made a formiable combination when it came to skulduggery.

It wasn't long before Brandor and his companions left the Big Rock and began making their way down the street in a haphazard fashion, with Brandor craning his head this way and that, obviously a tourist in these parts. An older man was regaling him with tales, while at the same time complaining about everything from the price of honey, to the fact that he hadn't had a good adventure in so and so many years.

Serra meanwhile followed the group discreetly, her nose pressed firmly to the ground. After a short while of trailing after them, she turned and made her way back to Artos' side. Her report he found interesting...and vaguely disturbing.

Father, there appears to be five persons with the youngster, though I am unsure. There's what smells like a lizard with him...and a stony, slate-like scent as well. There's a dwarf as well. Artos looked at her sceptically. "A lizard? Are you sure?" She glared at him in annoyance and he held up his hands in apology. "I know, I know...who's the wolf here? Well, I suppose we'd better just follow them. Everything about this job seems wrong to me, but the alternative..." He sighed heavily. "Let's get on with it, shall we?"


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## Ghorim (Jul 27, 2008)

With his acidic ale in hand, Glauer was just about to embark on his tangled life story for Barulin, who had asked most eagerly for it. Suddenly, however, that oddball Nandreeson came barreling over to them, his lungs puffed out with laughter and his hands flying about like a wild pair of tentacles. Glauer got slapped hard on the back and nearly dropped his drink — again. Barulin had been smacked and hugged at least twice before he scurried to his feet in a rage.

“What’s this, eh?!” The dwarf’s shout somehow failed to draw the attention of the local crowd. Truor’s habit of bellowing every sentence must have desensitized them. “Who do you think you are, acting so familiar?”

“Oh, eh... this is Nandreeson!” Glauer was terrified of upsetting his newfound kinsman. “He’s a friendly sort, as you can see.”

“I hate friendly.” Barulin glared at the stranger from over the brim of his drink, and took a hostile-looking gulp from the mug.

“Oh, come off it!” declared Nandreeson, still unflappably affable. “Let’s share a round, what say?”

“How do you know him?” Barulin asked Glauer, ignoring the fellow as one does an excitable puppy.

“We’re traveling together, along with some others. To the east.”

“You’re on the road with long-leggers?” The disapproval in Barulin’s voice was apparent.

“Well, I was about to explain how that all came about, you see...”

Nandreeson was calling for a waitress. 

“Nae, nae...” Barulin shook his head disappointedly, and Glauer’s heart sank. “You do not need fools like this for companions! Think of your bloodlines and heritage. If you’re to adventure, do it like me: alone and unencumbered.”

“You travel alone...?” Glauer felt his awe only redouble toward this brave adventurer, whose weathered figure reminded him of the tales he had often heard whispered about his folk’s long-buried heroes.

“Always.”

Now Nandreeson had his drink, and was bandying it about without any heed for his clothing. 

“Well... I thought... are you headed east, Barulin?”

“... Perhaps.” The dwarf’s eyes seemed to search the room as he spoke.

“Then... perhaps... you could accompany us? It’s a good crew, I tell you. And there’s this... _living_ stone contraption... named Narvi, of all things! You really must see him.” Glauer began to realize halfway through his speech that he was prattling on, and Barulin’s interest was on the wane. He felt the other dwarf’s shame and embarrassment on his behalf, which only made him all the more desperate. “I’d... be ecstatic to have you along. I haven’t had the company of a kinsman... well... it’s been so long, you see...”

“Enough.” Barulin cut in, watching Nandreeson proceed to drench his shirt in a brown downpour. “Don’t get so comfortable with begging from your knees. You are a _Khuzd_, although it seems you have forgotten. I shall... follow, perhaps. To teach you a lesson or two, if nothing else.”

Glauer’s lips drew close together, and his expression twisted about in a mixture of excitement, hurt, and determination. “Aye, of course. I am honored.”

Suddenly, the hairy old codger known as Truor came stumping over to them, reaching for a shield that stood in proud display upon the wall. Neither knew him, but Truor gave them a look and a nod of such knowing respect that they instantly felt more at ease with him than Nandreeson.

"I just hope my senses aren't playing tricks on me! It's good to see that you guys aren't all gone!"

Neither dwarf was terribly used to being recognized for what he was anymore, and both regarded Truor in present surprise, though Barulin's look was tempered by an inherent distrust for outsiders.

“As long as the mountains stand, we’ll be about,” said Barulin.

“Indeed!” Glauer just had to chime in, his dormant racial pride stirring in a spectacular awakening. “Watching over Arda from beneath the stones!”

“Don’t get carried away, now...” muttered the other dwarf.

---

After the brief meeting upstairs, the group came piling down with Truor at the lead. Barulin hadn’t followed them up to their conference, opting instead to slouch at a mead-soaked table and finish his drink. This time, however, Glauer gave him a pathetic and pining look, and he opted to tag along. It was an odd mob of travelers, and Barulin was content to trail far behind, perhaps to preserve the illusion that he was still a lone dwarf. Even haven seen Glauer, he felt like the last one. The rest had fallen into a rut as deep as their cavernous mountain mansions. 

He stomped through the ocean of overgrown limbs that filled the city streets, swaying between the tree trunk bodies practically unnoticed. Barulin always kept sight of the party that paraded ahead, his eyes burning with that ancient, feral hunger of his people. He wasn’t always sure what he was lusting after... something great to set himself against. Whether falling in with this unlikely troupe brought him any closer to his goal... well, that didn’t seem entirely possible. 

But someone had to set this Glauer straight...


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## chrysophalax (Aug 5, 2008)

Pondering on how he might separate his intended victim from the herd, so to speak, Artos told Serra to continue following Brandor's group while he got his horse ready for travel. 

As she disappeared into the night, the dark-haired man had more than his share of misgivings. Not that he was afraid for Serra's safety, exactly...rather, he felt incomplete, hampered without her at his side and this annoyed him.

"Why did I buy a horse anyway?" he muttered irritably as he stomped along the cobblestones to the next street over, where he had left the animal hidden in the darkness of a tumbledown shed. "I can't move silently, they eat everything in sight, they're too excitable..." An ear-splitting neigh greeted him as soon as he came within earshot of the beast. "And then, there's that!"
He cringed. Horses adored him. 

Grumbling under his breath as he fished an old carrot from one of his pockets, Artos found himself staring into trusting brown eyes and cursed himself for a soft-headed fool. He reached out to stroke the large head, almost against his will. "Come along, horse. We have little time to lose. Tread softly now!" he whispered, then mounted with practised ease.

Knowing that Serra would return the instant the little group did anything out of the ordinary, Artos began surveying the ground closely. Fortunately for him, the number of people travelling with Brandor would only make his job easier and it was no time before he found their tracks. Funny thing though, they appeared to be moving away from the water. Interesting.

Curiosity now piqued, Artos followed slowly along. Sign as fresh as this meant there would be no need for speed as his quarry seemed to have no idea they were being followed, which was exactly as it should be.

Once again, the wolf-trainer turned his mind to the problem of why Horatio had called in this "favour". The youngster, from all what he had seen, looked as green as any other young lad that might set out adventuring, for lack of anything better to do, so why kill him? What was he worth? Would he possibly be worth kidnapping? 

Artos decided quickly against that option, given that Horatio wanted the lad dead, it was highly unlikely he was worth anything alive...Hm. That led to another line of thought, a line which brought him a little closer to the truth. If this lad needed to die, what of the father? Was he dead already, thus the urgency...or was there something even more insidious about to be perpetrated?

Artos frowned. Knowing Horatio, it was bound to be the latter.


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## YayGollum (Aug 13, 2008)

Upon leading the group inside a building with a sign that simply proclaimed, "Bakery," Truor sniffed around like he owned the place and finally pursed his lips at a hulking baker. "You wouldn't happen to have any fresh honey cakes, would you? I'll take a lot, thank you." 

The baker rumbled with annoyance at the disturbance the group was causing his production. He snapped at any employees who's curiosity led them away from their work. To Truor, while considering his entourage ---> "Hrm...are they with you?"

Truor, peering behind the guy and having forgotten who was behind him, jumped and raised his shield a bit at the proximity of Narvi, who was examining a loaf of bread and muttering something about the hope that the taste made up for the aesthetic simplicity. "Don't do that!" To the baker ---> "Yes, they're with me! They are my apprentice adventurers, and you'll give us enough honey cakes for all. Fresh ones!" He then turned to shoo the group to one side of the room.

The baker raised his eyebrow at the presumption but knew Truor and was pleased with the idea of the old guy being out of his hair for a while, and maybe never coming back this time. While he set his crew to work, Truor leaned into a corner of the room and surveyed his own. "Alright, so it's a rescue." To Kastor ---> "And you know where the guy is? Or, at least, you know how he thinks, and where he could be? Why'd you come all the way out here looking for people to help? Is business so good up in the Forodwaith that you don't have time for one little rescue?"


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## chrysophalax (Aug 26, 2008)

Wolfhame was annoyed. 

He had been waiting his chance to confront/accost his intended victim for quite some time now, but Brandor and his cronies seemed determined to discuss the merits of honey cakes over seedcake until nightfall. He had even drifted closer, hanging about within earshot of the doorway, listening to the rantings of the eccentric traveller the young man had picked up back at the inn. Nahar's saddlesores, the lad knew how to pick 'em!

The trouble now, was the smell...the insidious smell of fresh-baked breads and buttery pastries. Artos was certain it was all some cruel plot to drive him mad.

Just as he was about to give in, Serra came trotting up, bold as brass, with an evil twinkle in her grey eyes. _I know what you're thinking, father. You should have gone north, to see if any of the old Beornings still live in these parts. Honey cakes always have been one of your weaknesses._

_She's worse than a wife, that one._ He scowled down at her, but she only flopped down on her side at his feet, tongue lolling in amusement. He'd always hated how she gloats when she's right.

"I give up! Mind the horse, will you? This will give me the chance I need to check out this Brandor." She leapt up on his chest, then walked off with that superior air of hers to see to it no one made off with his horse. _Women...
_
Upon entering the bakery, several sets of eyes glanced at him curiously, then went back to whatever they had been doing. Not for the first time, Artos was glad of his nondescript looks.

A truly odd assortment of...folk surrounded Brandor, making him an impossible target in such close quarters. _No matter._ the wolf-trainer thought to himself, _This may just work to my advantage!_ He made his way over to the counter, listening to the banter between them as he did so. Now all he needed was an opening in the conversation...


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## Persephone (Sep 15, 2008)

"And you know where the guy is? Or, at least, you know how he thinks, and where he could be? Why'd you come all the way out here looking for people to help? Is business so good up in the Forodwaith that you don't have time for one little rescue?"

“It wasn’t my idea…” Kastor began to say when, suddenly, someone entered the bakery, startling everyone inside. Kastor looked up and saw a large man with dark eyes and hair.

"Good afternoon, sir! If you're here for our honey cakes, we've got some on their way right now. Or can I help you with something else?" greeted the frightened baker.

"Probably just another hunter," said Truor, and he blinked up at Kastor again. "What were you saying?" 

Kastor was hesitant to proceed with his statement. The man didn’t look harmless—even though his physique is slender and Kastor had a much bigger built, it was obvious from the way he stood so menacingly at the door that he was there for something else other than cakes and pastries.

