The Trauma of History

[Aufidius]

While the three great races of Tarimis bickered their way into the growing possibility of conflict, in the deep city of Kazucdir, the dwarves of the great city had heard very little about the brooding tensions that swirled above. Few had even heard about the sarcophagus crisis which had facilitated the return of old prejudices and watered the dormant seeds of mistrust. Enclosed by rock and steel, the market quarter bustled with trade from other underground cities; there was the occasional chatter of why so few human tradesmen had ventured to the deep, but the vigilant guard and well placed spy explained it all away with misdirection and rumour.

"Not seen a human merchant down here in a week," one woman was saying, her hands busy polishing a mirror gilded with a silver crest of the clanhold. "'Tis the polish you see, for the chestnut frame. Usually get a regular batch from the men over Fleaswood way. Just stopped coming, right when I needed some!" There was more than a touch of irritation in her voice, but there was little that indicated she knew of recent troubles.

"You know humans. Likely they forgot to ready their bees for the winter. Thought I heard old Thorm say he had some left, you might ask him..." grumbled a reply, the tired tone of his voice betraying an unenthusiastic view of today's shift. Satisfied that the shop owner had believed him, Uys Krige left her to seek and sell her wears - he was to be released of this menial duty in just a few moments time, and was anxious to return to the great hall where there would be fresh news of the real events that had caused rising tensions on the surface. As he walked up the steps which lead back towards the Clanhold, he looked over the basin of trade and commerce and despaired at how he was being kept in this opaque bubble of ignorance. If there was conflict, the dwarven way was to stand and face gathering foes with a line of well crafted shields. If there were talks to be had, then let them be had. The sense of wallowing in inaction was something he had rarely been able to stand for long.

"Ah, Uys, time for you to head to the great hall I think - Irsbane himself is expecting you. I'll take over your job here" - the face of the guardsman was warm and understanding. His name was Bahuthk, a veteran officer with a long grey beard and heavy lines over his brow; he had known Uys for some time, and their understanding was typically dwarven - deep and of few words. "Aye, the market... is the market," Uys offered in monotone response. The two warriors nodded and then went upon their way, each of them keeping their wandering thoughts within the stoic boundaries of duty.

As he walked into the great hall, Uys breathed in its magnificence. The marble arches which supported the roof, some fourteen metres above his head, were decorated with lavish maroon banners and the insignia of Irsbane. The ceiling was painted with the epic tales of the clan's ancestors and the story of the dwarven race itself; the ties between clan, city and race were recounted in almost all dwarven art, and yet there was nothing as moving as the ceiling of the great hall. Even from fourteen metres below, the scale of the painting was entwined with such rich detail, that even the most stone-hearted dwarf was frequently moved to tears upon its sight and study. Lastly, the statues of Kazucdir's most famous clan leaders, generals and smiths, lined the long walk to the throne of Irsbane himself. The walk to the end of the hall was a heart rendering experience, no matter how many times it was taken. The bodyguards that stood by the pillars each nodded to Uys as he strode towards his leader, their respect wakened by the sound of his heavy feet echoing throughout the vast structure. As the son of Jys reached the golden throne, his eyes caught sight of Irsbane - his body draped in fine white cloth, his head supporting a thin, golden crown, and his hand holding the great hammer of Kazucdir. When he arrived at the thick, red line on the floor, Uys took to his knee and bowed in deepest respect. For a moment, there was complete silence in the hall before the words of the clanlord were spoken:

"Welcome back, Uys son of Jys. You are a great friend to this city, to me and to your King. Your house is one of our most loyal, and you one of its most powerful; together, we - the King and I, believe you may be the right choice for a task of... prodigious precedence."

Uys waited until he was sure Irsbane had finished speaking, it being of gravest offence to interrupt a clanlord; following another brief silence, he calmly began his reply - "My lord, I am yours in service. But state what is expected of me and I shall strive to follow every detail."

Irsbane smiled warmly; he respected Uys on a level that went beyond expected formality, but here in court, language was dictated by convention; as such, he continued in the manner required of a leader.

"The situation lies thus, son of Jys. The theft of the sarcophagus has been a hammer to cooperative foundations built since we have worked with elves and men on this ancient city. Much and more has been lost in its disappearance. The dead bodies of armed men feed the already stoked fires of human anger, and the elves are quick to deride follies they consider beneath their pride to envisage making. Greater still, is the knowledge that the artefact and the tombs travelling with it, may not only be lost to us, but may now reside in the hands of those who cultivate designs against us." The gravity of his voice was a whetstone to the words, sharpening their meaning with a focus only a clanlord could give. "Time has moved on since this crime. Too much, perhaps, though we have not been idle. I have met with human and elven representatives. We have decided on action." A pause encouraged Uys to form a reply in his mind, but was soon cut off again by Irsbane - "There will be a union of our peoples. Of human, of Elf, of Dwarf. Where there is mistrust, roots of a new understanding will be planted. Where bitterness lies, cooperation will see it cleansed. Where passions of anger take hold, a shield brother at each others' side will restore the spirit of friendship. And together, this artefact will be found, Uys. You must not fail me in this."

"My lord, I will not. Provide me only with details, and I shall do as you speak."

"Details will come, housecarl. When the others come, you will all be given the details." Irsbane smiled slowly, seeing his words elicit confusion on his subject's face.

"Come, my lord? Here?" Uys spoke, his question soft as if he had misheard.

"Indeed. It took a while to call those chosen, and one in particular, has had very far to travel. Truth is, I do not know how we reached him. Still, they do indeed come here, to Kazucdir." The name of his city filled Uys with a rising sense of pride. To him, it was the greatest city save for the vast capital of Vánagandr. If there were strangers to come here, then he would show them true Dwarven hospitality.

"Where should I go to meet them, lord? In the civic hall?" The civic hall was where the people's council met, and where ambassadors and other distinguished guests were often entertained.

Irsbane let silence linger a while. For a moment, Uys had thought himself too bold in asking questions where he should not, but Irsbane was choosing each word carefully, "No, here, in the Clanhold. The meeting will take place in the great chamber." The shock came to the housecarl like a clap of thunder.

"My lord, no outsider has stepped into the Clanhold in nearly two hundred years. It is..." Words failed him.

"A sign of trust. A symbol of great power. King Úlfr himself has permitted it. The humans know that no man in their generation, no their fathers' or fathers' before them, have set foot in a Dwarven Clanhold. It is an invitation to mend what must be mended. I will go and see to the hall, where you shall all be addressed. You must go to the gates of our city and meet our guests. If it is you who is to travel with them, then it must be you who extends the first hand of dwarven friendship."

On face value, Uys thought the request unfathomably strange, but it had come from his clan leader - to refuse was not a possibility that could even be slightly entertained. The two men of the deep held eye contact for the first time - it was then that Uys understood the weight, the sheer weight of the burden which pressed upon dwarven kind and Tarimis itself. A smile then graced Uys's lips as he strode out of the great hall.

As he neared the exit, he caught sight of a banner which hung upon one of the marble arches. It was a famous quote from a great runemaster of an epoch long since past, his true name forgotten to time. If the words were historically accurate or not now seemed irrelevant, as their resonance reached out to touch the housecarl who stood absorbed and still before them:

I did not fear. I opened the gates of my heart to hatred so deep-seated that to this day, whenever I catch sight of our mortal enemy, I feel it between my teeth and in the rousing violence of my arms and back. If a dawn of doom once again rises from the shadows, I will take my drum and issue a clap of thunder; then the darkness will know that no dwarf will ever submit, even as it swallows the world in a monstering horror; I will not scream. I will never scream.

Time dilated itself for a moment. Uys had caught himself up a great deal in the politics of this proceeding. He was forgetting the most important thing, which now raced into the passive aspects of his mind in a surge of passion. He was a warrior. A housecarl to the finest Dwarven people, and out there somewhere, was an enemy unknown which now threatened the security of all he knew. His core became strong and resolute. In ancient times, this unknown warrior of the banner had stood against an enemy shrouded in darkness. Uys would now do the same. His fist clenched the warhammer which rested easily to his side. He left the great hall, and boarded the wagon which would take him to the surface gate. There he would wait, and embrace his soon to be companions with the warmest offering of Dwarven generosity that he knew...

"Driver, swing by the market will ya? Two barrels of Olin's XXXX ale need picking up."

[Hank]

"... now then, you are to go to the Dwarven city of Kazucdir and meet with the representives of the three races. These are the King's orders, Revelation. This cannot be ignored." The priest looked at Revelation with a smile. "Consider it an honour! You will have a hand in restoring the relations between us, the elves and the dwarves. Does that not sound like returning balance to the world?"

"It does," Revelation admitted, his voice dark and hesitant.

They were in the inner courtyard of the House of Revelation, the isolated compound in Cathmau that housed the most important religious figure this side of the Kawartha river. Revelation got up from the bench he was sitting on and put his wooden training spear away. He wasn't clad in his armor, his torso bare and his lower half only covered in a silk pair of trousers that allowed great freedom of movement during training. Revelation's sparring partner, an expert spearman by name of Hidda, had retreated respectfully when the priest arrived. The floor was bare, just the sandy ground that defined the lay of these lands, and the compound around them constructed from limestone, painted a deep ocher. The late afternoon sun coloured everything an even deeper shade of reddish brown than it already was.

Turning back to the priest, Revelation spoke: "I shall go. But tell the King I do not appreciate him ordering me around."

"Oh, he knows," the priest said softly with a sigh and a chuckle. "You haven't liked it for hundreds of years."

