Gehrhart sat in his seat, a half empty mug before him, The scimitar intrigued him, the orcs usually used scavenged equipment stolen from their latest victims. That blade should be a rusted piece of junk, he thought sipping his ale but it looks terribly well kept, damn near new. Gehrhart sat forward and looked at all the others along the table making a note of how each one acted. The human with the dice made him equally uneasy and and entertained, there had been several like him under the mountains, rabble rousers always looking to make a quick coin. He had thrown his fair share out of alehouses when they turned the mood sour, always jingling with freshly taken coin as they scampered off to another group of fools to con.

The elf away from everyone made him wholly uneasy quick to anger, quick to loss the old teaching came to him as he watched her hooded figure. why my dear are you so angry? he thought, something awful must of happened to you. the thought made him stir a little uncomfortably Thaddeus you sure know how to pick'em. He just hoped the she-elf could wield a dagger when it mattered and not just in a room of strangers. The other elf, Mirion, radiated disgust and disdain for him and Wolmak, Hmm haughty, straight forward, and dense Gehrhart mused as he grinned slightly, Yep he's an elf.

The other dwarf beside Wolmak interested him he had introduced himself as Ghas and brought a deer in with him not to mention he carried a bow. you are no normal dwarf he thought whats your story? Dwarves who preferred the surface were rare and generally thought a bit mental by the other Dwarves. A Dwarven ranger he thought I have now seen everything truly Thaddeus has a talent for finding unique individuals.

As for the other humans he thought the Godswife was a little odd, the Dwarves had none but he had heard the stories from travelers that they were powerful healers and witches or as he thought a bunch of cons playing on superstition and fear to make a living. The farm boy interested him the most, the poor thing is greener than spring grass, he thought, he'll be ripped apart in a proper fight.

Gehrhart got up from his seat and turned to Wolmak, "Wolmak, I want you to get a look at that blade and see if you can tell where the steel in it came from, I want to know if they have been starting any mines and where those mines might be" with that done he moved over and sat next to Thaddeus and leaned in to whisper "Thaddeus, I know you always have a plan but just how many of the people here are actually trained in fighting besides me?" he asked "If we run into trouble a bunch of green-blades will only be a slaughter."

Wolmak bowed his head slightly. Before moving up to the table and extending his hands. "Master Edward, I am a Smith in what is known in these parts as the second Mountain." He removed a dagger to display to the man. "This is a dagger I fashioned when I was but a bairn, I have kept it all my days. In order for inspecting this blade I am offering it to you to keep if I may inspect this blade. Its place of origin may be of great value to is if it is truly of Orc origin-" He bowed his head slightly at Thaddeus and Edward as he said this. "I do not doubt what you saw and I mean no offence however if you were indeed attacked by a raiding party you are lucky to be alive. There are those who would take advantage of the fear that the return of the Orcs is causing to further their own agenda. I will need to inspect the blade to ensure if it is Orcish or not and if it is where the ore was mined. This could prove valuable in discovering the true location of the Orc Stronghold and eliminating the threat." He gave a nod to Gerhart as he said that, that was obviously the reason why they were here. To eliminate the Orcs, there was bad blood between Orcs and Elves even worse than the Dwarves and the Elven people.

He couldn't stand Orcs and would gladly introduce them to his warhammer and crush their skulls. He personally did not like the idea of touching anything that had been smithed by the orcs, a waste of good ore and he had no doubt that they had no respect for whatever mountain it was mined from. He himself would die before a single Orc mined so much as enough Iron to make a nail from the Second Mountain. He nodded at the human boy again. "If, Master Edward, you do not deem this dagger necessary I shall trade whatever it is you ask. I merely require to look at the sword and will not be keeping it, I do not think I could stomach to hold onto it longer than necessary. I do not want to waste good Ale now do I?" He let out a hearty laugh before returning to his serious and questioning glance at the human man.