Instinctively, Kastor stood up and shielded the boy from the stranger by standing right behind Brandor’s chair.


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## Firawyn (Sep 18, 2008)

“Artos, is it?” a low voice said from the shadows.

Artos turned to see man stepping into view.

“What do you want? You smell like elf.”

“And you smell like werewolf.” The man paused. “I’m half elf, half human – or so I’ve been told. My parents died when I was a lad.”

“What happened to them?” Artos inquired.

“Killed by werewolves, actually.”The man looked amused at the thought.

“Are you a werewolf slayer?” Artos growled.

“Nay, my father was. That’s what got him and my mother killed. I was spared, and raised among werewolves. Your brethren are my brethren, as it were.”

Now Artos was interested, but still very suspicious. “You have a name?”

“Jamie.” The man stepped further into the light, revealing a very young face.

“Your parents died when you were a lad, huh? You look as though you’re still a lad!” Artos chided. 

“I’m older than you, Artos. Far older. Inherited my mother’s immortality, it seems.” 

“What do you want?” Artos asked. 

Jamie shrugged. “Something to do. Company. I’ve been without a companion for a very long time.”


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## chrysophalax (Sep 19, 2008)

Glancing around with acute discomfort, Artos took the man calling himself Jamie by the arm and propelled him out the door.Whatever he had to say had better be worth his not getting any honeycakes!

Confused looks followed the two men and Brandor's party relaxed. Even Kastor no longer felt Brandor was at risk any longer, but determined to keep an eye out for the two, as they were acting strangely.

Artos ground his teeth together. "Now. Tell me what it is you _really_ want. I have no time to waste on lonesome vagabonds and what in the name of the Valar was _that_ about in there? You're a what? A werewolf hunter?" As he spoke he could hear very faintly Serra's light footfalls as she slipped closer to the man before him, silent as a shadow. Who ent yo, Horatio? Was he that certain I would fail to complete the task he set me?"

The moer questions he asked, the more seemed to fill is mind as he searched the face before him. He had said he wanted a companion, that he wanted company. Had he meant Artos? And why now? Ever since he and Serewing had parted company what seemed years ago, he had kept himself to himself, fearful of what might happen should he find myself too near other people when the gibbous moon hung grinning like a bleached skull in the night sky.

Why was this man so fearless? Despite himself, he was intrigued. "Serra, come." From where she had been lurking behind Jamie, she trotted over to Artos and sat herself down in front of him, her eyes never leaving the half-elf."

"Tell me again and tell me true. Who are you and what do you want of me? I have pressing business that will not wait long. Be swift!"


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## Firawyn (Sep 19, 2008)

Jamie smiled stiffly. Artos seemed the type of man to not trust easily, which was perfectly alright by Jamie's point of view. The longer it took for him to gain Artos' trust, the more lasting of a bond they would have. Of course, it went both ways - Jamie didn't trust him worth a raw steak at the present. For all he knew, Artos would betray him just as his foster brother, Arryn had.

Without thinking, Jamie's hand brushed down the center of his torso. His only telltale sign of age was a long, hidious scar that ran from just below his neck all the way down to his belly-button. His brother had tried to slice him from neck to nuts with his shart claws, one full moon, mny years ago. Jamie had been told to take it as a kindness that Arryn had not bitten him - that he was not now werewolf. Jamie would rather have joined the ranks of werewolves, that lived out his immortal life as neither human, elf, or werewolf. He had tried over the years to find a place among one of those peoples, but always - every single time - he was rejected and scorned. 

Jamie turned his attention to Artos now, who had very uncerimoniously shoved his tired body out the door. 
_
"Tell me again and tell me true. Who are you and what do you want of me? I have pressing business that will not wait long. Be swift!" _

"I told you true the first time. I seek companionship. I was out a bar and overheard the barkeep mentioning that a man called Horatio had told him to keep his eyes peeled for werewolves, and that someone called 'Artos', was looking for a companion of similar kind."

Jamie said this in a very calm and collected manner. There was a short pause, and then Jamie continued, this time with a bit more edge in his voice.

"Believe what you will, werewolf, but I am the very stock of companion that you seek, and as I said, I am seeking a companion as well. It seemed to me to be an ideal arrangment."


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## chrysophalax (Sep 22, 2008)

"If you know of Horatio, _friend,_ then you are no friend of mine. The man is cruel beyond words, completely ruthless and without pity." Artos made to turn away, then stopped himself. "And _never_ again call me werewolf!" His eyes glinted dangerously as he drew nearer to Jamie. "Why would you want to be one of them? Do you seek the blood of innocents so much?"

"Apparently you do." said Jamie quietly. That drew a startled look from the wolf-trainer. "Why would you say that?" he asked before he could stop himself. This was maddening! Why did this man make him so curious?

Jamie jerked his head knowingly toward the door of the bakery where Brandor and his followers were and Artos felt his face turn dark. How did this person know so much of his purpose here and what else did he know? Artos found himself growing more and more uneasy as he drew away from the stranger. He sensed a trap of some sort. He knew well the price of failing Horatio and began to wonder if not killing the boy had been the right decision after all.

_Who sent you?_ he wondered, feeling unaccountably chilled. Serra nuzzled his hand, sensing his discomfort as he waited for answers he hoped would be swift in coming.


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## Firawyn (Sep 23, 2008)

Jamie was a cunning creature, that much was sure. 

"I wonder why you would kill blindly? Perhaps it would be more in our interests to kill Horatio, instead of this innocent boy? Or perhaps it would be beneficial to just wait, and watch, and the decide what the best thing to do is." 

He paused. 

"And by best thing, I do not mean the right thing. I do believe in a moral plum line, to an extent, but I also believe that one who helps himself will come to better ends. I certainly would not have survived this long had I not helped myself."

"And how are you helping yourself now?" Artos inquired. 

"I told you already. I seek a companion. I have been alone for a time, and in my solitude I have avoided battle. I don't want my blade to grow dull with the passage of time, so I seek a companion that will lead me in whatever direction, in hopes that my blade may come to some use."

"So would you find battle and leave your _companion_ for dead?" Artos growled, thinking that he was about to uncover this Jamie's true colors. 

Jamie scoffed. "Never. What good is finding the right companion if one doesn't intend on keeping him? What good is death and glory if a companion does not live to tell of your deeds?"


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## Persephone (Sep 24, 2008)

[FONT=&quot]‘_Brilliant!’_ Kastor thought, hearing Jamie’s introduction, ‘_another addition to the circus!’_ He hoped that Brandor would not consider adding him, but the boy had the nasty habit of collecting people as if they were jewelry. ‘_One more and I wouldn’t need to find additional crew. Of course, I would have to lay off some of them just to accommodate the rest of this confounded army!’_[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]Brandor stood and made a move towards the door. Kastor stopped him. “Brandor,” he said, “we do not need anymore people in this voyage.”[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“Says who?” Brandor asked; a tinge of annoyance in his tone.[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“The mission is for us to go where your father was last seen,” Kastor said. “I have advised you against it, but you refused to heed my warnings. I understand your need to find proof that Doran is dead, and I _will_ take you there and hopefully bring you back home alive—and with all your useful limbs intact—though this is against my own counsel! But I will not vouch for the lives of every creature you recruit! I have a responsibility to my crew and to you—but my responsibility ends there.”[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“What are you trying to say, Kastor?” [/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“Their lives will be in your hands, Brandor,” Kastor said. “Your hands. Are you ready for such accountability?”[/FONT]


 [FONT=&quot]***[/FONT]


 [FONT=&quot]Nin sensed something strange. There was someone in the room that felt akin to her.[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]Then someone spoke…[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“_Who is it that speaks so sweet and clear,” _Nin asked. She crawled up the sleeve of Kastor’s coat and hid herself in the thickness of his auburn hair. Someone had just left the room; he was outside.[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]"I told you true the first time. I seek companionship. I was out in a bar and overheard the barkeep mentioning a man called Horatio had told him to keep his eyes peeled for werewolves and that someone called 'Artos' was looking for a companion of similar kind. Believe what you will werewolf, but I am the very stock of companion that you seek, and as I said, I am seeking a companion as well. It seemed to me to be an ideal arrangement."[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]Then a harsh voice interrupted the almost melodic sound of the first. [/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]"If you know of Horatio, _friend,_ then you are no friend of mine. The man is cruel beyond words, completely ruthless and without pity. And _never_ again call me werewolf! Why would you want to be one of them? Do you seek the blood of innocents so much?"

"Apparently you do. Why would you say that?" [/FONT]
 [FONT=&quot]
"I wonder why you would kill blindly? Perhaps it would be more in our interests to kill Horatio, instead of this innocent boy? Or perhaps it would be beneficial to just wait, and watch, and then decide what the best thing to do is." 

"And by best thing, I do not mean the right thing. I do believe in a moral plum line, to an extent, but I also believe that one who helps himself will come to better ends. I certainly would not have survived this long had I not helped myself."

"And how are you helping yourself now?" 

"I told you already. I seek a companion. I have been alone for a time, and in my solitude I have avoided battle. I don't want my blade to grow dull with the passage of time, so I seek a companion that will lead me in whatever direction, in hopes that my blade may come to some use."

"So would you find battle and leave your _companion_ for dead?" [/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]"Never. What good is finding the right companion if one doesn't intend on keeping him? What good is death and glory if a companion does not live to tell of your deeds?"[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]Nin thought about this for a moment: there was a plot against Brandor by his own uncle. Kastor was right for doubting his allegiances and now they have enemies at the door. She had to warn him.[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“_Your ward is in danger,” _Nin whispered. “_The two newcomers outside are friends of Horatio—he has sent them to kill the boy.”_[/FONT]


 [FONT=&quot]***[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]Kastor stiffened after hearing Nin’s warning. He knew that the man named Jamie said he was half-elf, and it was that very thing that had Brandor excited, but Kastor had been exposed to that part of the world too long and his skepticism ran deep. Other than Nin, Jamie, if his claim proved true, would be the only other being with elf-blood alive.[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“_He is tainted,”_ Nin added. “_His voice sounds sweet, but there is a tone in his speech—a harshness that leaves me dry. Have you seen his face?”_[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]Nin sounded excited—an indication that Jamie was speaking the truth about himself.[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“And so is Nin,” Kastor said absentmindedly.[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“Who is Nin?” Brandor asked.[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]Kastor looked at the boy, horrified that he had let the name slip out. “No one.” He went to Truor, who was studying the pastry in front of him with keen interest and tapped his shoulder. “We have to leave—now!”[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot] Brandor hit the backrest of the chair with his fist. “I am the leader of this expedition, Kastor, and I will decide when—”[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“If you want to use my ship then I suggest you follow _my_ lead, or there will be no one left alive in this group to go in search for your father’s remains!” Kastor said.[/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]“Why are you panicking?” Brandor asked. [/FONT]

 [FONT=&quot]Then the door opened and the two who had been talking outside came in.[/FONT]


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## chrysophalax (Sep 24, 2008)

Against his better judgement, Artos found hismelf warming to the man who stood before him. It had been a long time since he had bandied words with anyone and it conjured memories of days long gone. _Before..._

"Come on. We'll raise suspicion of we stand here lurking in the shadows. As I recall, you distracted me for my goal earlier. Honey cakes!" Artos turned to head back into the bakery, the sound of Serra's nails clicking on cobblestones and after a moment, the scuff of boots followed as well. A rare smile crossed Artos' face for just a moment before resuming it's normally dour expression as they re-entered the bakery.