---

The ground underneath Revelation's boots suddenly gave way with a crunchy sound and started to slowly slip into the river. Taking care not to fall, Revelation moved away from the riverbank and looked at the disturbance in the earth. The muddy soil around the small stream looked damp. Looking up, Revelation confirmed his suspicions -- it was still cloudy. There had been no rain for a while now but the melt-water from the snowy mountain peaks was supposed to inflate this river beyond its usual proportions. It had been unseasonably cold lately in these Dwarven lands, however, and Revelation deduced that perhaps the lack of sunlight for the past few days had halted the flow of melt-water. He caught himself and chuckled softly. He was only giving so much thought to this because his mind was racing. It had been for a week now, truth be told, ever since Revelation started this journey to the Dwarven city of Kazucdir. Of all the races, Revelation's dealings with the Dwarves had been the least extensive and he looked forward to seeing their famed underground cities of stone. But there was a deeper motive to his constant reveries. The mission he was on was a strange one. Generally, nobody dared to tell Revelation where to go and he was free to roam the lands as he saw fit, performing his duty in his own way. But one did not say no to the King's orders. Despite being perfectly aware of the importance of recovering the sarcophagus and mending relations between the races, it bothered Revelation slightly that he was now being wielded as a tool of sorts by his King. While he considered himself to be an ambassador of the world, Revelation was also still a human citizen and bound by law to follow the King's orders. It just felt wrong.

As he continued walking, Revelation took in the landscape around him. Rocky hills with strange, almost geometric exteriors dominated the horizon. Revelation knew these shapes had been carved out of the landscape over a long period of time by the river he was walking next to. It must have been much larger back then. Ahead of him, a veritable mountain rose and touched the sky with its peak. Revelation also knew this to be his destination but he was still too far to make out details, though he thought he could see gigantic statues carved into the mountainside. Impressed, Revelation hastened his stride, the links in his armor clinking softly.

In front of the mountain, still some distance away, the terrain looked irregular. Revelation narrowed his eyes and realized that it had been carved this way by Dwarven hands. In terrace-pattern, the land ascended to meet the foot of the mountain. His concentration was broken as he saw figures walk down the road ahead towards him. They looked small and stocky, moving with the plodding, deliberate gait Revelation had come to associate with dwarves. A few minutes later the group of dwarves, four all told, passed Revelation. The eyes of the women were big in wonder as they shamelessly stared at him, whereas the eyes of the men were narrowed in suspicion and distrust. Unbeknownst to Revelation, he was the first human to walk down his road in almost a week, but he just assumed it was the appearance of his armor that did it. Revelation took the hint and made no attempt to communicate with the dwarves aside from a respectful nod in passing, which wasn't returned. When the dwarves were out of earshot, Revelation sighed. This had the potential to become a complicated day.

By the time Revelation arrived at the terraced foothills of the mountain an hour had passed and the sun had almost moved behind the mountain, casting a massive shadow on the land. Revelation saw a large gate ahead. Figures, already small to Revelation's perceptions, were further made diminutive by the scale of the gate. It baffled Revelation how a race so much shorter than he could create such gigantic structures. Having spotted Revelation, a flurry of activity erupted around the foot of the gate and it slowly started to open, the groaning of stone-on-stone filling the air. Revelation could feel the scraping sound in his gut. The dwarves attending the gate made way, it seemed, and Revelation cautiously approached, unsure of what to expect...

[Data]

Laughter broke through the quite stillness of the forest and was followed by a short bark. Ilyria knelt beside Nyx with her hands buried in his thick black fur. "Nami, my dear mentor, you and the Council must be out of your respective minds! I mean no disrespect at all, but you of all people know how little I pay attention to the happenings beyond Quessir, even the rest of Cilmessë is not something I pay any great mind. Nami, I was born in the forests, and you want me to leave them?"

Nami was a tall elf who stood next to Ilyria. She was older, showing the centuries she had lived in the faint wrinkles on her face. "Iylria, you must understand something. You are a hero of the Cilmessë. I know that you do not see this, but look at the facts. You are a survivor of the Wall, and from what I hear even heard of your skills there. You are respected by the Beacon Holders, and when your family was killed, you did no sit back idly and let the Guard handle it. Now you are a respected Captain of the Guard and are one of the major reasons why we have been able to keep bandits at bay." The older woman reached down to place her hand on Ilyria's head. "You know that we will not force you into this position, but with your unparalleled skill in tracking, your standing in the eyes of the people, and you youth and passion, you are one of the best qualified for this position. The Council is not choosing you for your scholarly aptitude, there will be others there to handle that if you honestly are worried there, but we need your skills for this."

Standing slowly, Ilyria looked skyward though the blue sky and sun were blocked by the interwoven branches over head. She had never left this forest truly, even beyond the Wall it was still forest. "And I am to go underground? To this Dwarven city?"

"Yes, it is a glorious place, beautifully carved from the belly of the mountain. I visited once there in my youth, but I cannot say how much it could have possibly changed in two hundred years," the older woman smiled faintly and twined her arm around Ilyria's. "You will enjoy this, my dear. I believe that you will enjoy this experience very much."

---

The journey to Dwarven lands was an experience in itself for Ilyria. When the towering forests of Cilmessë gave way to rolling plains, Ilyria paused to take in the sight. To the woman so used to the comforting canopy of trees over head, it was a shock to be so out in the open. Nyx ran ahead with his nose to the ground. "Nyx," Ilyria warned when he disappeared into the grasses. With Nxy back at her feet, she carefully consulted the map given to her by the Council. Her ignorance of the world beyond Cilmessë was apparent, and this was something she was sure she would overcome on this endeavor. The route was easy with many main roads of travel leading up the the distant mountains. She encountered humans easily, and she had to over come her own personal distaste for the overly zealous people. Dwarves were different, more stable then humans. Other than a chance to deal with these peoples more directly than she had ever done before, her journey to Kazucdir was uneventful.

The mountain roads were far more lonely than those of the lowlands. The few dwarven she encountered were usually wary of her since she was an armed stranger and an elf on top of that, but one thing Ilyria was glad for was Nxy. While he was a hunting hound and fierce killer when needed, He was not wary of these peoples. It was his indiscretion that made speaking to those who shared the roads with her easier.

"What type of mutt is that?" an older dwarf asked. A scowl masked his features as he looked down at Nyx. He was graying and bald with a large leather pack upon his shoulders.

"He's a Black fox hound. They're a breed of the Cilmessë, my family bred them," Ilyria said with an easy smile at the man.

"Aye, an elven breed," he murmured as he stooped to stroke Nyx's ear. "This far along, I suppose yer headed to Kazucdir?" He looked up at Ilyria who nodded with a smile. "I don't suppose you'd mind the company of an old man?" he asked wit ha smile as he stood stiffly.

"I would enjoy the company, thank you," She said as she followed him up the road. "I am traveling here for the first time, and some one who knows the road you be wonderful company."

"What brings a young elf like you all the way out here?"

"Clanlord Irsbane is gathering a group of representatives from all the races to help with the current crisis. I was called upon to represent my nation, though it saddens me to say I do not know much beyond the forests of my land, and of course the Wall." Ilyria smiled ruefully.

"You've served time at the Wall?" the man asked enthusiastically. The rest of the journey was spent in exchanges of war stories and tales of past glories. The great city of Kazucdir was upon them, descending through the gate seemed natural with Bulfor, the older gentleman who had walked with her, and with his help was able to navigate the breath taking city to the halls she was supposed to meet with the emissaries.

[Mammoth]

Few dared venture past the wall, fewer still ventured toward the frozen ice shelves, past the orc encampments, giant mounds, and goblin forests. The Galian remained protected by their will to live in the harshest of climates. The blowing snows of Neverspring gusted high enough to engulf a man as he walked, if you could see him through the blizzard. The crowning achievement for the Galian, home to almost half their tribe. Evergreen trees carved into spikes lined the city's entire outskirts, standing some thirty feet tall. The creatures and beasts of the north couldn't breach walls they could not climb over. Nothing made this clearer than the rusting iron and arrows that still littered the walls, signs of battles fought many years ago. It was a testament to the strength of the Galian Bastion, what they called their capital. Since their birth, it had never been breached.

The winds whipped around the walls like the howls of demons long slain as a towering figure trudged through the knee deep snow. Ice stuck to his beard, blades, and armor as he walked to the gates, the eyes of a Great White Wolf staring off of his right shoulder.

"Qurah, Mammoth." The main guard said as the massive wooden gates lifted from their frozen holds. Massive plumes of smoke rose to the sky from the bonfires scattered about the makeshift streets inside Neverspring. Tents and huts made from wood, mud, and stone lined the city as far as the eye could see, a testament to the longevity of the Galian.

"Qurah, brother." Mammoth responded, making eye contact for only a moment with the soldier at the gate. Qurah, meaning strength, was the standard greeting for the Galian, who had few words of their own outside the common tongue. But, each held meaning to the tribe. As he entered the camp, the snow began to fall from his body as the great fires kept the temperature slightly above freezing. They were constantly fed by the Goblin forests to the southeast. Despite centuries of killing and cutting, the Galian had not made a dent, even in keeping their fires going nearly 12 hours a day when the sun no longer shined over the north.

"Mammoth, I'm back from the hunt!" A young warrior, clad in only a small tunic that covered his crotch ran up to him, carrying the hide of a grey wolf on his shoulders. He was shorter than Mammoth by nearly a foot, and not nearly as thick, but he was a Galian warrior nonetheless. Mammoth, being the Gal'thronir, was the most respected of the warrior class, second only to the Warlord Kormac.

"You 'ave." Mammoth smiled, raising his forearm and crossing forearms with the young warrior, just recently sixteen years old, "You ride as Grey Wolf. Bring death to the enemies of the eastern camps." The two nodded at one another in agreement, a new Death Rider having been born to the Galian this week. They needed all they could get, as their lands stretched the entire coast of the ice shelf far to the north. Twenty thousand strong, the Galian tribe was second in size to none but the massive Orc hordes, which numbered in the hundreds of thousands, if not more.