The mouth-watering scent drew the wolf-trainer to the counter once more, ignoring the looks Serra drew. One of the men he had seen previously gave him a dark look, which he also ignored. The only one he wanted to talk with was Brandor. The boy needed to be warned, even if it was a warning against Artos himself. 

He disagreed with Jamie. In his mind the best thing _was_ always the right thing. It might not be the right thing for him personally, but when had that ever mattered? He knew he would never be able to rest guiltless ever again for the crimes which he had committed, but while he was in his right mind, he would do what he could to prevent, or at least avoid adding to his burden.

After finally purchasing some honey cakes, Artos made his way over to where Brandor was arguing with the man who kept eyeing him. Silent as his own shadow, he felt Jamie behind him, watching warily. 

"Brandor? I bring you word of your uncle...for your ears alone." The big man scowled. "Who are you, stranger and why do you follow us?" Artos smiled tightly. "My business is my own and just now, it also concerns youung Brandor here. You have a problem with that?"


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## YayGollum (Sep 24, 2008)

Brandor, having already dismissed the notion that he was responsible for anyone, since he only planned to recruit and wave as they left on their ship, was wondering what was making Kastor seem so distracted. He smiled with understanding and waved at him calmingly when the newcomers approached. He grabbed the first one's hand and shook it while beaming a welcoming smile at the pair. "Greetings, fellow travelers! Let's not argue over such flawless honey cakes, now!" A grin at the back of the studiously busy baker. "These are all my very trusted companions, though." Narvi raised an incredulous eyebrow and looked around at the others, wondering if they suddenly looked more trustworthy. Truor puffed his chest out with pride in an, "Of course! Very trustworthy!" fashion. Nandreeson snickered, figuring it to be a joke. "They can hear any messages you have for me. My uncle is so serious! I've told him that."


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## chrysophalax (Sep 24, 2008)

Eyes widening in surprise, Artos shook Brandor's hand, sick at heart that he could have accepted such a commission from Horatio. _It would have been like slaughtering a babe in arms! The boy is so naive...Valar..._

"I'm...not certain even you will wish to hear what I have to say, Brandor." he said keeping is voice as low as possible. "Your uncle has betrayed you. He has...sent out a man to, well, see that your mission fails, as it were." He couldn't bring himself to tell the boy outright that he himself had been sent to kill Brandor and to return with proof.

"You are not safe here. If you will have me, I can help protect you, see to it that certain of Horatio's minions don't come near you. No payment necessary." The big man who seemed to be Brandor's shadow laughed dryly. "A generous offer, especially when no payment will be forth-coming! Brandor, tell these two to leave and good riddance."

Artos spared only a glance for the man, then turned his attention once more to the boy. "I-we can help, Brandor. I pledge my life that you will complete what you have started. What do you say?"


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## Firawyn (Sep 24, 2008)

Jamie watched in silence as Artos gave his little speech to Brandor. He was paying more attention to this Kastor fellow, who seemed to be very suspicious of anyone and everyone. Jamie imagined that Kastor had heard, at least, of Artos, for he was known by many in the community. However, Jamie himself had just stumbled into this town for the first time in his reckoning, and for that, he had an advantage.

"I-we can help, Brandor. I pledge my life that you will complete what you have started. What do you say?" Artos offered to the boy.

Brandor looked as if he was thinking things over, but Jamie already knew that he was only pretending to consider, and truly he’d made up his mind before the offer had even been made. This boy was collecting people of all kinds to bring his father home – and Jamie wondered if he truly wanted his father back, or if he just sought death and glory like the best of all men. 

Jamie had been listening carefully when Kastor had shown doubt at Atros’ offer to protect the boy, without any payment. While Artos may have made the offer out of guilt for what had been his original, and possibly true, mission, nonetheless it was foolish on his part. How else could Kastor react to that but suspiciously? 

Jamie decided that now would be a good time to play some of his own cards. “My young Lord, your guardian is right. Not everyone is as they seem to be sometimes. It would be wise to heed his council, for he has seen much more than you in his time, and only a fool would disregard it. I am under the impression that Artos does not have the best of reputations.”

Artos looked at him incredulously. Jamie imagined that something foul was on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be unleashed upon him.

“However,” Jamie continued, “Artos is an old friend of mine, and my trusted companion. I will vouch for his intent upon you. He wishes only to help you, for he was betrayed by the very man who wishes you dead. In addition, any enemy of Artos is an enemy of mine, so I believe we all share a commonality.”

“Your words are sweet and flattering,” Kastor said bluntly, “but I have met others just as gentle on first impression who turned out to be the most deadly of all foes.”

“When I vouch for Artos, I vouch with my live. If you find either of us to be treacherous, I forfeit my very life willingly to the hand of the man I swore it to – Brandor.”

Brandor looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment, and Jamie knew exactly what he was thinking. Brandor was no killer, so instead of forcing himself to ponder the idea of killing, he would instead always assume that Artos and Jamie would not break their word. This meant that Artos and Jamie would be trusted by at least the boy, so either they would gain a new friend in the long run, or it would easier to kill the unsuspecting boy.

Jamie looked Kastor in the eyes now, waiting for some hint of where the man’s mind lay. Then, Kastor finally asked, “What kind of creature are you, and where have you come from?”

Jamie knew the whole truth would be too unsavory for the present trust status among this company, so he settled for a half truth. “I am half human, half elf kind. More than one-hundred lives of men I have walked this middle earth, I come from many places. When I was young, my family did not stay in one place long enough for me to call any place home.” 

Jamie took a moment to glace over at Artos now. He wore a look of uncertainty and distrust, with perhaps a hint of admiration. He knew, as Jamie did, that they had just won the confidence of, at the very least, the boy Brandor. The young Lord looked positivly giddy. Now they just had to wait to see how Kastor would ultimately respond.


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## YayGollum (Sep 24, 2008)

Brandor could think of little beyond wanting to go back to the inn to immediately tell the story of how he very charismatically won the loyalty of a complete stranger, no doubt an experienced adventurer. He wasn't wondering why his uncle would be displeased with his mission and tried to slow Jamie down so he could accept the offer, until Horatio's intent was made clear. He gasped and almost choked on a bite of honey cake. After a relatively gentle slap on the back from Narvi, he grasped at his thoughts to himself, "Why would Uncle want me dead? All he cares about is the business, and I haven't touched it. I'm just a kid. This can't be right." 

At Jamie's claim of being half elf, he sobered and wiped his hand distastefully, nodded to Kastor, and sighed. "I'm sorry, Kastor. Evidently, word has spread about me." He spun on Jamie and stuck a finger in his face. "I might have believed that you'd follow me into the unknown. I even might have believed that my family wished me ill. They'd have good reason to, if I'd been so easily tricked by con men like you! What did you hear about me? Yes, I enjoy a good fantasy. I've told stories about having glimpses of fairies and being stalked by goblins. But no one's going to believe that you're some kind of elf!" 

Truor, who had been sniffing suspiciously and was thinking about saying something, shrugged, figuring that these two wouldn't be so easily dissuaded, unfortunately. He glared at the wolf until Brandor pointedly turned to him and said, "You said that you knew of some former sailors who'd like to join us. Let's get out of here."


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## chrysophalax (Sep 25, 2008)

Livid did not begin to describe Horatio's feelings when Thomas had broken the news to him of Artos' defection. "I want that treasure of Lorien's that Wolfhame so blithely claimed for himself and I want it taken now! The wolfman will pay for this mostake...dearly."

Early that evening a large crow had brought word to the ever efficient Thomas that the wolf trainer had broken his agreement with Horatio to murder his nephew. This had pleased the him to no end, as he had felt slighted by the lord for being allowed to kill Brandor himself. Now that Horatio had been cheated, Thomas knew he would be relied on more than ever, which could only work to his advantage.

Having summoned a troop of heavily armed troops to head north into Arnor to decimate the stronghold Artos had taken over, Thomas then decided to was time to summon Dingo. The ancient man had always offered Horatio wise council and there was no time like the present.

Meanwhile, as Horatio had been digesting the news from north of the Rauros, it occurred to him to look once more through his brother's papers. There was something niggling at the back of his mind that he had read...now what was it? Something about finding a strong vein of gold in an unlikely place, wasn't it?


********


As they followed Brandor and his unlikely group of adventurers down the high street, Artos pulled Jamie aside, grabbed his collar and shook him. "What is _wrong_ with you? Why did you lie like that to him? He may be a boy, but his father was no fool and neither is he. I want him to trust me, not doubt everything that comes out of my mouth! If he paints me with the same brush as you just because you choose to travel with me, his life will be worth less than nothing, do you hear? Once Horatio gets something into his head, it's as good as done."

Serra snarled at Jamie, but all he did was sneer back at her. Artos stalked on ahead, trying to distance himself from his would-be companion. If the man wanted his friendship, something would have to give.


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## Firawyn (Sep 25, 2008)

Tall and proud, Jamie said no words in return. He brushed his long blond hair behind his ear, revealing small points. His grey eyes narrowed, for he now sensed something odd...somthing familar. Something elf. He had not felt the presence of another elf kind, tainted or not, in many years. He was one of the last of that race, and all of the sudden he knew that fate alone had brought him here. 

He would not be turned down by this foolish boy and his compantions - not of there was any chance of meeting this creature who shared his blood. 

"Artos, come," Jamie called with athority. "They may turn us now, but we will be joining them soon, nonetheless."


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## Persephone (Sep 26, 2008)

Nin had never felt as alive as she did now. Hearing the sound of Jaime’s voice as he reentered the bakery, it felt like a thousand years had been removed from her small, burdened body. Here was one that was as old as she was, akin to her, yet alien at the same time. There was something about Jamie that made Nin both wary and elated, and she could not keep still in the confines of Kastor’s pocket. 

She went out again, and looked at the stranger with eager eyes. He had the physique of their people—_their people_—what a delight it was to think of that again! His long pale hair and deep grey eyes reflected the beauty that had long forsaken this land. Suddenly, she felt ugly and she knew she would soon resent having seen this being.

“_You must not allow the strangers to join us in the ship,”_ she whispered to Kastor.

Kastor nodded slightly, then, using the technique he had mastered long ago on how to speak with her without being noticed, he said to her, “You are agitated by the presence of this elf. He is much too large for you, my dear.”

“_Watch your tongue, old man, I will cut your ears if you do not stop your taunting!” _she hissed.

Kastor smirked.

“_They will betray the boy and the wolf-man will not hesitate to castrate you when he gets a chance,”_ she said sardonically.

“I am sure he will not harm me; his business is not with me, it’s with Brandor,” Kastor whispered to her. “Though, if I get in his way, he might turn out to be an enemy. I’ve fought worse; you remember the Taggers near the Areb River?”

Jamie stiffened, and almost, Nin was certain that he had sensed her. Afraid that she might be seen, Nin left the balcony that was Kastor’s nape and sped back to his pocket. She missed the seams in her hurry to gain entrance to it that she very nearly fell onto the table.

“_Mereth en draugrim!”_


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## Firawyn (Sep 26, 2008)

Jamie turned the corner to hear Truor telling the group, "We will head out early, let's all get some sleep." 

He took his leave of Artos, and then followed Kastor to a bar. He waited about an hour, and then entered as wel. Where ever Kastor went, so did the elven presense. But no, Kastor could not have an ounce of elf blood, it had to be something else. 

Jamie could smell out a werewolf. Jamie could smell out an elf. All that Kastor smelled like was a wet sea rat.

Jamie doned his hooded cloak, hiding his face from anyone in the bar. He saw Kastor sitting alone in a corner, one hand still holding a mug of ale, though he was fast asleep. 

Jamie walked near to where Kastor was passed out, and in a low voice said, "I know you are somewhere near here, little elf. Come out of hiding, I can sense you wish you speak to me. If you want my attention, you have it, and if you want to speak, leave your master for a little bit and meet me at the fountian in the town square, at midnight. That gives you an hour to decide."

With that said, Jamie whipped around and strode out of the bar. When out in the open again, he looked to the sky. The moon was nearly full, only a few more days. His own anxiousness was creeping about inside him. While the moon really couldn't affect him, years of living among those who were had taken it's toll. Jamie saw a barrel near to a ledge, that would pull him onto a rooftop, and he made his way to it. In a moment he was above the streets and any people who lingered there. He sat cross legged there, just staring at the moon for the next hour until it was time to go see if someone would be waiting for him at the fountian.


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## chrysophalax (Sep 27, 2008)

Things appeared to be going from bad to worse in Artos' estimation. Not only was Brandor now suspicious of him and his motives, but now this Jamie had hied himself off to the Valar knew where without so much as a word.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour at this point, he sat down under a tree at the side of the road where he and Serra could hopefully keep an eye on the disorganised group and maybe get a little sleep while the she-wolf kept watch.

Stretching his long legs wearily, he reflected on recent events. In one short night he had found his prey,then turned coat and betrayed the man who had hired to kill the boy. Met a man who, for some reason, wanted his friendship and alienated the boy he now wished to defend. _Well done, Wolfhame_ he thought as he scrubbed his face with a filthy hand.

Artos wrinkled his nose, then sighed heavily. It had been only two weeks since he had taken Horatio's commission. he man had seen to it that he had plenty of supplies, anything he could have asked for, in fact in order to achieve his goal. He had refused most of what had been offered, but not the food...and not the chains. He tried not to think about them.

_No, what I need to think on most is why the boy has surrounded himself with such a motley band of miscreants. Dwarves, a old sailor, a...what was that thing anyway?_ he wondered as he thought of the thing that looked like something one would see in Rohan, or in the hills of the wild men. And the other. Artos had never seen a man who resembled a lizard in his manner as this one. It made the wolf-trainer's skin crawl to recall him.

It was more than obvious that Brandor had something specific in mind, a certain destination perhaps. Horatio had told Artos that Brandor had gone in search of his missing father and a cold feeling of foreboding crept over him the more he thought.

_Valar, when Horatio discovers I've betrayed him, my life wil be worth less than nothing...and he will set something far more vicious than myself to do his dirty work. What have I done?_


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## Persephone (Sep 29, 2008)

Nin couldn’t keep still inside the pocket of Kastor’s coat. There was too much sensation emanating from the elf Jamie that Nin could not concentrate on keeping still and secret. She went back to Kastor’s nape, looking out longingly through the thick auburn curtain that was Kastor’s hair.

"We will head out early, let's all get some sleep." 

Kastor still felt uneasy around the newcomers, but he realized that if Artos intended to kill them he wouldn’t waste time haggling to tag along with their troupe. Why go with Brandor was a question he wanted to ask every single one of those who had joined in. There wasn't enough money involved, no treasure to be found. 

"_It's a rescue mission,"_ he said to himself, _"a suicidal rescue mission, and all of these fools volunteer to join."_ The boy had the charm of Doran. _"Hopefully he won't have the same luck as his father."_

As the others took their leave and headed off to sleep one by one, Kastor decided to go out and scout the area, trusting Brandor to Truor. Nin kept poking his neck with her dagger, pleading that he remained with the elf. But Kastor was adamant to leave the bakery. It was stifling inside and he hated the smell of pastries in the evening.

He found a bar not far from the bakery and decided to go in and check the crowd. It wasn’t rowdy, just a few folks scattered here and there, most of them too drunk to think. 

_“Must be very potent ale,”_ Kastor thought. He went to the bar and the bartender, who was a small and stout man, with bright red cheeks, came and greeted him warmly. 

“Hullo! My name is Porto. Can I interest you with our special stew?” asked the bartender. “It is really delicious—puts a lot of comfort in your belly!”

“I’m sure it does,” said Kastor, “but at the moment, I am more interested in what has made all these people so drunk.”

The bartender looked around and grunted. “I’ve warned them about the ale.”

“What kind of ale do you serve here?” 

“Dwimberg Red Ale!” announced the bartender, and a few heads turned up—lots of gargling sounds were heard, none were intelligible. 

“Never heard of it.”

“Would you like to try it?” 

“Of course!” Kastor exclaimed. “You don’t have to ask a sailor if he wants ale or not, there’s a good man!”

Porto smirked and prepared the drink, and then handed a pint to Kastor. It was, indeed, red and quite thick, and it had a caramel scent. Kastor took a swig of the red ale and the liquid made his throat tingle and burn a bit. It had a sweet aftertaste, and the scent of caramel stayed in the mouth long after the liquid hit his stomach.

Soon, the pint was empty, and Kastor asked for another, and then another, and then he was out like a light.


***

Nin was feeling exceptionally frustrated with Kastor that night. She had been stabbing him with her dagger (though she removed the poison from it first) until the skin on his nape became swollen. Kastor was ignoring her—something she had always hated because it reminded her of her size.

“_Go back!” _she ordered_. “Go back! Go back! Kastor! Go back and ask him where he’s from! Go back!” _

Eventually, she gave up and went back to the confines of Kastor’s pocket. After a while, she smelled something in the air—the scent of the White Mountains! She realized that people still went to Dwimorberg for the red barley that only grew in that area. Then she heard the bartender call it Dwimberg Red Ale. 

“_How original!”_ 

Then she felt something—someone—Jamie, the elf, was close by. She wanted to go up and warn Kastor, but then she heard his head hit the wood of the bar and knew that he had passed out in his drunkenness.

“_Foolish human!”_

Then someone spoke—not to Kastor, but to her.

"I know you are somewhere near here, little elf. Come out of hiding, I can sense you wish to speak to me. If you want my attention, you have it, and if you want to speak, leave your master for a little bit and meet me at the fountain in the town square, at midnight. That gives you an hour to decide."

The invitation was both perilous and exhilarating and Nin did not know how to address both. Jamie had left, judging by the ebbing elvish scent that followed him. Nin scrambled up Kastor’s neck. 

“_Kastor!”_ But the sailor was snoring loudly. “_Blast!”_

She went back to the pocket and thought about the invitation. She had never been forced to reveal herself by anyone, not even Kastor, and she trusted no one after her people were betrayed by the one human they all trusted with their lives. Kastor had rescued her and so she trusted him, but no one else was able to gain that trust from her again.

“_He is an elf,”_ she said to no one in particular. “_He and I share the same blood; but he has had dealings with treacherous humans!”_ Then the longing brought upon by many years of solitude was making all her fears seem irrelevant, and soon the thought of speaking with Jamie alone became irresistible to her. _“I will go. If Kastor is too drunk to pay attention to my needs, then I have to look out for it on my own.”_

She slowly, and very nimbly, descended down to the floor, using the creases and folds of Kastor’s long coat as a ladder. Finally, she was on the floor. She felt very vulnerable after taking a few steps away from Kastor and half her mind commanded her to go back. However, Jamie was waiting for her in the fountain—‘_I mustn’t keep him waiting’_.


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## YayGollum (Sep 30, 2008)

When a servant from Doran's estate delivered the summons to Dingo's shop, and after they talked for a bit, causing Dingo to promise a surprise for the guy's sweetheart, the old werewolf pondered. Doran still hadn't returned. After listening to Kastor and socializing with most of the other crew members, he hadn't really expected him to come back, but he had hoped that Horatio could show a bit more patience. Everyone knew that Horatio was the shrewd businessman of the family, famously paranoid, and frightfully stubborn, but most just thought of him as a banker, very efficient and easily taken for granted. Dingo knew to tread lightly. 

He waved a farewell to the servant at the door, then sighed, stretched, and cleared his mind. Horatio was about as patient as a human could be, and very careful. Through the years, evidence sprang up of shadier deals unknown to Doran, who never stayed at home for long. Never one to ignore what could be a powerful enemy, Dingo investigated. Ever since finding out how much Horatio knew about the nonhuman underworld and how unsavory most of his contacts in it were, he made a lot more noise about his business and made as many friends as he could. He got the attention of some nonhumans, too, and had them spread over the city. He knew that some of Horatio's underlings had caught wind of his information gathering, had even attempted to send him a couple of requests and threats, but Dingo had no problem with mercilessly cutting off any definite traces to him. Could he have missed something? If Horatio wanted him dead, why the summons? He didn't seem the type to gloat first. Mere suspicions were an annoyance but easier to handle. 

Dingo found himself standing in front of a display of lace gloves and wondered why he was there. Shaking his head with annoyance, he grabbed a pair and started hunting for a nice box. Who knows? Horatio might just need a new jacket. Armed with his gift and headed for Doran's mansion, he loosed a predatory smile. Life was always interesting, but Dingo still missed the days of Morgoth's reign.


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## Firawyn (Oct 1, 2008)

When midnight came, Jamie jumped off the roof with ease, and onto the dirt road below. He then made for the fountian in the middle of the town square, where he was not surprised to find the area deserted. 

_Appearently deserted_. Jamie thought to himself. "Come out little elf, I know you're there."

Suddenly, a green face, no bigger than small apple, appeared from behind the fountian. Jamie would not have believed his eyes, did he not sence that strong elven presence coming from the figure.

Jamie nodded. "I'm Jamie, but you already knew that I deem. You are?"

The small creature piped up. "I'm Nin." 

"You're a female?"

"Yes." Nin said. "Small, but still female. Better small than dead, though. I would be dead without Kastor. He saved me."

"Saved you from what?" Jamie inquired. 

"From the sorcerer that shrunk me," Nin answered. "Now what about you? What are you truly? I sense more than Elf, and more than man, as you claim. What else is in your blood that you are trying to hide."

Jamie looked at his feet. "I was raised by werewoves, and while being among them I was scarred." He lifed his shirt to reveal a long grusome scar that went from his neck to his belly button. "My foster brother did that, while the moon was full. He never bit me, so I am not truly a werewolf, but his tainted blood not runs in my vains. Like I could sense you, an elfkind, I can sense a werewolf."

Nin nodded, now understanding more about Jamie, but said nothing.

"I wonder," Jamie said. "What would it take for you to leave Kastor, and join me?"

Nin gaped at him. The idea of leaving Kastor was unthinkable! 

"We belong together, Nin. We are the last of our kind."


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## Persephone (Oct 2, 2008)

The fountain was the best spot for hiding, Nin thought. She had made her way there, unnoticed, and stayed in the camouflage of the mossy statue. _Being green had benefits_. Then the sensation that filled her with both dread and desire came back and she knew he was there. And then he spoke.