One building stood out among the huts of Neverspring, a large stone structure with the skull of a giant adorning the door. Mammoth entered the Great Hall, where stood the Warlord Kormac, adorned in a Bear pelt and the Frostheart, the cold steel breastplate that each Warlord to lead the Galian wears. "Qurah, Mammoth," Kormac beckoned to his Death Rider, sitting on a chair made from the bones of Orcs. He was a towering man, standing nearly 7 feet tall and weighing enough that he made even Mammoth look small. He rose from his chair and removed the cloak of bear hide that draped his shoulders.

"Qurah, Kormac." Mammoth responded. Walking up to his Warlord and standing before him, he set aside his weapons on the table to his right and removed his White Wolf cowl from his shoulder. Kormac jumped at him, swinging a heavy right hook toward Mammoth's head. Mammoth stepped back and countered, his bare fist slamming into the Warlord's hip. Kormac planted his left foot and clasped his hands together, delivering a crushing elbow to Mammoth's face and knocking him backwards. Mammoth landed on his back as Kormac lept into the air, raising his hands over his head, only narrowly missing as Mammoth rolled to his side and twisted to his feet. Kormac, surging forward, landed another strong blow to Mammoth's chin. Mammoth caught the next fist and turned his shoulders, throwing Kormac to the ground as the two began to laugh. Mammoth reached down to help Kormac to his feet as the much older man laughed, rubbing his shoulder.

"I always forget that you're faster than me." Kormac said, crossing forearms with Mammoth.

"And I forget that your fists are harder than that mammoth's tusk." Mammoth grinned, motioning to his jawline. It was common practice for a discussion like this to begin with a sparring match. The Galian took pride in doing battle, and they loved it more than anything. A good fight was to them like love was to the elves. Brotherhood among soldiers was never more apparent than when they fought in matches such as this. Though, none but Gal'thronir dares strike the Warlord.

"To the point..." Kormac said, covering himself up with his bear hide again as he sat down on his throne, "the southern kings have sent us a hawk with word of some old coffin they want help finding. You will go."

Mammoth's eyes widened with rage at the proposition, stepping forward and raising his voice, "To the hells with the southern kings. Those cowards leave us with the Orcs and Giants and now they want our help? I'd just as well cut their heads off for hidin' behind their walls." Mammoth cursed, spitting into the fire.

"I was not asking." Kormac said, growing impatient. There were no court customs to be held in the Northlands like there were in the south. The Galian did not have standards or rules, only guidelines of who should respect whom. It was not written down in text, but in blood. Should a tribesman warrant it in the Warlord's eyes, he was sent to die against the Orcs or the Giants armed with only a spear. If one were dishonored by this exile, he won back his honor through the test of blood and could die as a Galian Berserker. Mammoth, as with all Death Riders, had considerable more leniency to speak. Most tribesmen did, for that matter, so long as they knew when to step back from the argument.

"Say I go..." Mammoth said, pausing as he picked up his axes and hung them back in their places on his back, "What then? I go to the walls and smash my head against them until they crumble? The fairies will not let me walk through their gates." The Beacon Holders were not respected in the north, as they were commonly called fairies due to the lanterns they carried while patrolling the wall and because the Galian didn't respect them as warriors.

"Aye. That much is true." Kormac leaned his head back against his throne and stared up at the ceiling, waiting a long while before he spoke again. "They respect you, you know."

"Who?"

"The fairies. The hawk carried a request for you. You directly. You've made an impression from killing their scouting parties." Kormac laughed.

"Hmph." Mammoth grunted, "So they finally want us as their allies north of the wall? In case their mighty wall is ever breached?"

"Perhaps. It is something to consider. It can benefit us to have allies in the south. Besides, these old bones can sense when something is coming."

"What do you mean?"

"That artifact... It may mean more than we know. The Orcs move more, you more than anyone should know of that. Whatever riles the Orcs is worth paying attention to."

Mammoth lowered his head as he thought on what Kormac said. It was true that the Orcs had been moving much more frequently. They typically squabbled among one another, leading them to rarely becoming a serious threat to the safety of the camps, but recently the squabbles of had stopped and Orc corpses were fewer.

"We've seen the Orc rise under a Chief before. I killed the last one when I was 17, Kormac. I'll believe in prophecies and omens when I see the Orcs march as an army as they did generations ago."

"Aye. You're right. It's too soon to know what is in store. We'll fight, as we always do, but not with the south until it calls for it, eh? Return to your scouting, Mammoth. Qurah."

"For our blood, Warlord."

[Calvin]

The sun was just beginning to peek over the city walls of Diomos, bathing the fortress city with with a rich orange glow. The moisture from Lake Diomede, which the city was built over, collected on window panes, cooking pans, the fresh grass that grew charmingly around the stone and dirt paths of the city, and especially on the leaves of flowers just beginning to bloom on the market street. The streets were only beginning to fill with people readying their carts and wares for a day at market. There was plenty of space for a solitary elf to peacefully stroll down the path.

The city was still waking up, and so was Lin. At any other time she would be dashing across rooftops and swinging like an acrobat up and down the rows of shops in the district, so she relished the chance to choose her own pace. Stopping in the middle of the road, she arched her spine back and stretched her small palms skywards. Her usually smooth face scrunched up and her eyes closed reflexively. She let out a little sigh as she shook her body loose. She playfully smacked her lips a few times and yawned. She breathed in the sunrise and let her half-open eyes soak in the sight of the golden marketplace. She had no plans to buy anything from this street, and neither was it on the way to her destination. She had walked here to see and smell the flowers at sunrise. She had come to this street for no other reason than to enjoy flowers at sunrise. A slow smile spread across her cheeks. Years ago, back when she was still working for the High Council, she never would have had time to commit such an act of self-indulgence. She would never have even thought to do so. Now, ten years later, she was in no hurry.

Lin enjoyed her slow pace and the sound of her leather shoes deliberately tapping against the cut-stone pathways of Diomos. She watched the many-colored little birds chirping away in their nests, waved at strangers with an energetic smile and continued to enjoy the rhythmic tapping of her toes against the ground. She watched people she had never met set up shop, and she laughed a little hearing an argument between a couple she had never met before. In Diomos, even though she had lived here for over eight years, there were still so many people she did not know. In an Elven city, were she to live there long enough, she would surely know everyone at least by reputation. These human cities though, with so many people always shifting around and coming and going and being born, it was as if the city never stopped changing. Lin found it exciting, even if it was a bit sad. A home that was never the same, a home you could never really know, didn't quite feel like home.

Continuing her roundabout journey, Lin stopped and bent over a small flower growing out of a crack in the street. She moved as if to smell it. Her shoulders drooped, and she stood up sharply. She chuckled to herself, then sprang into a spring. Her heart was light as she vaulted over carts, jumped off walls and grabbed onto rooftops that shined and flowed like water, ran across uneven buildings and unwatched clothing lines, and flew through the city as uninhibited as a bird. Savoring the small pleasures of life was fine, but her pace was running straight ahead.

She dropped from the slick, dew-covered rooftops and landed softly in front of the post office, her arrival sounding as loud as a spring breeze. She looked up at the bright blue and silver building with pride. When she had first seen the office, it was an old, brown, dirty looking place that looked like grime on the outside and smelled like it on the inside. The building itself though had been placed on solid foundation with old, strong wood. They had spent so long renovating it. Cleaning, prying out rotting boards, filling in the gaps the rodents used, drying out the rooms and removing the mold, finding ways to let sunlight in, and so much more work that it had seemed like it would never end. Lin had led the initiative herself, since she had the most knowledge about such things. She had been reluctant and worried at first, she had never led anything in her life, but with people asking for her help and relying on her, how could she say no? She had only known as much about building as was common knowledge to an elf, but at least to the other post workers her ideas were revelations. While they were working, the humans would talk about how smart she was. She had never been called smart before. And when she made mistakes, everyone would just laugh and maybe tell it as a story later. Little by little, they had worked on their office for years. Only a few weeks ago they had finally placed the finishing touch, a brand new color and style for the building. Lin had chosen the colors herself, and she thought they were quite striking. She still couldn’t believe that they were done. All that there was to do now was go and do her normal work. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself after that.

She slipped her key into the stainless steel lock, and she was surprised to find the door already unlocked. She leaned against the heavy slab of engraved oak, and the door slowly, but silently on its well-greased hinges, slid open. Inside, she found the portly post-master, Nathaniel, eating a piece of sweetbread with butter and drinking a cup of tea, all on the front desk. She wanted to chastise him, but he saw her and smiled, and she couldn’t help but smile back. She sailed across the empty sea of hardwood floor they called a lobby, leaned over the desk, and broke off a piece of his bread in her hand.

“What are you doing here so early?” she asked, popping the morsel into her mouth.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes behind his spectacles at Lin and stood up to pour her a cup of tea.

“Came here to get some peace, hah!” he dropped three cubes of sugar into Lin’s cup and poured in the dash of cream that she liked, “Kids. Just four of the little devils and there’s more chaos than when we have twenty angry clients in here.”

He rubbed the space between his brows and sighed as he brought Lin’s tea over to her, “Living alone, you don’t know how good you have it,” he said smiling, despite his complaints.

“I don’t know,” Lin responded, taking a sip and enjoying the familiar taste, “It sounds like it would be fun. Everything would always be so lively.”

“Yeah. Trying saying that on three hours of sleep,” Nathaniel held up his glass of tea, as if for a toast. Lin smiled and clinked glasses with him.

“Ohh? I remember when you were a lonely bachelor crying to me about how all you wanted was a girl,” Lin said.

The postmaster laughed and wagged a finger at her, “Oh I remember. Back then you were still jumping off buildings to catch cats!”

Lin gasped and melodramatically covered her mouth with her fingers, “How dare you! Saving Mister Fuzzypaws was worth jumping off two buildings!”