"Come out little elf, I know you're there." Nin peered through the cascading water and looked at him. Jamie nodded. "I'm Jamie, but you already knew that I deem. You are?"

"I'm Nin." 

"You're a female?"

"Yes," Nin said, feeling a tad bit insulted by the question, "small, but still female.” She waded into the water, her eyes never leaving his beautiful face. “Better small than dead, though; I would be dead without Kastor. He saved me."

"Saved you from what?" 

"From the sorcerer that shrunk me. Now what about you? What are you, truly? I sense more than Elf and more than man, as you claim. What else is in your blood that you are trying to hide?"

"I was raised by werewolves, and while being among them I was scarred. My foster brother did that, while the moon was full. He never bit me, so I am not truly a werewolf, but his tainted blood now runs in my veins. Like I could sense you, an elfkind, I can sense a werewolf."

_‘Werewolves,’_ Nin said to herself. She has had very little experience with the creatures that mutate when the moon was in full, but she wasn’t ignorant of their wiles. She knew the danger of mingling with such unintelligible creatures whose appetite for flesh increase in ferocity, to the point of insanity, when the Moon was high in the sky. Even if he had not been completely turned, he was still stained by their blood. She cringed at the thought.

"I wonder," Jamie said; "what would it take for you to leave Kastor, and join me?"

Nin looked at him with horrified eyes. Leaving Kastor was something that she had considered doing before, but after being with him for years, she had grown attached to the old man. He was like a son to her, and leaving him for anyone—even for this half-bred elf—was unthinkable.

"We belong together, Nin. We are the last of our kind."

Nin’s heart sank and then it began to fill with doubt. Why would Jamie ask her to leave Kastor? He knew too little of her to decide she belonged to him. He knew too little to claim her friendship. There _was_ a sense of affinity between them and it was still filling her body with sensations she had missed for so long, but after his revelations that affinity had diminished, and it was continuously ebbing. Learning the truth was sometimes… unhelpful. 

“_I_ am the last of my kind,” Nin corrected him. “_You—_are something else.” She decided that she had been disillusioned by him. “How could you ask me to abandon him? I have told you of his deed—he is the reason I exist! To leave him is treachery beyond words, yet you suggest it so nonchalantly. You want me to go with you… where?” She went back behind the curtain of water, feeling the coldness blanketing her body like ice. 

“Nin.”

She hissed at him and peered through the cascading water again. “Kastor will know of this rendezvous and he will confront you, but he will never betray me to anyone as I have betrayed myself.” Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I thought you are going to be my salvation, but I fear you’ll be the death of me, Jamie. Is that even your Elven name? Or have you adopted the one given to you by the Werewolves?”


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## chrysophalax (Oct 2, 2008)

A discreet knock on the library door made Horatio glance up. "Yes?" "Dingo the tailor to see you, my lord. He says he has something that might interest you. Shall I let him in?"

"Give me a moment, Thomas." Horatio replied and he began to gather stray papers and ledgers together into orderly piles. He had spent most of the last two days sifting through his brother's books and he sensed he was getting close to discovering the source of his disquiet. Doran had been hiding something from him, something of significance and it rankled.

He had never given his foolish elder brother any reason to suspect him of anything. The fact that he had diverted some of Doran's funds for his own benefit hadn't mattered and they had both benefitted from Horatio's surrepitous dealings. Now he felt a ernewed sense of injustice and it ate at him like a tumor.

Seating himself in the deep dragon leather chair behind Doran's desk, he poured himself a drink from an exquisitely carved carafe and was enjoying the play of candlelight on its facets when Dingo was announced.

"My lord Horatio." "Dingo, you old dog. Did Thomas let let you know we were having lobster fresh from Dol Amroth for dinner this evening?"

The tall, dour man gave a weak smile and walked soundlessly toward him bearing a beautifully wrapped package. "Nay, my lord. Thomas was as tight-lipped as ever." Carefully he set the package down before Horatio and let him inspect the cloth of gold wrapping. 

Curious, Horatio ran his hand over the wrapping in appreciation. "What is this? More of your cast-offs??" Wounded, Dingo glanced down at Horatio and made to pick the gift up, but Horatio stayed his hand. "No, no...you have me curious now. Open it and satisfy my inquisitive nature. Go on!"

Dingo wasted no time and before long and a pair of black lace gloves and a prefectly tailored black wool coat with a collar of silver fox lay spread out on the desk for Horatio's perusal. The tailor watched with pride as Horatio's hand ran over the collar, then held up the coat to admire it. "Wonderful work, as always. my old friend..now tell me...what do you know about Doran's secret books?"


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## YayGollum (Oct 2, 2008)

Dingo paused with surprise, hoping that it covered up his relief. To himself ---> "Oh, is that all? So he's just a greedy opportunist, then!" He gave a little bob of the head for a bow, formed an embarrassed smirk, and said, "Ah, you are sharper than you look! My apologies, but why would I know about something like that?" He made as if to find a chair and sniffed at not being invited into one.

Horatio waved Dingo to the seat he had been eyeing forlornly. "Tell me, Dingo, how long have you known me? More to the point, how long have you known my brother?"

"I have had the pleasure of serving your family since before you were born, as you know. Your tastes are quite similar to your mother's, actually." He lobbed a wistful smile at the ceiling, as if he were reminiscing, but he quickly shook himself out of it and placed his chin in his hand, to assist his memory. "Secret books, though? You were always the more secretive one, if I remember correctly. Is there anything in particular you were looking for? Doran was always telling stories. I may remember something you need."

"I've been poring over his journals and ship's logs and it seems to me that there's something missing from one of his adventures about 10 years ago." Here he fixed Dingo with a baleful stare. "A voyage which you may have had knowledge of, if I'm not mistaken. Many times when he was in his cups, I would here him mumble something about a fabulous jewel he was on the trail of, then after that voyage, he spoke of it no more. Tell me, old friend, did he find it?"

Dingo relaxed a bit in his chair, sure that Horatio wasn't onto anything too drastic yet. "Hmmm... A fabulous jewel, you say? I may remember this tale, but I doubt that he wrote of it. Did you know that your brother painted? He never took the time to perfect his talent, but he left many secrets in his art." He sighed then gave Horatio a curious look. "Ah, I tried to encourage him, but he was a bit embarrassed about his attempts. I have two of his paintings. One is of an island, apparently made of gold. The other shows a dark forest overlooking cliffs and a stormy sea. There are some details that I'm leaving out, of course. You really should see them for yourself. I'm certain that Kastor and others Doran was acquainted with have more examples, if you'd like to check on them."

"Kastor?" Horatio ground his teeth at the hated name. "You mean the man who has encouraged my nephew in this foolhardy venture? Why would he...?" Falling silent in mid-thought, Horatio steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "Join us for dinner. It appears we have much to discuss, and I am not the only interested party." Dingo made as if to excuse himself, but Horatio interrupted him. "This is not exactly a request. Shall we join Thomas downstairs?"


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## Firawyn (Oct 15, 2008)

“Kastor will know of this rendezvous and he will confront you, but he will never betray me to anyone as I have betrayed myself.” Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I thought you are going to be my salvation, but I fear you’ll be the death of me, Jamie. Is that even your Elven name? Or have you adopted the one given to you by the Werewolves?”

Jamie made a groan that almost sounded like a growl, and it was then that Nin noticed that the moon was full tonight. 

"I do not wish you harm, little one. Forgive my hasty words." Jamie pleaded. "I did not consider your feelings towards Kastor. That was wrong of me."

Jamie paused, hoping the glare would leave Nin's pretty eyes. It did not.

"Jamie was the name my human father gave me, and what I like to go by. My mother called me Ennald. The wolves called me the 'son-of-a-man', which was not exactly a kindness. Only my foster father called me by my true wolf name, and only after my foster brother scarred me. To the wolves, when not being cursed, I am Fenris."

"Is there anything else you wish to know?" Jamie inquired. "I beg of you, don't report this to Kastor. I only wanted to meet you, so to know you, and perhaps I got carried away. It's been so long since anyone looked at me kindly, as you did...at first."

Jamie's eyes looked sad, as he waited for Nin too speak.


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## Persephone (Oct 18, 2008)

Nin considered his plea and, satisfied of his sincerity, she replied, "Aye. Kastor shall not know of this meeting. I will call you by your elven name, Ennald. Let the others address you as they please." She walked passed the curtain of water again, allowing the light of the moon to shine on her small face. "For me, it is perhaps the desire to know that I am not alone in this world that has drawn me to you so ardently."

She skipped over the water and unto the mouth of the fountain and reached out a hand, touching the half-bred elf's hand slightly. He was elven, and yet not elven at the same time. 

"Perhaps, in time we shall both find out who we truly are," she said, "and where we truly belong to." Then she jumped down to the cobble-stone road and ran with all haste back to the pub. But before she disappeared completely, she cried back to the elf. "_Le Hannon_, _Ennald_." (Thank you, Ennald.)

He replied, "_Le hannon a tholel, Mellon._" (Thank you for coming, friend.)

She smiled in her heart and then turned and ran back to Kastor. She found him still slumped on the counter, sleeping and snoring loudly. She climbed back up his pocket and for the first time in a long while found it comfortable enough to sleep.


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## YayGollum (Oct 18, 2008)

On the river, a couple of night shift workers were unloading a boat. The younger one, a barrel-chested bear of a man, smirked when he saw a small and heavily-cloaked figure waving at them. He dropped the load he'd been carrying and gave a wave to indicate that the guy should leave. "Clear off! We don't have time for you. Got work to do." 

The little guy looked like he was searching through pockets under his cloak for a while, then he swept his hood off, lazily picked at his teeth, and seemingly pulled a scroll out of his mouth. He winked at the big guy but headed for his older companion, who was eyeing him suspiciously. He handed the scroll over, nodded at the crest on their boat, and drawled, "So we work for the same guy. I've got a more important job for you. Don't even worry about it. As you can see, you'll be well paid. Come on." 

Before the older guy was finished reading the scroll, the little guy put his hood back on and strode away. "Who's he think he is? Why, what's it say?" 

The older guy gulped and looked at his companion nervously. "He works for the big boss! Yeah, we'll get paid well, but we'll have to do whatever he says, or else!" 

The two trotted after the cloaked figure and ended up in an alley filled with the smell of charred flesh, a pile of smoldering bits that might have been charred flesh and clothes, and a bit of blood around the edges of the blackened area. The little guy picked at his teeth again. "You guys have clean-up crews, right?" 

The older guy nodded dumbly and contemplated the pile. The younger guy backed out of the alley, disgusted and horrified. "W-What happened in here?" 

The little guy just grinned as the other shushed him, then fixed their dubious benefactor with a glare. "We'll clean it up. Don't worry. But you'd better get out of the city fast. We aren't really used to-" 

The little guy interrupted with, "Yeah, yeah. I'm leaving tomorrow. Hey, think you can send this letter for me, too? Gotta report to the boss, you know." He produced a letter and snatched the scroll back. 

He interrupted the guy again as he was telling the younger one what they'd need. "You really don't do this often? Big city like this? Ah, well. Things'll pick up, I'm sure. By the way, know any magicians? Or have any passed through recently?" He explained, after only getting looks of confusion. "Oh, you know. Little girl. I love little girls, don't you? She wanted me to do the trick sword thing. I'm mostly a juggler and fire-breather, as you can see, but if that's what's popular, I could use one of those swords."