The two laughed, and Nathaniel took a moment to eat another bite. Lin on the other hand seemed to be gazing into her tea, idly sloshing the contents from side to side. A soft smile played on the edges of her thin lips.

“Besides, if I hadn’t jumped off that window, we wouldn’t have met,” she said in almost a whisper.

“That’s right...” Nathaniel responded, both his voice and his eyes trailing off into the distance, “I was just a mail courier back then, doing my best to push my way through crowds at midday, and I saw you dancing up the market stalls and gutters and windows- whatever you could get your hands on- and I thought ‘By God, imagine if we had a man like that delivering messages.’ I can’t believe I actually thought that, of all things.”

The postmaster smiled, pulling his plump cheeks back in thick folds, “Then you went and jumped straight into the air. I thought you were trying to kill yourself.”

Lin narrowed her brow and held out a hand in protest, “It was only two stories up.”

“Well, I didn’t think you had it all that well planned out. I still can’t believe you came out of it with just a bruised bum-”

“Aaaagh!” the story was interrupted by a pained groan coming from Lin, who covered her face with her hands and threw her head back, “I can’t believe I let you see that.”

“Oh come on!” Nathaniel laughed with his whole body and slapped the desk, “You practically begged me to!”

“Gaaaaah! Stop it! Stop it! I don’t want to remember,” Lin said, hiding her face behind her hands and shaking her head as if she could fling the memories out.

Nathaniel continued to laugh a while longer, but he saved Lin the embarrassment of reliving the experience. After all, he had already confirmed they both remembered their first meeting vividly. Lin laughed a little too, after calming down. She took a sip of her tea, lukewarm now, and looked up at Nathaniel. She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes.

“Come to think of it, you didn’t seem to mind that I was an elf at all, back then. I was too concerned about myself at the time to think about it much, but most humans were still pretty hostile towards us at the time. It had only been a year after the whole scare about elves assassinating humans too. Weren’t you at least suspicious?” she asked.

Nathaniel cocked an eyebrow at her, then slowly averted his gaze, “You know, I left the house so I didn’t have to deal with people screaming at me. I think I’ll keep it that way.”

Lin pushed her whole torso over the desk, resting her weight on her hands and her feet dangling above the floor, “What? So you did think I could be a spy? I would understand, it was the situation and --”

Nathaniel waved a hand in front of her and cut her off, “No, no I never thought you were a spy. It was actually the opposite...” he sighed and scratched his head, looking off to the side, “I thought you were amazing you know. Flying through the air, moving faster and more easily than anyone or anything I had ever seen. It was like you were from another world. And then...” he slowly shook his head and touched his hand to his forehead, “Well, it was hard to be intimidated after seeing you crying about your butt being broken.”

Lin’s face flushed red as an apple, and suddenly she found herself on the other side of the desk shoving bread into Nathaniel’s mouth with a mad smile on her face, “Was this the mouth? Eh? Was this the mouth that was talking?”

Nathaniel covered his head with his arms and ran for safety, spitting his bread out on the way. Lin stood straight up with her arms tightly held to her sides, her face still red, “It was a legitimate concern! I honestly thought I might not be able to walk after that! It wasn’t easy trying to protect a cat and land at the same time,” Lin shouted after Nathaniel.

“Murderous elf assassin! I thought I was going to choke! This was why I didn’t want to tell you!” Nathaniel yelled from another room, coughing a few times for effect.

After some rustling and the sound of doors opening and closing, Nathaniel came back with two loaves of sweetbread. He extended his arm and offered her one.

“Peace?” he asked.

“Oh, fine,” Lin answered, snatching the offering away from him, then turning her head away and crossing her arms.

The two old friends ate in silence. The morning was still new, and the rest of the staff would be walking in any time. Each time footsteps approached the door, Lin held her breath, expecting the door to fling open and reveal someone else she knew. The streets were quickly becoming busier, and the sun was shining clearly into the city now. The heavy clopping of horse’s hooves and thunderous rumble of carriages, shouts of salesmen and arguing drivers, the constant noise of haggling in the street, the noises of the city began to flow in. When she had first started living in human cities, the chaotic noises drove her mad. Everything was just too loud, too much to process. Now it was as comforting to her as the songs of the forest and rivers of Majirel had once been. Nathaniel’s wistful voice woke her from her reverie.

“I was lying, before,” Nathaniel said softly, seriously “I was running to you before you even fell. I didn’t know what I was trying to do. I just wanted to get... closer, I suppose. So I was there, when you landed. It was almost a perfect landing, to be honest. You landed on your feet, and I saw that you were cradling something in your arms, like it was more important than your life. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that it was a cat. I almost laughed. ‘All that for a cat?’ I thought. But,” he paused, and Lin could hear him draw in a breath, “Right after you hit the ground, before you even showed any pain, I saw you look at the cat in your arms. You were so relieved when you saw that he was safe. It wasn’t until afterwards that you noticed you were hurt. I thought that anyone who could care that much about an animal couldn’t be a bad person.”

Lin hunched over the desk over her tea, hiding her smiling face from Nathaniel. She took a slow drink from her cup, and then she sighed. She folded her hands on the table, her back to her friend. She remembered that day too. She remembered Nathaniel just as much as he had remembered her. She remembered forgetting her pain in surprise when a fresh-faced human picked her up without a second of hesitation when she called for help. A human had never helped her before; she had never let them. She remembered how broad his back had felt when he tossed her across his shoulder. She remembered thinking how much large humans were compared to her own people. How strong they were. How kind they were. Nathaniel had made as much of an impression on her that day as she had on him. But the impression she remembered, the Nathaniel she remembered, was so different than the one with her now.

“They don’t live long, do they?” she found herself saying, almost like a sigh.

“Hmm?” Nathaniel moved to her side.

“...cats,” Lin said, looking at Nathaniel’s wrinkled face, his receding hair. “I still miss him, Mister Fuzzypaws. It was nice, having some company at home,” Lin turned away from him, “You said you leave your house to get away from the noise. I have to leave to get away from the silence.”

Nathaniel looked down, then looked up and opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he said “Eight years is a long time.”

Eight years was long to humans. To Lin those eight years had raced by at a tremendous pace. So much had happened she had barely been able to keep up. A human’s pace.

“I’m sure,” Nathaniel tried again, Lin’s silence weighing on him, “I’m sure he enjoyed those years too. He must have cherished his time with you, as much as you did.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Lin said, shaking her head and springing up, “Aaaah! What am I doing!? We just finished fixing up this dump! I can’t mope around now!”

Lin flipped over the desk with uncustomary flourish, and she began warming up her body by hopping from one foot to the other and stretching her arms out. She put on a smile, and she focused on the tasks at hand.

“That said... I wish I had something to deliver right now,” Lin said.

“Oh, speaking of which,” Nathaniel took out a letter in a red envelope, the color they used for high priority messages. He tossed it to her with his fingertips, his other hand picking up Lin’s cup.

Lin faced him squarely and practically slapped the letter out of the air and into her hand. She glared at Nathaniel, “What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me about this immediately?” thoughts flew through Lin’s mind faster than she could process. She couldn’t understand why Nathaniel, who cared more about the business than anyone, would act so nonchalantly about a high priority message. Like he was disrespecting everything they had worked to build up.

“Because,” Nathaniel said calmly, “You hadn’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“I-Because! …” Lin’s words died in her throat. She hadn’t been eating well lately. Work had been so busy that she simply forgot sometimes. And food just didn’t seem to taste very good at her home, eating by herself. She didn’t think that anyone else had noticed though.

“Well? Get to work!” Nathaniel yelled.

Lin pulled her head back, then turned around and ran out the door. After she left, Nathaniel smiled, and put away the tea set he had brought from home. Being a father seemed to have taught him a few things, he thought to himself. He took out a stack of papers and sat down at a desk, readying himself for a hectic day’s work. Just as he sat down, he heard the door swing open. He turned around and saw Lin, her face lit up with a brilliant smile.

“Nathaniel!” she shouted, renewed passion in her voice, “Thank you!”

And with that, she left.

---

The sun was beaming down on the city now, and as beautiful as other people found that, to Lin it only made the everything bleed and swirl into itself. She wore a simple,cloth blindfold over her eyes to help dim the light, but she still had trouble seeing properly. She had been born with eyes sensitive to the light. She could see well in the night, but her vision was blurry and unreliable in the day. It was the reason that she could never an archer, or a standard member of the Guard. She also had trouble playing with other elves, or seeing examples when teachers were giving instruction. She liked the night better, so she began to play alone, at night. In the elven society, walking around at night only made things worse for her. Still, her eyes had allowed her to become an Executioner, and there was some merit in that.

Lin stumbled on a loose shingle, but she compensated with her other leg and sprang away without losing much speed. Still, she cursed under her breath. She had run across the city so many times now that she could run across the rooftops despite her trouble seeing, but this area in particular was in ill repair and made running even more difficult. This particular section of the city was not a rich place, or even a safe place, and it was unusual that she should deliver high priority mail to a more destitute area. She had delivered messages here in the past for less than wholesome people, but they dealt with her business cleanly. She worked for a messaging service. Becoming involved with any sort of politics would be dangerous, so they simply did their work without regard to the nature or business of the customer. She would simply deliver her message and leave.

Her destination was a church in the old city. The church had once been a grand structure, but as the city grew and people left for newer buildings and roads, the great stone and mortar building had fallen into disrepair. After an incident where a cluster of stones had fallen into the congregation area, the building had been boarded up and closed off. When Lin arrived, to her surprise, all of the church entrances were still blocked off. The only opening was at the belltower. There were no ropes or ladders allowing easy entry to the top of the church. Besides herself, Lin did not know anyone in the city who would be able to climb the tower unaided. She felt a weight in her stomach, and she was at once acutely aware of the sweat covering her brow.