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## Firawyn (Oct 18, 2008)

Jamie walked away from the fountain with a smile. _Ennald, oh how long it had been since he'd been called that beautiful name!_ 

His thoughts turned to Artos, who he was sure was still angry with him. Jamie wanted to work with him. He, like Nin, was a fellow outcast. There was a certain irony in socializing with 'fellow outcasts', as to be an outcast was to be alone. 

Like to bear a Ring of Power was to be alone - but that was a long time ago. 

Jamie returned to his spot on the rooftop, in the glow of the moon. He had never gotten violent in the light of the full moon like a werewolf, but then again, when the moon was full he did all in his power to not be among other people. It was moments like this that he missed Silme. 

Silme, the elf who taught him all he knew about his own past. He hadn't understood how she knew so much about him until years later, when she reviled that she was his sister, through their mother. Unlike him, she was a pureblooded elf. She remained hidden, still, unknown to any on middle earth. 

Little Nin had alot to learn if she thought that she was the last of the pure blooded elf kind. Not many remained, this was true, but Silme wasn't the only elf in hiding of Jamie's knowlage.


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## YayGollum (Oct 29, 2008)

Kastor and Nandreeson said that they would be out, and Truor stomped off to make his own preparations, so Brandor decided to head back to the inn. He had lost his enthusiasm for sight-seeing after meeting the pair of assassins and said that he'd go to bed early. Narvi stood near his bed and waited for Brandor to relieve himself. "Do you think that my father would be proud of me?" 

Narvi sighed. "He would, I believe, as usual. You are very much alike." 

A beat. "Why, are you not?" 

A heavier sigh, mixed with a growl. "Of course not! You are both fools! Why did you let them go? They could easily reconsider. Either way, they had valuable information about your uncle. You should not have just dismissed them." 

Brandor sat up in bed and examined his friend. The living statue stood as stolidly as ever, staring at the door. "Are you angry with me? I can't tell." 

Narvi blinked and turned his head to display an annoyed but concerned expression. "I am, but there is little to be done. Sleep. Your father has less excuse than you. You are still very young." 

After smiling with relief, he defiantly informed, "Well, I won't be looking for those two anytime soon. Father was the one who taught me to forgive, and I can't do that yet." 

Narvi just nodded and turned back to the door. Half of him admired the young man's idealism, while the other snarled at the idea of forgiving an obvious enemy. Brandor fell asleep before Kastor came back, apparently drunk. Narvi stood watch, and, as the sun rose, he closed his eyes and wondered why it should matter that his stone eyelids were open or closed. How could stone see, anyway? 

"This is the one? Well, why are they just sitting around?" Narvi opened his eyes and frowned as Truor slammed the door open and dragged Nandreeson after him. "Time to go! I found your clown outside earning his bread already. The rest of you are just lazy. You already have a wagon, right?"


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## chrysophalax (Nov 8, 2008)

Irritated by inaction, Artos rose and stretched, his night spent napping under the tree serving only to give him a crick in his neck. He winced, rubbing at the sore spot. _Where is everone? _ he wondered as he made his way in the last direction he had seen the others take.

As he walked, he mused over Brandor's reaction to himself and Jamie. At first he had seemed open, welcoming even, but then Jamie seemed to rub him the wrong way and the boy had withdrawn sullenly. What had caused that? Con cern mixed with annoyance casued him to frown in cincentration. He had to find Brandor and try to make it right with him, if only to spite Horatio.

His thoughts turned next to the cause of the problem. Jamie. The man was a mystery, popping up out of nowhere causing trouble. Artos wondered what he had done wrong in his life to have so many things go wrong in it. _Ah, well...at least Serra hasn't turned on me yet. That's something!_

As he approached the inn, he saw a waggon pulled up at the side and the bustle of early morning preparations from within. Artos called Serra to him and told her to go inside and see what was happening. He himself felt far from welcome just now and decided that discretion would serve him better just now than direct confrontation.


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## Firawyn (Nov 8, 2008)

Morning dawned, and Jamie woke to find himself still on the rooftop he'd withdrawn to after his encounter with Nin. Oh he'd barley gotten out of that one with dignity, he recalled now. Just like with Artos. 

_Damn!_ Jamie cursed himself. He was not a people person. It's not that he didn't like being around people, he just had a tendency to offend them, and through that alienate himself. People rarely gave him a second change, not that he deserved it, really. He gave an image of confidence, but inside he trembled to be around people. This was very likely a piece of werewolf inside of him. Jamie almost growled at the very point. 

Jamie jumped off the rooftop, hitting the ground lightly - the elf in him of course. He found himself on an almost lonely street. To his surprise, he saw Artos standing in the shadows near the entrance of an Inn, sending Serra inside to investigate.

Jamie walked towards Artos, not even quite sure what he was going to say.


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## Ghorim (Nov 10, 2008)

“Let’s talk shop, shall we?”

This was the night before the group shoved off from the Vale. The night before, with Barulin stretched out on one of the three beds in the room he had rented out all to himself. It was the middle bed, the only one without some sort of unidentifiable stain on it.

The dwarf lounged with the air of a contented cat: mostly bored with his surroundings, but still host to a dormant ferocity and power. Glauer, wisely, tried to keep as much distance between the two of them as possible. He clung to the far wall, his right shoulder shoved against a hulking wardrobe cupboard nearly twice his size. The mousy fellow seemed ready to climb right in.

“Shop?” Glauer attempted a light-hearted grin, but the expression grew muddled with anxiety.

“Shop. I want to hear your thoughts about these new traveling companions of ours.”

Barulin was busying himself with a small block of firewood and a paring knife, slowly whittling away flecks of bark that fell to rest in the dark curls of his beard. He halved his attention between Glauer and the emerging sculpture that he held in his hands.

A shout from outside the window drew Glauer’s harried glance. Just a drunk calling out one of his old mates, but enough to push the dwarf's nerves one inch closer to shattering. He looked back to Barulin, who hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Eh... what are their names again? I didn’t get a good look at either one, I’m afraid.”

“Aye... I thought as much.” Barulin gave an emphatic stroke with his knife, which produced a sharp slicing noise to fill the silence. “You were much too engaged with that honey cake of yours to take proper note of your surroundings.”

Glauer cringed a bit, stroking his beard out of nervous habit. A few errant honey cake crumbs went tumbling to the floor, unnoticed.

“Artos. Jamie. Ridiculous names, I know, but so are the ones that we must carry in human company.” Barulin finally gave Glauer a quick look, and in that fleeting instant tied the other dwarf’s stomach into a constricting knot. “So... how much do you trust them?”

“Trust them?”

“Stop repeating my questions back at me.”

“Sorry... eh... it’s just hard to _say_, really, how much you trust someone. It depends on the situation, I suppose...”

“All right, then. I’ll make things simple. On a scale of one to ten, how much do you trust each of them? 'One' meaning you wouldn’t so much as turn your back in their presence, 'ten' meaning you’d gladly share a brew with them and spill your whole life’s story?”

“Oh.” Silence. “Well... Jamie... his ears have a bit of a _point_, don’t they?”

“I noticed that as well. He also came straight out and named himself half-Elven, in case you hadn’t been listening. So... what’s your number on him?”

“I suppose... a four, perhaps? He seems rather talkative and forthcoming... and Elves, annoying as they may be, don’t have a predilection towards deceit...” Glauer halted his speech and looked to Barulin for some show of approval.

The knife continued to caress the wood with steely patience. Barulin did not look up. “Artos.”

“Artos?”

Barulin pointed the knife straight at Glauer’s chest from across the room, a feral burst in his eyes. “What did I _tell_ you about repeating my words?”

“M-m-my deepest apologies!” Glauer bowed in an impromptu display of embarrassment. “I...well... that one I cannot trust in the least... there is an air about him... I cannot say, exactly. But... no, I must give him a one.”

“But did you not hear him?” Barulin lowered his implements for a moment, looking surprised. “He pledged his _life_ to Brandor’s quest. He has cast his deceit aside and sworn himself toward good, don’t you think?”

“Well... that is true! Perhaps a... _six_ is more in order for him.”

Barulin smirked and turned his attention back to his project. Glauer, thinking he had just survived a terrible interrogation, plummeted down into one of the two chairs that flanked the room’s little table. His breath was heavy. Somehow, courage and inspiration both struck him at once, and he glanced to Barulin.

“What numbers would _you_ give them?”

The other dwarf gave another peek up from his labors, flashing an annoyed scowl. “Ones to both, of course.”

Glauer hopped to his feet in shock. “But you just said...”

“I say a lot of things, unfortunately.” Barulin eyed a slight miscue in his carving, and set to correcting it, not looking up. “But trust is too valuable a thing to just hand away upon first meeting. These strangers must earn mine, one point at a time, and I suggest you adopt a similar policy.”

“And you? What am I supposed to make of _you_, then?” Glauer brandished one of his long, bony, tinkerer’s fingers in Barulin’s direction, his nearsighted eyes squinting in the dimming light.

“Glauer...” Barulin placed both the knife and woodcarving on his bedside table, brushing away the wood peelings from his beard as he did. “We are kin. In the world of Men, who else can we trust?”

The accusing finger and its companions fell back to Glauer’s side. The dwarf slouched and rubbed at one of his eyes. “Well... your point is made.”

“Get some sleep, then.” Barulin motioned to each of the other two beds. “Just avoid the stains, if you can.” He turned to his right, eyeing the candle that lit most of the room. With one gale gust of breath, it was extinguished.

---

Both dwarves joined the party’s lineup in the hallway the next morning. As usual, they were generally ignored. But the sailor Kastor, clearly haunted by spirits from the night before, turned a baleful eye on Barulin. 

“And I suppose you are joining our merry band as well?”

Barulin shrugged, not bothering to return the gaze. His leather hood was pulled quite low, almost obscuring his eyes. “So long as you and the rest don’t revolt against my presence.”

“And to what purpose do you plan to serve?”

“This one’s bodyguard.” Barulin clamped one of his broad hands onto Glauer’s right shoulder, and shook the sleepy fellow from head to toe.

“Wonderful...” Kastor glanced up and down the growing group, making a silent count in his head and seeming rather displeased with the result.

“Well... if we are indeed going out to sea, it ought to help to have a healthy number of crew members.” This helpful bit of wisdom came from the mouth of Glauer.

“What do you know of the sea, dwarf?” Now Kastor turned to the tinkerer.

“Eh...”

“Well,” Barulin cut in here. “It is vicious. And uncaring. That is all anyone need know.”

The conversation might have continued further here, but Truor was already marching about, yelling in their ears. They were off, the lot of them. While a wolf made its first tentative sniffs at the inn’s front door, Barulin and Glauer trudged for the main stairwell.


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## chrysophalax (Nov 10, 2008)

"About time you showed up. What were you playing at, lounging about on rooftops and then disappearing. Think I wouldn't notice? Valar, Jamie, what sort of companion _are_ you? What if the inn had been attacked and burned to the ground?"

Artos wasn't in the habit of berating perfect strangers, but this man had said he wanted to travel with him, become his friend of all things. In his opinion, this _wasn't_ the way to begin a working relationship!