Ducking into the shadow of the building, Lin removed her blindfold and retrieved the red envelope. With feverish movements, she broke open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. Her chest tense, she quickly scanned its contents. A long poem about the seasons was inside. She furrowed her brow, then stuffed the letter back inside in frustration. She couldn’t make any sense of it. This situation was wrong. Her hand instinctively reached for her hidden stiletto, only to grasp empty air. She hadn’t worn that weapon for almost a decade. Ever since she had been denounced by the High Council of Majirel. She shook her head. Even if she was walking into a suspicious situation, she shouldn’t be thinking of using that weapon. The High Council, the will of the people of Majirel could decide that the death of one is a necessary sacrifice for the good of the people. Lin, Rhysvielen Theanduil, could not judge whether someone should live or die. She knew that not everyone shared her sentiments though. If someone dangerous was at the top of the clock tower, that person knew where she worked. That person could easily find out where she lived, where everyone she worked with lived. Lin climbed the tower.

The old, white stone practically blinded her on the side reflecting the sun, and the opposite side was little better. The stones were old and worn smooth from the rain. There was little to grab onto, and the tower was far too wide to grab opposite edges. Even for Lin, it was a difficult climb. A slip from this height would kill her, but she moved slowly and carefully. She remembered the path she took to climb up, and she would climb back down if she could not feel another handhold in the tiny textures and edges of the stone.

The climb had focused her concentration. By the time she grabbed with onto the ledge of the bell tower, she felt calm and collected. She crudely tied her blindfold across her eyes with one hand, and then she kicked off the wall and into the landing at the top of the tower. Her expression did not change as her customer, the recipient of the letter, came into view. She did not need to smile or gasp or cringe in fear. She walked two steps over to a man cloaked in brown, and dropped the letter in front of him. He paid no heed to it. He sat in a chair, his legs crossed and his arms resting across his lap. He seemed to move his head, but Lin could not see his face. Her body felt neither tense nor relaxed. Her mind was empty, only waiting for the man to speak.

“Clever,” the cloaked man said in Elven. His tone was dry and dark, “A courier service. You meet people in any place they wish and travel throughout the city without anyone batting an eye. An assassin you can call by dropping a letter in a public box. A brilliant way to flaunt the skills your country gave you for your own benefit.”

Lin bristled, her lips curling at the man’s accusations, “That is not--!”

The man held up a gloved hand to silence her, “Calm yourself, lowlife. I am not here to discuss your failures.”

He reached into his robes and produced a scroll with the seal and insignia of Majirel’s High Council. He held it out to Lin, who took the document and opened it.

“There is a problem. I trust that you know of the recent debacle near the ancient city’s excavation site,” the man waited for Lin to nod, and he continued, “We have had difficulty investigating this issue. We should be sending armies to search for these artefacts, but each nation is so convinced that one of the others had a hand in stealing it that they are blocking each other’s attempts to actually look for it. The Dwarven Clanlord Irsbane thinks he can solve the problem by having mascots from different races cooperate to find the stolen items. Given the difficulty of finding them so long after they’ve been stolen though, we have some suspicion that Irsbane has information on them.

The man drew another scroll from his long sleeves and tossed it at Lin’s feet, “These are the others that are going. The humans and dwarves send nothing but soldiers. We are sending a delegate with a bit more finesse. This delegate, our actual delegate should Irsbane be genuine in his desire to bring our separate interests closer together, is Ilyria Rowan. She’s a war hero. Brave, deadly with a bow and dagger, an expert tracker, popular with the people at large and everyone she’s worked with, well-educated, and quite beautiful. Basically everything you are not.”

The man uncrossed his legs and presumably rested his chin on his hands, “The reason you have been ordered to go is because you are the only remaining Executioner.”

Lin’s face went white, and she felt numb. Her throat felt tight, and she struggled to swallow. She had survived this long without hardly any incident. There had only been a year, less than a year, that elves had been hunted. She had never thought that the rest of the Executioner would have died.

“When the Executioner that was captured, Brahl’linn, told his torturers about our division, he told them everything. Most were killed simply by summoning them into ambushes using our own codes. The others were hunted and killed. Brahl’linn had given descriptions of every Executioner. Except you. You were trained separately from everyone else, due to your particular condition, and because all prior evidence showed that you would slow the rest of the group down. He didn’t know about you. That is the only reason you are alive.”

The cloaked man’s voice had turned into a growl. He paused for a moment, resting his arms on his chair, and then continued with his normal dry tone, “We have sent the only delegate we need, if this group will truly work together to recover what has been lost. We are sending you, an Executioner, as insurance. You have experience dealing with dwarves and humans, earning their trust, then driving a dagger through their heart. Go with them. Get to know them. Find out what each of them, especially the dwarves, are after. If they are trying to steal away with the artefacts... protect our investment. If you finish this mission, your record will be cleared. You will be allowed to return to Majirel. This is proof of the agreement.”

He threw more scrolls to Lin. Unsteadily, she bent over to pick them up. Her fingers trembled as she grasped at them. She dropped a scroll as she picked it up, and she had to reach for it again. The cloaked man scoffed at her.

“You will be introduced as an elf that is accustomed to dealing with foreigners. You have been formally educated on their culture, despite how long you took with it. You will be provided transport, and you will receive additional instruction as is deemed necessary. You will leave as soon as possible.”

Lin was shaking. Her limbs felt weak and cold, and her mouth fell slack. Her eyes were clouded and unfocused, and she was barely breathing. She simply stood in front of the man, helplessly cradling a pile of scrolls in her arms. She couldn’t think. When the man stood up and pointed downwards, to the stairs leading to the floor of the church, her feet began shuffling in that direction. As she passed by him, she could hear him draw in air between his teeth.

Before she could leave, he spoke one last time in a hiss, “The other Executioners, they were not caught hiding. They responded to their codes, or they kept on fighting without orders from the council until they were finally overwhelmed. You are the only one that abandoned the mission as soon as you lost your direct orders. You are the only one who didn’t carry on with your responsibility to serve. You abandoned your people. You abandoned your teachings. You threw away all we gave you. For the Majirel the strong help the weak and the wise help the ignorant. But you...you spent years feeding off the humans, who are even lower than you. And you are the one who will be a representative of our people? This is the only chance a degenerate heretic like you will ever have to live among the Majirel.”

The man’s words slid off of Lin like so much air. His grudges were not her concern. She had her mission. Even if she couldn't come to terms with what had happened, her body was still responding. She began to make a list of what she needed to do to leave the city and the fastest route to the meeting point designated on the map the man had given her. Clothing, equipment, weapons, food, and transportation would all be provided for her. She could run straight to the meeting point.

---

Weeks later, Lin arrived in Kazucdir by carriage. She had been here, long ago, under a different name with different hair and a disguise. She had no interest in walking through the town, the carriage was faster. She remained in the carriage until the point that they were forced to stop. She had arrived at the location to carry out her mission. It was her duty to help ensure that the nations would not start a costly war, that powerful knowledge would not fall into the wrong hands, and that others could live a life of happiness. She had been blessed with nine years of that life, the kind of life that she was protecting now. She told herself that, one more time, before stepping out of the carriage. To that end, she would hide, lie, cheat, steal, and kill. To keep the land a place where people would laugh, she was supposed to gain the trust of others and betray them. This was the only strength she could provide. The strong help the weak. The wise help the ignorant. She, the guilty, would help the innocent.

Rhysvielen lightly hopped out of her carriage with a smile.

[Fantasyfan28]

Slipping between well placed rocks in a pool that was almost beautiful enough to be called an elven design, the stream rippled gaily along it's predetermined path and slid down the small waterfall to land in the pond below. It was one of the few places in the city that Crale could feel at ease. The bustle of the market place, the frantic pace of people running, rushing, marching to and from errands or just general business, set his head spinning. Human's had an almost fanatical need of getting things done. He mused this over the mulled wine he clasped in his hand, the fiery brand was a fine vintage from his small holdings that he was currently residing in. It must be their short lifespans he thought. Somewhat disturbed at this notion as he would definately outlive most of the humans he knew, unless slain in battle or taken by a sickness. Yet the elves from his mother's city would see him pass into the afterlife whilst they still looked the same as they had when he was born, almost 77 years ago.

He shrugged the unwanted thoughts away, pushing them away and filling his head with the images of his garden, the small ponds and cherry trees, mixed in with the oak carved benches and table was something he was proud of. He had made the furniture himself, crude by elven standards perhaps, because he had not been able to coax the wood to grow into the shape he wanted so had had to hack and saw it into shape. Like a human. Smiling despite the sting in that thought he knew he would face prejudice wherever he went, be it from elves or humans. Dwarves had their own problems and as long as you did not insult their clan, craftsmanship or ale they usually would leave you well alone.

A small cough from behind Crale brought his wandering mind back from its sojourn. He turned quickly, hand going to the dagger strapped to his side, he moved it away as he saw Meryl. She smiled and nodded her head before looking him in the eye and throwing him a wink. Most nobilty would be scandalized by such an act but Crale laughed.

"When I woke to find you gone from the bed I worried that last night was not satisfactory and you had already left to find my replacement, I was going to compensate myself with some of your nicer pieces of art, but stopped myself because.... well it has been several months now and we have still yet to put a name on this." Here she gestured to herself and Crale, "Whatever this is between us".

Crale frowned. He took a sip of wine and placed the glass on the table. Walking over to Meryl he placed his hands on her bare shoulders and leaned in to kiss her, after a few minutes he broke the embrace and smiled softly.

"I hate it when you try and put names to things, its so... Human. Why can we not just be content to know we both enjoy the others company and the times we spend together are both pleasurable and exciting. If you need more then I am afraid I cannot give it to you, I made this clear the very first night we were together, I am not looking for marriage nor had I thought, were you."

He saw the tears forming in her emerald eyes, but as she raised a hand to wipe them away, he saw her gaze harden, she shook herself free from his grasp and gave him a sad smile.