"Good morning to you too, Wolfhame! Are you always this cheerful at first light?" replied Jamie with a crooked grin on his face.

"No, most times I'm in a _bad _ mood. Now go in and..." The scruffy old man named Truor barrelled out the door, shoved Artos aside and fixed him momentarily with a jaundiced eye before bawling for someone to bring the waggon around front. Serra soon followed looking slightly cowed. Crouching down next to her, Artos ruffled her fur, he listened as she wuffed softly in his ear.

_There are two dwarves and the others we have already seen. There is also one that smells like a lizard. I do not trust him, Father. And the boy seems to be depressed by all accounts._ She glared at Jamie. _It seems to be his fault._

Thanking her with a scratch on her ruff, he stood and glowered at Jamie. "She says you've annoyed Brandor somehow. We can only hope he will allow us to still join his merry band, because I hate having to trail after people for their own good." He sighed loudly. "I suppose I'll have to see what I can do to mend the situation. Come on if you're coming."


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## Firawyn (Nov 11, 2008)

"She says you've annoyed Brandor somehow. We can only hope he will allow us to still join his merry band, because I hate having to trail after people for their own good." Artos sighed loudly. "I suppose I'll have to see what I can do to mend the situation. Come on if you're coming."

"I can hear her just as you can," Jamie muttered inaudibly. He followed Artos, trying very hard not to sulk. But that was how he felt, like a sulking dog following an unworthy master. All the same, Jamie kept his chin up, knowing that sulking would put Artos right back in a foul mood, and it would bring them to a worse end than the end for which they were already heading. 

Suddenly, Serra fell back to where he walked behind Artos. _There's more wolf in you than you think, if you understand my speech,_ she woofed quietly. 

"I know," Jamie replied sullenly. 

_How about the full truth of what you are?_ Serra asked.Jamie looked away. 

_So how much of a werewolf are you? _Serra persisted.

"What I said was true. I was only scratched, not bitten. But what I didn't tell was that, years later I would discover that my birth father was bitten. He did not tell my mother, and they lay together that night. By morning he was gone one a trial of vengeance, hunting down and killing all the werewolves he could find. When he returned, I had been born, and he had changed over. I have a little wolf blood in me from this and that, like a festering wound that has no chance of healing. I become more wolf-like with each passing year - and with an immortal life, I weary to think of what an age of festering will turn me into. I lay with no woman in fear of what I might do to her. I make no companions save those I can do no real harm to, like Artos."

_I think perhaps your elf-blood holds the infection at bay to an extent._ Serra mused. 

"I think so as well," Jamie concurred. 

_But what motivates you to join this caravan?_

"I want to do something to help someone, to amend for my crimes." Jamie answered. "And if death finds me in that process, I would not be sorry. I have no want for immortality."

_But it is your immortal elf blood that has kept you thus far from ruin._ Serra said pointedly. 

"Serra!" Artos called.

Serra took one last look at Jamie. _Do not think that I trust you, Fenris, but I no longer doubt your tale or your motives._

With that, the wolf pranced forward to catch up with Artos. Jamie quickened his own pace so not to fall behind.

"You took my company, Artos." Jamie called.

Artos looked sour. "She's not yours."

"She's a free being, so not yours either." 

Artos grunted. "May be, may be."


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## chrysophalax (Nov 11, 2008)

Artos narrowed his eyes, which, for the few that knew him was never a good sign.

"Are you deaf, or just rude? I asked you some questions I'd like the answers to." He ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated. "How am I supposed to just accept what you say when you run off like that?"

The others in Brandor's group were stirring now, talking, arguing, grabbing bites of early morning bread as they waited for everyone to assemble. Artos had hoped for a quiet word with the boy, but that didn't look like happening now.

With nothing to do now but wait, Wolfhame stalked over to watch as one of the inn's lackeys was struggling to hitch the group's waggon to a horse who had seen better days and with a temper like a badger, judging from the number of times the lad dodged the horse's large yellow teeth.

"You see that?" he asked no one in particular, "That horse wants nothing more than to be left alone to do whatever it is horses do. I can honestly say, I know how he feels, poor devil...Hey! Boy!" Artos dug in his pockets a retrieved a withered apple with only one bite out of it. "Catch! And stop calling him names!"

"So you _do_ have a heart."

"Just shut up and answer my questions."


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## Firawyn (Nov 11, 2008)

Jamie sighed. Structured inquiry and social expectations were not among his lessons learned in life. "I am sorry. I was meeting a friend last night. I fell asleep on the roof quite by accident. Certainly I did not want a stiff back this morning. And attack? Come now Artos, that Inn has stood absently for who knows how long, I doubt it would burn to the ground now. Besides, if it had, Brandor and company are fitter than you or I, they could have managed without our aid. And furthermore, if you do not trust what I say, what is the point of me answering your questions?"

Artos face was unreadable. Perhaps he was angered by Jamie's sharp reply, perhaps he was satisfied with Jamie's aswers, or perhaps his mind lingered elsewhere. Eitherway, Jamie knew that they had to start getting along better, if any companionship was going to form. 

"Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot." Jamie said quietly. "I can't go back in time and do over anything, anymore than you can. What must I...what must we do to better get along?"


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## YayGollum (Nov 16, 2008)

Truor fiddled with his beard as he inspected and whispered with the horses. He tapped a heavy boot impatiently as Brandor came out of the inn again. Everyone looked ready to go, but he had been dithering, making excuse after excuse to wait a bit longer. The boy's eyes lit up when he saw the wolf, but he frowned with confusion when he couldn't find its owner nearby. 

While he wondered how many wolves were likely to be loose in the city, and if he should tell someone important about it, Narvi came up behind him and boomed to the others, "We found his journal. It was right where he left it. It does not appear to have been tampered with." He slapped a hand on Brandor's shoulder and insisted, "We can go now, yes?" 

Brandor winced and glared. "No! Um, just one more thing! Now, where was it?" Looking for Artos and Jamie, he waved a finger around, searchingly. 

Truor had been shooing well-wishers away all morning, but a crowd had drifted from him to Nandreeson, who was amazing them with some sleight of hand tricks. Distracted by Narvi, he growled when yet another Beorning deposited himself in front of him. "Argh! Can't you see I'm busy? It's about time I left this place, once and for all! You're a young guy. Who are your parents? Probably a bunch of -" 

He stopped when the guy grinned widely and let out a laugh. "Ha! We know you'll be back! You're just going out to bring us more stories, old man. I wanted to see you off. Looks like half the town has had the same idea." 

Truor glared at Nandreeson's crowd, checked to see if Brandor was ready yet, then mumbled, "I might come back. But don't count on it! There have to be better places than the Vale of Anduin! Huh! Maybe I'll bring back a few Orcs to make it like the old days! You kids have had it too good."


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## chrysophalax (Nov 17, 2008)

A reluctant grin spread itself scross his face as Artos listened to Truor threatening some old acquaintances. _The old man has style, I'll give him that!_ he thought, then saw Brandor standing in the nidst of the chaos, looking as though he'd forgotten something.

Turning to Jamie, he said, *Look, we'll sort this out on the road. Serra like you, so you can't be all bad. Just...try not to disappear again or get in too much trouble. I have the feeling that travelling with the boy will entail a little more excitement than usual!"

With that, he stepped close to the young man who turned, and, finding Artos so close, jumped slightly before covering his surprise with a nervous laugh. "There you are. I was looking for you." Artos' eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Good, because I was looking for you too, Brandor. Listen, I know you have know reason to trust me, especially since I was sent here to...well, anyway...let's just say it wasn't for your health." Irritated with himself for treating Brandor with such delicacy, he forged on.

"I know things about your uncle, things I'm sure your father never told you. Yes, he's a shrewd businessman, one of the best in the shipping business, which is why your father's company is so wealthy, but...his methods are ruthless, Brandor and he's greedy. I guess what I'm asking is for you to let me go along with you, at least until I feel for certain you're out of danger. I know many of his...associates by sight, so I think I'll be able to spot trouble before even your captain friend there, would. It's the least I can do for, you see...I owe your father for getting me out of a rather sticky predicament several years ago. What do you say?"


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## YayGollum (Nov 17, 2008)

Brandor seemed to be mulling it over, but he shortly broke into a grin and offered a hand to be shaken. "I accept!" While shaking, he peered around for Jamie. "Now, where's that elvish friend of yours? He really took me by surprise, yesterday, but don't worry. I can take a joke." He placed a hand on Artos' back to lead him down to the wagon. Narvi released him, followed, and rolled his eyes when Brandor turned back to give him a huge wink. 

At the wagon, Brandor announced, "Everyone, please welcome our newest companion, Artos! He sounds like he has some stories to tell!" Truor just trotted up to the wagon, sized the wolf up, and waited for these new additions to settle in. Nandreeson had been extricating himself when he saw that they finally looked ready to leave, and he doffed an imaginary hat at the guy. "Another dissatisfied employee, eh? We'd all be more loyal, if only they'd pay us, right? I look forward to your stories about the boss!" 

He hopped into the wagon, and Brandor grinned. "Yes, not many are fond of my uncle, but I'm sure that he means well. He is financing this expedition, after all! How would you like to be a sailor, by the way?"


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## chrysophalax (Nov 17, 2008)

Serra leapt happily into the waggon as though she had ridden in one all her life, while Artos was busy mulling over Brandor's question. "A sailor? Well, I do have some little experience with ships, having sailed with my old friend Serewing a time or two, but I have to say, my wolf gets sea-sick, so we'd best keep her below decks."

He waved at Jamie, trying to get his attention. "Jamie! Wake up, we're leaving!" Nandreeson settled himself next to the wolf-trainer, which made Artos' skin crawl for some unknown reason.

"I'm not sure I want to be telling just _anyone_ the things I know about...a certain person of our mutual acquaintance," he said quietly, hoping the thin man would get his drift. "but I _do_ know he never trusts those who go against him, so tell me, friend, why do _you_ speak of him in such a manner?"

All his sense were on alert now. It was evident that Brandor trusted Nandreeson, but then, he seemed to trust everyone! What was it about this man that made him feel so...edgy? He knew he was going to have to grow eyes in the back of his head before this adventure was over if he hoped to stay alive.


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## YayGollum (Nov 17, 2008)

Brandor welcomed Jamie aboard and shook his hand. With a grin ---> "You are in for a surprise, if you think that I'm all talk. I don't know if you heard one from me or from someone else, but all of my stories are true. Why, look at Narvi, for one!" Narvi, bracing himself in the center of the wagon, dutifully waved. "With magic like him around, I wouldn't doubt the existence of elves, either!"

Truor, once everyone was in, told the driver head out. They were to meet up with a caravan on its way east. He stayed as far away from the wolf and elf-smelling people as he could and distracted himself by arguing with the driver about whether Dwarves still lived in the now inaccessible Lonely Mountain. 

Nandreeson rolled his eyes at Artos. "No need to keep silent, my reluctant assassin! Horatio can't hear us from the coast, you know! Doesn't everyone hate him? Even if they don't know how far he'll go, he's famous enough as a miser. I've worked for his outfit a couple of times, only because I had to, but I'll work for anybody. Kastor's had it lucky, getting to work with his brother, though." He nudged Kastor with an elbow. "Eh, Kastor? It'll be one fun ship, when we find Brandor's old man!"