"I knew you were different because of who you are, not what you are. Human and Elf combined, you have the best of both races and I only thought to share that with you, It would be easier for us both if we no longer keep to our meetings. I would not want to burden you with unwanted feelings. Good day Master Darkclaw."

As she turned and stormed off in a flash of silken fury, Crale winced at her use of his name, the name of his father. He sighed as he thought of the news that would spread like wildfire through the taverns, common houses and even the nobility before the day was out. He ran a hand over his chin, disgusted to find the stubble he had so thoroughly removed, had returned with a vengeance. He guessed he could always grow a beard, something that no full blooded elf would be able to do. But the commotion that would stir amongst the Elven Elite, would be worse than the rumours that Crale had been sleeping with the Marquis's daughter.

He was warming to the idea of a goatee when there was a banging at the front door. Crale walked through the house, taking careful note as he did to make sure nothing was missing or broken, he would not have put it past Meryl to take her anger out on something he owned. But it was the third, no... fourth such falling out they had had. He smiled at the thought of Meryl being the one banging on the door, as soon as he opened it she would leap on him and lavish him in kisses, then they would....
He opened the door and the lovely images that had been forming in his mind were blown out of his head.

It was definately not Meryl at his door. He stood facing the ugliest human he had ever met, Regnal of the Marquis soldier's was an imposing sight, standing almost six and a half feet tall, and almost all of his body muscle. The problem was that his face was so scarred from a rare skin disorder he had been afflicted with as a child, and his nose had been broken so many times. That the resemblance to a pumpkin that had been allowed to dry in the sun for too long, was the only thing that Crale could ever think of.

"Ah Regnal, what can I do for you this fine morning."

The man scratched his face, then moved his hand outwards, the gigantic appendage swung towards Crale at an alarming speed, he had to remind himself not to jump back. The hand stopped a couple of inches from Crale's face. He noticed that there was a scroll case enclosed in the wall of flesh.

"Marquis says bring this to Half-elf, you gots it now I can go right?"

Crale took a moment to extract the scroll case from the man's paw and then nodded. Regnal turned and loped off, Crael watched him for a moment, wondering if there was giant's blood in the man's family tree.

He shut the door and walked into the study, pulling the scroll case open and emptying it's contents onto his desk. He sat down to read the scrawled note. Surprised to see that it was not in the Marquis's handwriting and that it contained a lot of detailed information. He read to the end and found that it was signed by both the Marquis and His Elven commander. It seemed that the two had been in aggreeance, which definately could not be beneficial to Crale. The rest of the group he would be joining all had ties to their respective races, homelands and a reason for doing what was asked of them. What could Crale possibly offer and who would he have to answer to if they retrieved the stolen items.

Not knowing what else to do, he began packing, the journey would take almost a week of travelling, that was barring bad weather and bandit attacks. He could ask the Marquis for a squad of men, but knew that they would not be trustworthy outside of the cities walls. He shrugged it off, he preferred travelling alone, it gave him time to compose new songs to sing to Meryl, or strategies to plan for the next time any of the outlying villages were attacked. He would have ample time for that, once he was sure on the course he would take.

Starn was located in the South of the Human's territories, It bordered the Elven land and was only four days ride from Sindaril. Crale knew that to get to Kazucdir he would have to skirt the mountain range known as the Giant's hand. There were several medium villages and one other true city before reaching the Dwarven lands. Then a three day journey through the Mire, a swampland which had some of the finest blackwood tree's growing in it. He would be at Kazucdir two days after leaving the swamp behind.

Carrying his belongings through the house, Crale made a mental list as he put things into a well worn but still serviceable backpack, three changes of clothing, twine, fishing cord, trail rations, tinderbox. He would wear his armour and one other set of clothing, his cloak, bow and quiver were already in place by the door. He went round the house making sure that all windows and doors were shut and locked, a practice he had only just recently started to employ. Elven cities rarely had to lock doors, in fact most of the older dwellings had neither doors nor windows, just openings where nature could come and go as it pleased.

After securing his home, Crale went upstairs, he knelt beside his bed and reached under it to find the strongbox he knew was there, taking the key from around his neck he unlocked it and took out two items, one was his coin purse and a decent amount of steel and gold pieces. The other, and most important of all, was his father's longsword Efreet. Crale had not used the blade in almost a month, the jobs he had been sent to Starn to do had not had much call for the use of weapons. Crale looked at the pommel of the magnificently crafted weapon. It was circular in design with several cross cuts rotating throughout the design, it looked like it had not beginning or end and Crale had quite often found himself lost in that simple design. He blinked and the spell was broken, he eyed the blade critically, making sure there was no burrs or notches.
As usual, the coldsteel was in perfect condition, the metre long blade with a jagged design embossed on the hand guard and hilt was a work of art, it was also the only thing he had been able to keep of his father's, and that was not without painful memories.

He closed and locked the strongbox, returned it to it's hiding place under his bed and went back downstairs. He was almost ready to leave. His last stop would be the stables, his Horse Leif would be happy she did not have to spend time cooped up, that and the fact that she made for an excellent night guard meant Crale did not have to miss much sleep.

After he finished placing his armour on, Crale strapped Efreet to his hip, the blade was a little longer than a regular longsword and almost touched the floor, but Crale was tall, like his father, so the few extra inches kept the blade's tip from being damaged inside the sheath. Grabbing his dark green cloak from the peg by the door, Crale through it over his shoulders, he then picked his pack up and headed out the door, grabbing bow and quiver as he left. Once out on the street he could not help but notice how different the two places were, Sindaril was Elven in every way possible, Austere, filled with a quiet strength and patience. Starn on the other hand was Boisterous, energetic and loud. Crale did not know which he preferred more.

His journey took longer as he had to make a detour to get a new waterskin, he had only discovered his was ripped when he had tried to fill it at the communal water barrels that rested on almost every street corner. His delay was not that costly and it was still early enough for him to have interuppted the stable boys from their breakfast.
As he saddled Leif a commotion broke out up the street, he heard his name being called and wondered what could have happened in the space he received his letter and now. Then he remembered Meryl.

Sure enough he could see her red streaked face amongst several armed guards, they were pushing shoppers and shop owners aside with apparent relish. Crale did not need to know what they wanted him for and he did not want to find out, not when Meryl in was in such a foul temper. As he vaulted onto Leif, the horse snorted her own distaste at the noise. He wondered if he had finally pushed Meryl to far when she clearly wanted to hear the words "I love you" from his mouth.

Laughing at the silliness of the situation, he let Leif push through the stall and out into the broader courtyard. As he turned her down the road that led to the main gate. He heard Meryl's voice.

"Crale Darkclaw, you come back here this instance, I am not through with you yet, and by the gods you will make an honest women out of me, I am no tavern wench to be taken for a tumble in the hay and then pushed aside."

Crale could not help himself, he reined in Leif and shouted over the crowd.

"But my lady Meryl, I did not hear you make complaint of the several tumbles we took together in the hay, and I certainly would not think of you as a common wench, you cost a lot more."

He heard gasps of shock, outrage and anger, someone let out a bark of laughter that was quickly silenced. He let Leif go then, knowing that if he stayed his smart comments would only land him in more trouble. He was off to a good start, and when he returned he would have some explaining to do to the Marquis's for the public display of rudeness to the man's daughter.

[Aufidius]

The great gates of Kazucdir opened like titanic arms stretching after deep slumber. Each door was seven inch thick dwarven steel, plated with mithril and golf leaf. The gates stood some thirty six foot, many times the height of a dwarf, and to their side stood two great bastions of dwarven strength: the 'unknown defenders', named after the scores of dwarves who had fallen to establish and protect this proud city. They were even greater than the gates in size and prominence, carved from the mountain rock itself with exceptional detail, they were a true feat of dwarven skill, and a warning to those who approached the mighty city of Kazucdir.

From his vantage on a grand balcony many feet above the tip of the gate, just beyond the brow of the great monuments, Uys Krige watched the burnt orange sky effuse itself with the on-setting night; the fading light caused his eyes to strain along the road to make out the last of the visitors arriving. He had chosen this point to greet his guests on account of its magnificent view; whilst he was sure the elves and humans would have been accustomed to such sights, it was rare that Uys gave himself access to such pleasures; indeed, it had been four months since he had last come up to the surface, and many more since he had watched a sunset.

"A warm welcome to Kazucdir," he said to the last guest, a tall, muscular man with reddish brown hair. Upon closer inspection of the almond touch to his eyes and faint upward flick of the ears, the man to which Uys now extended his arm could be deduced as a half-elf. Curious, Uys lingered in the grip as he shook this fellow's hand. "I am Uys Krige, first housecarl of Kazucdir and servant to the clanlord, Irsbane. Help yourself to an ale and some food before we head down; I'm sure your journey has left you hungry."

Uys now reflected on those he had met, scanning the room of visitors. He had greeted each in much the same way, to show no prejudice in his affairs. The towering, armour clad human had been the first to arrive. The presence of this man had left Uys a touch displaced in their meeting. Never before had he seen such ornate and imposing armour, carried on so large a frame. It wasn't only the physical prominence of this figure that had shocked Uys, however; there was an intangible aura that surrounded the visitor that begot a fusion of curiosity and fear. Still, as a warrior of Kazucdir, Uys had swallowed such feelings and made good to establish a warm, if firm initial rapport.

Next had been an elf, a Cilmessë if he wasn't mistaken. Her wispish frame, striking auburn hair and closely fitted clothes did much to stir a rousing reaction in the dwarf as he greeted her. This was extended further by the arrival of a second elven female; although less majestic in many ways than the first, the entrance of a Majirel brought a curiosity to Uys's eyes, for he knew less of them than the Cilmessë. With the arrival of the half-elf, Uys couldn't help but grin. "It seems the elves have come to make a second home of Kazucdir. There was another human down to arrive, but proceedings have not been in his favour," he said, jesting the first part of his speech. "We will move forward with our meeting. Please, follow me."

Gesturing for his guests to follow, Uys took the outsiders down into the vast belly of his home city. There were several routes down towards the clanhold, but naturally Uys took them via the grandest. The great walkway was a direct route through the runemaster's ward, which overlooked the commons and the trading quarter. Ornate pillars stretched up into the rockface above, which glistened with the light of hundreds of lanterns that were fixed into the well polished stone of the rafters that bridged each pillar. Each building they passed was exemplary and unique, standing testament to the craft of the dwarven people. "The runemaster's of Kazucdir have a history as old and prestigious as any Clanhold," Uys said, filling the silence of their journey whilst quietly berating himself for sounding like a tour-guide. "But this is the true hallmark of our people's skill..."

As he finished his last word, the great building of the clanhold came into sight. The building was different from the others, being carved into the mountain itself. Whereas every other building stood independent in the artificial cavern that the dwarves had created, only the front of the clanhold was visible; it was enough, however, to inspire wonder. The great gates were a smaller version of the main gates to the city, only these made up for lack of size with incredible detail. The mithril and gold doors were illuminated brilliantly against the only natural light in the whole city; a small window, many hundreds of meters away, had been carved into the mountainside; these refracted off an intricate series of shifting mirrors, which meant that light struck the clanhold at every passing moment of daylight, until the sun finally set.

"Here we are," Uys mentioned, looking around to beckon the group forward. A line of twenty elite guards lined the walkway to the door. None moved an inch as the strangers passed, although behind them many citizens had come to see a unique sight. "They stare only because no other race has stepped inside this building for hundreds of years - you are privileged guests indeed, for Irsbane to break that convention."

Leading the group into the clanhold, Uys led them down the great hall. The maroon banners of Irsbane stirred his heart once more as he took a left turn, down a passageway that was lined with many more guards. All of these faces were familiar to Uys, and he nodded to several as he passed them. Finally, at the end of this corridor, he reached a six foot, marble door. "Some of you will have to duck, I think," he joked, pushing the door open.

Inside the room was a long, rectangular table crafted from the mountain stone and inlaid with golden runes around the perimeter. At the head of the table was a stone seat raised above the others, marked only by a brilliant tear-drop sapphire at its centre. "Take a seat," a voice spoke from behind it, the natural gravity of the words giving their origin away. Immediately Uys bowed his head in respect. "Welcome to Kazucdir, you are our guests here," it continued, as the figure of Irsbane emerged. The clanlord was once again dressed in white; at least, that is what it appeared to be until one took to closer inspection. Every inch of his plate armour was of the finest polished mithril - the finest synthesis of aesthetic design and military purpose. With slow and deliberate steps, Irsbane took a seat at the raised chair.

Uys followed in taking his seat, as several servants came in. They delivered nothing at first, but merely lit more lanterns to give the room additional light that made Irsbane's armour all the brighter in appearance. They then stood to the side, as two more servants came in, bringing two large scrolls. They proceeded to unroll the first in the centre - a map of the expanse between Bronzebeard forest and the Gull's Neck Sea. The second was delivered straight to Irsbane.

"Order any food or drink you wish to now, for soon we must get to business. As clanlord it is my duty to see my guests lack nothing I can provide, but I shall not insult your intelligence. This is no social call between elves, men and dwarves. Much has conspired to sow discontent between our people. Much must be done to undo such malcontent, and more to stave off that which threatens all of us." Irsbane stood, his dark brown beard speckled with grey now resting on the table. His deep set eyes appeared to hold each member of the group in focus for a moment, as he unrolled the second scroll. It was once again a map, except older and more faintly drawn on the faded parchment.

"These are the wild lands. Home of Orc, giant and goblin." From his person he took one more, smaller scroll, "and this is the insurmountable evidence that links them to theft of the sarcophagus. The same orcs that we have long labelled incapable of such deft planning and covert skill, may have conducted an operation that has left each one of our nations fumbling in the dark for a week." He paused, letting his deep set green eyes track the entrance of his personal cupbearer, who delivered a flagon of finest mead to his side. "And if that doesn't strike you with fear and wonder both, then consider: what in this world could make a primitive Orc, insular, barbaric and territorial, travel hundreds of miles, circumventing the world's most deliberate defensive structure, to steal an elaborate box?"

[Mammoth]

Mere hours had passed since the meeting with Kormac. The grizzled old Warlord's words weighed heavy on Mammoth's mind as he stalked the tracks of orc camp movements through the blowing snow. The nights in the wild lands were far worse than any man who had not experienced them could imagine. The cold bit to the bone, through hide, cloth, and armor. The wind howled like Dire Wolves in the tundra, forever whipping around the ears of any who dared traverse that treacherous wasteland of snow. The untrained ear wouldn't be able to pick out any sounds in this horrible condition, but Mammoth was born for this life. Not blessed with the advanced hearing of the elves, Mammoth made due with knowing what to listen for, not being able to hear everything. The few elves he had met in his life, fairies of the wall, had not learned this lesson. It had proved to be the most costly one of all.

The heavy tracks of Orc Warbands was not hard to spot in the snow, but they didn't march like men or soldier. Gauging direction, number, and speed was increasingly difficult with the Orc as they often doubled back over their own tracks due to lack of organization and leadership. Tracking the Orc was an art, one that wasn't learned through reading a book or training with some old man. The Galian learned by trial, error, and survival. The best scouts were the ones that learned from their errors, and fought their way out of danger. Most men considered scouting a job for smaller, quicker men. The Galian considered scouting a test of the strength of their enemy. Crash against them and see what they can take, kill 100 and lose 10. Test their resolve and see how much they really wanted to fight. Unfortunately, this had led to many a warrior falling in battle when they faced greater odds than they could handle. If a Galian warrior lived past 40, he was one of the most terrifying men to have ever walked the land.

Mammoth crouched down in the shadows of a few lone evergreen trees, the full moon beaming in the sky like a devil's eye, it was red this time of year. The tracks were simple, less chaotic, he hadn't had any difficulty tracking them this far, which was odd considering the Orc usually didn't move anywhere too quickly. They tended to linger and double back, not wanting to move camp as it took them a while to uproot and change places. These tracks were focused, like they had been marching. The snow drifts hadn't even covered up much of the tracks, which meant these were recent. Mammoth knew he had to be aware of his surroundings, he hadn't seen an Orc corpse in days and it was very likely he was walking right into a trap. Most assumed that the Orc were stupid, but far from it. The brutes had ample ability to be cunning, they just didn't have to use it that often.

Following the tracks through the whistling winds and the open plain, Mammoth was heading southwest toward the Winter Wood, a dense grove of evergreen trees where the Orc liked to make camps. Venturing too deep into the Winter Wood without a full raiding party was suicide. The massive trees had been there for ages, and the Orc didn't need to remove many to keep their camps going. The line of hundred-foot tall evergreens was imposing enough without the looming threat of Orc Warbands behind every trunk. Mammoth paused at the edge of the trees and looked around, his blue eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Not a sound. Not a whisper. Just the haunting howl of the wind.

He moved into the Winter Wood, taking care to watch his step. Pitfalls were common in the edges of the trees, where the Orc set traps for animals to eat. It was never hard to spot an Orc trap, as they were not intricate or well-hidden, but the unwary traveler could quickly be missing a leg if he didn't watch his step. The path through the woods was bare, as if a large band had been moving through these trees. The underbrush and light dusting of snow beneath the canopy of trees was pounded into a fine paste beneath his feet, a sign that a rather large Band of Orcs had been moving through this area. As before, the tracks were uni-directional.

As he ventured further into the wood he finally reached back and pulled his axes from their slings. His left hand clasping at the small of his back and his right hand over his right shoulder, he pulled free the beautiful axes that had cleaved many an Orc skull. The etched runes and tribal markings that signified the Great Hunt Mammoth completed years ago glimmered faintly in the darkness. Duskhoof and Steeltusk, the weapons of a Death Rider. He inched forward through the snow, keeping a careful watch on the shadows for any sign of Orc presence, but as with this entire venture, there was nothing. His armor's interlocking plates made little noise, nothing that could be picked up through the wind, but the Orc didn't have the benefits of such craftsmanship. Their armor and weapons clanged repeatedly as the moved, giving most a good sense of warning before they were upon them.

At the edge of the clearing, Mammoth stood tall, staring into something he had never seen before. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he stared into the empty camp, which had quickly been abandoned. Huts, forges, weapons, they had left everything behind. Unusual, no doubt, but the troubling sight was the catapults.

"Orc haven't built siege weapons in generations..." Mammoth muttered to himself under his breath, staring at the camp in awe. What could cause the Orc to organize so strongly that they began acting as a unified army, as they had not done since the stories of old, since the dawn of the tribes north of the wall. Mammoth knew no fear in battle, but he was not foolish. This was troubling, and did not sit well in his stomach. He had to move quickly in case this was not here when he returned.

Rushing into the camp, Mammoth bypassed all to get to the catapults. Rushing up to them, he quickly cut the ropes for the lever-arm and broke the iron that bound the legs to the wheels with firm strikes from his blades. He had to ensure that both of these Catapults remained here, if not for anything else but to invade this camp and learn of what the Orc were doing. When he was finished disabling the catapults he turned and dashed back through the woods at a full sprint.

----

Upon arrival at the gates of Neverspring, Mammoth was gasping for air and drenched in sweat, despite the freezing cold air. Serelin, a young Galian priestess met him at the gate. She had been throwing herself at him for weeks, but Mammoth had no interest in her, nor any other of the many young women that had attempted to extend his bloodline. Strength was impressive to the Galian, and the strongest tended to spawn many children in an effort to strengthen the tribe. Mammoth had no living brothers or sisters and his parents were long dead. Unusually, he had no interest in families or wives. He was home on the battlefield, not with screaming brats and the ferocity of a Galian priestess to share his bedroll with. He made the tribe stronger with his blades, not his seed.