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## Firawyn (Nov 18, 2008)

Jamie smiled to himself, thoroughly pleased at this element of comradeship. He kept silent though, still unsure of how to properly act in social settings. He mumbled thanks to Brandor upon being hoisted into the wagon, glancing at Artos who was sitting sullenly in the darkest corner to be found. Jamie thought that at this point Artos might have lightened up a bit, as his objectives were being presently fulfilled, but he still maintained his firm and irritable disposition. 

Jamie moved hastily towards the back of the wagon to sit next to Artos, before he could loose his resolve to continue the earlier interrupted conversation. Upon seating himself and catching Artos’ less than friendly gaze, his resolve did in fact evaporate, and Jamie searched his mind for some other topic to discuss. After a moment, it came.

“Why do you hide so?” Jamie asked. “You should be pleased that we are among Brandor’s caravan and not tracking it, yes?”

“Welcome is in their words, but I do not think it is in their hearts,” Artos answered gruffly. “An outcast I remain.”

“Do you not feel lonely?” 

“I have Serra, and you I suppose. No, not lonely. When so many are lonely, as seem to be lonely, it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely, alone.” Artos answered. For a moment, he looked to Jamie to be more noble and less wretched. 

Jamie’s resolve rebuilt in this moment, and he decided to ask Artos again what they might do to better get along. “I wanted to ask you…”

“Stop asking questions!” Artos snapped. “If you would shut up for more than five seconds you might have noticed that we are stopping. We can’t be at the dock yet. Something else has held us at bay.”

After a moment’s pause, Jamie realized that Artos was right – they were stopping. He saw Brandor looking surprised, and Kastor, like Artos, looking concerned. Jamie could sense Nin’s fear, and in his own heart a sense of foreboding was growing. Several of the party had loosed their swords in their scabbards, at the ready for whatever trouble might be stalling them.


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## chrysophalax (Nov 19, 2008)

Mentally, Artos slapped himself. _I'm letting these people get to me!_ he thought irritably. Serra, meanwhile was laughing at him, her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth in amusement. _What will you give me if I find out what is delaying us, Father? My nose tells me already!_

With that, she threaded her way through several sets of legs, then jumped out the back of the waggon. _"Women. Fur or not, they're all the same."_ grumbled Artos. He raised a hand to get the attention of those who seemed ready to defend life and limb, their hands readying weapons of varying descriptions.

"Easy, men! Serra's gone to see what the trouble is, so everyone, relax." He glanced at Nandreeson as he spoke, for the man seemed far too...at ease. Having stated that he was on the employ of Horatio, Artos was now even more suspicious of him than he had been earlier. 

Leaning closer to the man, Artos asked softly, "What sort of work did you perform for him? Did you deal with him through Thomas, or directly?" Jamie leaned close, trying to overhear, but Artos scowled at him and he leaned back, arms folded across his chest. "Yes, _sir!"_

Frowning, Wolfhame opened his mouth to argue, but was then knocked sideways by a large wolf landing in his lap. Together, they fell in a tangle to the floor of the waggon, startled laughter erupting around them.

_A broken down hayrick and a cartful of goats running loose, Father! Did you know goats can run fast if I chase them?_ Artos burst out laughing and hugged her around the neck as she licked his face thoroughly. A boot in the side made him look up to see Jamie's face looking back questioningly.

"The delay was goats, gentlemen. Brandor, I think it safe to move on!"


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## Firawyn (Nov 21, 2008)

Jamie laughed out loud. “It seems that Serra is the only brave one of us all!” He knew better, he had heard her words as well as Artos had. 

Jamie moved his hand to scratch behind Serra’s ears, and for a second she flinched, and Jamie feared he had presumed too much. But then she relaxed and before Jamie could react, Serra jumped onto his lap, and licked his face clean. If this was not a gladness in itself, Jamie heard Artos’ continuing laugh, and his heart opened.

For some time, Jamie had felt very outcast – his lone friend in this band was the hidden one, Nin. Why did she have to hide so? What did she gain in the mystery? And why in middle earth was she so obsessed with Kastor? Jamie had known many men and woman who were saved by others, yet they did not cling to their saviors like one would cling to a god! Nin was more devoted to Kastor than anyone Jamie had ever met was devoted to Eru. Jamie thought her very weak for this. She did not seem to have a voice of her own. Even Serra was more independent of body and thought than Nin. Which brought Jamie back to his thought - how he no longer felt such an outcast. 

_Yes,_ Jamie thought to himself_, Let little Nin be the outcast now. See how she likes the feel of rejection_.

“Jamie,” Artos said heartily, “Mind Serra’s teeth, she likes to nibble on –,” but he was cut off by Jamie’s yelp as Serra nibbled at his ear. 

_So you remember me, uncle._ Serra said.

“I had no notion I could forget you without your biting me!” Jamie exclaimed. 

Serra appeared to pout. _Stop behaving like a whipped pup. And Father, stop behaving like a wizened old man with your heart so sour. If the two of you would act more like your true selves, you might each find the brother you both seek. _

Jamie and Artos said nothing, but in the silence, and in a quick glace at each other, they knew that Serra was right. For Jamie’s part, he knew that from now on, things would be different between he and Artos. It would still take time to form the brotherhood that Jamie so longed for, but the butting heads would surely lessen. Jamie knew that it was time he stopped looked to the past and started setting his mind on the present.


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## YayGollum (Nov 22, 2008)

Since the goats had been chased off, the wagon rolled onwards. It stopped again, after only a couple of lengths, when the driver heard, "Truor! Wait! Old Truor, you rascal!" coming from behind them. 

Anyone checking out the back would have seen what was apparently an old and roly-poly Dwarf with a large pack. Truor hopped off the wagon and blinked with surprise but zero recollection. "I am Truor. And who are you supposed to be?" 

The Dwarf breathed heavily for a bit, once he caught up, then said with dismay, "Oh, don't give me that! You know me. It's Boffin! We sailed on The Spicy Lady together! And there were a couple of other adventures..." 

Truor evaluated at the Dwarf skeptically and finally shook his head with disbelief. "You might just be! But, by Aule's beard, you've gotten old! Why are you out here? We were just on our way to Dale to fetch your expertise." 

Boffin chuckled and dislodged a few bits of hay that were stuck in his beard. "I make short trips of my own, occasionally. You've never been in the Vale while I've looked for you, though. May I come in?" 

Without asking leave, Truor helped him into the front of the wagon. "Of course, of course! Brandor, Kastor, fellow travelers, you three killers, this is Boffin, an old friend of mine. You won't find anyone on Middle Earth who knows more about what we'll be heading into. He claims to have been taught pretty much every crazy story the elves had to tell, before they left. Now, most of them are clearly his imagination, but I've sailed with him before, and he had much to tell us about the various dangers we came across, usually after they'd attacked, but he is still quite useful." 

Boffin bowed and beamed at everyone but was soon tapping his foot at Truor's introduction. "Ah, yes. I have been branded a bit of a scholar. What are you heading into, then?" 

Truor gave a very broad explanation of the purpose of the expedition and the doubt that their goal was even realistic, then pointed at Artos, Jamie, and the wolf while asking Brandor, "Do they even know this?"


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## chrysophalax (Dec 2, 2008)

Raising a sardonic eyebrow at being called a killer, Artos looked the dwarf over curiously. He had never before met one of Durin's Folk, not to mention one versed in the ways of elves.

The dwarf struggled with his pack, nearly taking a tumble before dumping it heavily on top of Artos' foot. He yelped as Boffin hurriedly lifted it off, spouting apologies. "No harm done." Artos winced. "What've you got in there anyway? Bricks?"

"Not bricks, my good man. Books!" He began to delve into his pack, only to suface moments later with several tomes bound in rich leathe, each looking well cared for. "As I said, I'm a bit of a scholar and these... these are my treasures!" His eyes lit with enthusiasm as he began reading titles aloud.

"Gandalf: Maia or Maniac by Anonymous, Never Fall For a Mortal by Arwen Undomiel Telcontar, A Compendium of Elven Remedies for Unsightly Rashes by Altieria Motife and, oh yes!" Here he held aloft a very small, very tatty scroll, "The only know Orcish love sonnet, Love is Bad by..." A wooden clatter of something falling on the floor broke his concentration.

Stooping down, Artos lifted a tiny wooden doll in the shape of an elf with mismatched ears and Boffin snatched it from him, his face scarlet. "It's nothing, a hobby..." he mumbled, stuffing the figure deeply back into his pack. "Don't now how it got there."

"Fascinating stuff you have there, master dwarf. Now tell me, have you ever heard of Serewing and his ship, the Bloodflower? Does she yet sail?"


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## Firawyn (Dec 6, 2008)

Jamie bent and picked up a second wooden figurine, this one also elven, but less rough. "This is excelent craftsmanship, friend Boffin," he said, handing the figure to the dwarf.

Boffin grew less red at Jamie's compliment. "Thank you, master..."

"Jamie, at your service," he finished, and did slight bow as was the custom of the dwarf kind.

"And what kind of creature are you, pardon my asking, Master Jamie?" Boffin inquired. "You look a man, but there is a feel of elf in your voice."

"I am half-elven, tainted by the blood of werewolves." Jamie had no idea what drove him to be so open in that moment. This was common knowlage to some in the group, but not all. Jamie could feel Artos' eyebrows raising behind him, and he could sense Nin's feelings. She seemed to be upset that he would confess to any but her. Now he had confessed to all.

"Quite a pedigree you have there," Boffin commented.

"It is my burden to bear, to fit totally with no one." Jamie replied. "But in this mismatched group, I feel quite at home. I only hope that my misfourtune can be of help to Brandor, in some way."

Jamie glanced back at Artos now, and smiled. He wasn't sure why he smiled at Artos, but he was smiling more at himself at the present, because it had been ever so long since he'd been completely honest about himself to anyon, and it felt good.


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## YayGollum (Dec 15, 2008)

At Jamie's announcement, Brandor gasped and stumbled back in fear and disgust, was confused when nobody else shrank back, but was quickly overcome with curiosity and was trying to work out on his fingers how it all made sense. "Half elf and half werewolf? Or half elf and half human, with a little werewolf, somewhere among his ancestors? Well, a werewolf is just a man under some kind of curse, from what I've heard. There is no werewolf blood. Maybe werewolf venom? Does the elf in him make him less of a monster? Wait! So there really were elves?" 

Narvi was instantly on his feet and between them, knowing nothing of werewolves or elves, just reacting to Brandor. Nandreeson just edged away and tried to look a bit nervous. Truor pulled Boffin out of the way, glared at Narvi and gave a calming wave, then sized Jamie up again. "With a tongue like that, it's a wonder that you survived the Vale of Anduin! The wolf was bad enough!" He fixed the guy with a sober stare. "But you're right about this group being a good place for you. I've dealt with an elf or two, so I'm sure that I can handle a half-breed!" As an afterthought, "Werewolves, too, actually, but they're more trustworthy." 

Boffin, certain that he was safe, plopped down on the floor and dragged his pack over, where he peeked inside to make sure that everything was there. With an exasperated glance at Truor, he beamed at Artos, until he remembered the guy's question. "Bloodflower? Serewing? I'm sorry, but no, I've never heard of them. I've been in Dale for so long, and I'd only know elvish ships. Why do you ask? Is that another part of this adventure?"


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