"So, you're back from your scouting?" She said, smiling while walking alongside him as he headed toward the Great Hall.

"Not now, Serelin." He said, bluntly, not even making eye contact with her. She was beautiful, there was no doubt. As with most Galian women, she was strong, tall, and fair skinned. Her long red hair draped down past her shoulders and flowed like the fur of a Winter Wolf in the wind. The Galian priestesses were the warrior class of women in the Galian ranks, known as Screamers to the south, known for howling like wolves and attacking the flanks of bands of fairies. Serelin was a soldier, and unlike most of the women that attempted to spend nights in his tent, Mammoth respected her. She paused as he walked with purpose toward the Great Hall.

"You know I won't wait forever for you to finally warm up to me?" She said playfully. He turned around, walking backwards to continue moving toward his goal and look at her.

"Then don't." He said, smiling at her as he turned and entered the Great Hall. She laughed.

"Kormac!" He wasted no time, interrupting the small meal that was taking place between Kormac and his multiple wives, much to the Warlord's displeasure. "Get something to write with and find a hawk, your old bones have never been more right."

[Data]

Boasting of the Dwarven architect, Bulfor had delivered Ilyria to Uys at the halls above the gates with demand for drinks once all of her business was settled. The round bellied dwarf had clasped her arm in friendship and strolled off through the great hall moving toward his home deep in the bowels of the mountain city. Nyx whined but obeyed Ilyria’s guard command. He followed on her heels with ears perked and alert as she was lead to the balcony where Uys waited. Greetings were made, and Ilyria took a few moments to marvel at the sight before here. The landscape was harshly beautiful, and she enjoyed the contrast that this made with the tall trees and grand structures built in the branches. The Cilmessë’s structures were delicate and incorporated nature and sunlight. Even in her awe, the woman felt the pang of homesickness, for a grand and breathtaking as the Dwarven city was, it would never be Quessir’s city of trees.

Drawn from her reverie and forcing away her doubts, Ilyria turned to greet the next emissary that had arrived. The young woman was surprised to see another elf come through the sturdy doors and introduced to Uys. The other woman seemed distracted and, also, did not look to possess any of the interracial awkwardness that plagued Ilyria as she greeted Uys and asked him to accompany her for drinks later on that evening. Her mannerisms and speech gave no indication of which elven nation she hailed from, but Ilyria was certain she could not be Cilmessë.

After spotting Ilyria standing further back, Rhysvielen stepped forward with more excitement and a beaming delighted smile. Extending her hand out in greeting, she seemed to think twice and quickly pressed her hands together in front of her and bowed slightly. The gesture made Ilyria smile and guess that she was Majirel, but when she giggled and looked up at Ilyria, it wasn’t the solemn formality that she expected of those born of Majirel.

“Oh, I haven’t done that in years!” she said as she popped up out of the bow, “It’s been ages since I’ve seen another elf!” the pale-haired elf clasped her hands together and leaned closer to Ilyria, her eyes sparkling, “I’m Rhysvielen Theanduil of the Majirel. You could say I’m a...” Rhysvielen tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow, “Student of foreign cultures?”

Smiling, Ilyria returned the bow, but in Cilmessë fashion, by folding the fingers of her left hand over her right fist. “I am called Ilyria of the Rowan clan of the Cilmessë. I am pleased to meet you Rhysvielen Theanduil. I am no scholar, unfortunately, just a Captain of the Guard of Quessir.”

“Hah! Won’t meet many people that would take my job over yours,” Rhysvielen said with an easy smile and a wave of her hand, “I used to live in the attic of a bakery. You’re the council’s poster child,” Rhysvielen began to chuckle, then cut herself off and lowered gaze, “Wait-- you wouldn’t know that phrase. Ah.. it’s like, you’re really well-known, and you’re being shown as an example for others, in this case for being really amazing,” the student of foreign cultures raised her palms and looked at Ilyria hopefully.

Ilyria chuckled and shrugged, “I wouldn’t believe all you hear. Tales are most often exaggerated. I’ve heard a few myself naming this one as a wolf.” She pointed down at Nyx, who sat as still as a statue at her feet, but she could tell by his dancing eyes that he was dying to greet the others as well.

Rhysvielen looked down at Ilyria’s feet and started, as if she had only just noticed Nyx. She quickly recovered, smiling and waving at the hound while silently mouthing “Please don’t bite me.” After catching sight of Nyx’s fangs, Rhysvielen made a little, high-pitched laugh, and quickly glanced towards the exit. As she turned away from the balcony, she saw Uys walking off towards the entrance. Her eyes lit up, and she began striding towards the table.

“What are we standing around for though? How about some genuine dwarven hospitality for your first lesson in foreign cultures?” Rhysvielen poured three mugs of ale from an oaken barrel and held one out to Ilyria

Smiling, Ilyria nodded, “I would be honored.” She sighed heavily with a glance to Uys, who was greeting another emissary. “I fear I lack the social graces of others. A round of drink may be just the key to easing the tension.”

“A toast then, to new horizons!” Rhysvielen said festively, raising a mug into the air, then suddenly turned towards their host, “Uys! Catch!” Rhysvielen shouted, swinging her arm in a wide arc and launching the mug of ale to the dwarf. Like a trained reflex, Uys’ snatched the mug out of the air with one meaty hand and inhaled its contents at a speed exclusive to dwarves.

“New horizons,” Ilyria murmured with a smile before taking a large swig from the mug. The ale was refreshing after traveling, and much different in taste and texture than the brews of the elves.

Peeking over her glass, Ilyria saw her new companion’s still tipping back her drink. Rhysvielen glared at the tall drink like an old rival until it was empty, then double over with her hands on her knees, panting.

“It’s customary around dwarves to finish your drink for a toast,” she said, looking up at Ilyria with a sheepish grin, “Can’t have the culture expert start off looking bad. Well,” she stood up, suppressing a burp and waving a finger in the air, “The great part about being the emissary though is everyone else has to worry about social graces around you, instead of vice versa. Still,” Rhysvielen turned to face Ilyria squarely and pointed towards herself with a jerk of her thumb, “That’s why the council sent me along. You’re the prime representative of being an elf, but you haven’t dealt much with the other races. Goes hand in hand with being a prime example of an elf. On the other hand, while I am a terrible elf, I have spent over two decades living in human and dwarven lands. I can help you deal with the other cultures, and I have some confidence in my knowledge of ancient writing. In other words, I’ve been sent as your support.”

Ilyria quickly gulped down the rest after Rhysvielen pointed out it was dwarven custom to do so. Gasping, she grinned at the other elf and sat her empty mug on the table. “A Prime example of an elf?” She chuckled then with a shake of her head, “I’d hardly think so. I’m a simple guard and hunter. I can’t fathom how that would make me an example.” She smiled brightly at Rhysvielen and gave a slight bow, “Regardless, I am pleased to have your aid and support.”

[Fantasyfan28]

Crale's arrival at Kazucdir was met with a mixture of relief and anxiety. He was relieved that he had actually arrived, the journey to the Mire had been easy enough, but as soon as he had left the well traveled paths and entered the swamp, all that could go wrong had. Leif had thrown a shoe, and as such Crale had been forced to remove the other three, this meant that he had to be extra careful when traversing the bogs and swampy areas. It also meant extra time in the evening of wiping Leif's hooves down, not that Crale minded. He could ill afford his horse to take chill or catch a disease or infection by something that an iron shoe would have prevented. Then too make matters worse, the goblins that called the Mire theirs decided to take particular insult to an intruder and had doggedly pursued Crale. Usually goblins were craven creatures that ran from conflict at the first sight of an armoured and well armed opponent. This species however, knew that greater numbers, and well-placed pitfalls and other spiteful traps were enough to turn the tide in their favour.

Crale's belongings were damp and stank of unwashed body and the foul waters he had been knocked into, an embarrasing story and one he would not tell to another living being as long as he lived. His arrival was met by a dwarf who had taken it upon himself to greet everyone personally it seemed. Crale did not even get the benefit of a change of attire before being led through the dwarven city, he was impressed with the structures and the strength that emanated from them all, only dwarves he mused, could take such ugly rock and shape it into a thing of beauty. Not that any Sindar elf would ever admit to a rock or stone building surpassing the pristine beauty of an elven home.
Leif had been cared for by a stablehand almost as soon as Crale had entered the gates. His mind filled with the worry and anxiety that he had not had much time to consider. He was young, especially by elven and dwarven standards, yet for the humans he would be considered old. This in itself was what he did not understand, he had been sent here by both of his employers, for what purpose he had yet to figure out.

As they entered the grandest chamber yet, Crale spotted a group of people he guessed to be his travelling companions, a huge armour clad warrior, human, Crale guessed because of the size. Two female elves who sat next to each other and eyed him in return as he entered. He felt so out of place in this room, his awkwardness must have been apparant as he went to sit down and missed the chair altogether. As he rose, his face scarlet with shame, he heard a small titter of laughter sharply cut off. He wondered which of the elves it had been, he knew he did not possess the elven grace a true elf would be gifted with, but a simple thing like sitting in a chair should not be beyond him.

He sat sullenly throughout the meeting, lifting his head only when the elder dwarf mentioned Orcs, Crale could hardly believe what he was hearing and before he could contain his outburst he spoke.

"Surely you jest, Orc's with a purpose, I have never heard of such a thing, the races of Orc's I have seen and fought were all the same, bloodthirsty, savage, brutal but bestial, how could they possibly have gathered a force large enough to steal from the most well fortified of cities, and get away without being seen."

He sat down, suddenly aware of every pair of eyes in the room on him. He mumbled under his breath.

"Well that was a great start to introductions."