Wolmak shook his head and when he took the hilt of the blade put the hilt of his dagger in the hands of the farm boy. "I still have a favour owed Master Edward, however I believe that after all you have been through this dagger may be of help. Consider it a gift from those of the Second Mountain to yourself, in inspecting this blade we find out where these beasts sleep and what mountain they defile so that we may strike them at their very home. I shall return the blade to you in the morning Master Edward, and I insist you keep the dagger. I have my own weapon, it will be of more use to you than me." He bowed again as he turned to take his leave. "I bid you all a farewell and shall see you in the morning. I shall inspect this blade elsewhere away from prying eyes. I doubt an openly shown blade of this design will not be welcome in such a place and many could consider such a thing as a bad omen. If anyone shall need me, ask the barkeep what room I am in." With that he moved over to the bar. "What'll it be Master Dwarf?""I am afraid I am purchasing no more of your fine ales tonight, and require a room.""That'll be fine, five gold pieces for the night for a room with several beds.""That will do fine, inform any of the party at the table I was at that if they wish they may stay in the same room as I, how many pieces for a private room for the dwarf in the armour?" He pointed out Gerhart. "Six Gold Pieces.""Very well then, I shall pay for both." He placed twelve gold pieces on the counter as the Bar keep went to get a key for him.

"You have miscounted, there are twelve pieces here. I am nought but an honest man.""That gold piece is for your generosity.""Fair Day Master Dwarf.""Fair day to you." He bowed his head slightly and moved out of the room and up the creaking stairs and into the room. There were six beds all opposite a roaring fire. Outside the window he could still see the rain pouring from the sky and shuddered at the thought of going out in it the next day. He chose the bed farthest from the window, not being used to such a thing from living under the Mountain. Besides, he spoke the truth about the Orc blade and did not feel its presence would be much welcomed in this little town so the fewer people to see it the better. He sat on the edge of 'his' bed and unwrapped the blade. An ugly thing, it wasn't smooth like the Dwarf or Elven blades, it was jagged and rough. The metal poorly worked and scorn with impurities due to the unrefined ability of the Orcs.

Yet this was definitely of Orcish design, if a Human had made a blade so poorly it would barely kill a mongrel pup let alone a group of humans. He stroked it with his left hand and despite his thick skin he could still feel the roughness of the blade, small spikes designed to tear at flesh once the blade has been inserted into its victim. An extremely painful way to die if you are lucky enough to die from such a torture. He took a small tool from his belt, a curved hook and he pulled it along the blade creating a screeching noise and slightly pulling away at the metal until he had a thin strip of it. It was a poor attempt at steel that would be no stronger than iron obviously the Orcs were trying to improve what they could make but were simply failing upwards. He split the thin strip of metal into one large piece, and one small piece. Placing the small piece in his mouth to taste, it was a strange practice but if anyone saw it they wouldn't dispute the wisdom of the Dwarves in such matters. It was foul, as to be expected. However what ever mountain this had been mined from should of been left alone long ago, her ore deposits on the verge of being depleted as there was rock in this blade. That narrowed it down, there were few mountains who had been treated as such and most of them under Dwarven guard in the ranges of the Great Mountains as homes, armouries and burial chambers.

It would take him some more time to discern the true home of the blade, however when the taste of ash entered his mouth he did not like the options he was presented with. He took out a vial of water, placing a piece of metal in it and a strange powder. Placing a cork back in the vial to keep the metal within, then he moved over to the fire and placed the blade within. He'd have a full answer to the blades home by morning.

Thoraniel did not like drinking. No, she did not. Reminded her far too much of home. She did not like such reminders. Once their destination was sure, she decided not to exchange any false pleasantries. Instead, she ordered some food, ate it quickly, then retreated to the room she had bought. Not once did she lower her hood in public. She did not want to be recognized. No, she did not. Nor did she want to associate more than necessary with male swine like the one she had threatened before. She did not care for such, or for who made what weapon. So long as she got paid well and got to kill and otherwise distract herself from ancient memories, she did not care what her cause was.

Once up in the room, Thoraniel barred the door and closed the shutters. Only then did she feel moderately safe. As safe as she could in a town, which wasn’t very safe. Not safe at all. The sooner they left, the better. Only when absolutely sure no one could see, did she lower her hood. Her short, dirty-blonde hair reached about mid-way down her neck. It was not short compared to men, maybe, but short compared to most women. She liked it that length, as likeable as it was, reminding her of her father’s sand-colored hair. She did not like him. In fact, she hated him. No matter what she put it through, her hair eventually straightened back up. Another reminder of her elven ancestry, some said. Thoraniel wasn’t sure what to think about elves. On one hand, they were those she most resembled, with her half-pointed ears, but on the other, they had abandoned her, sent her to her hated father. All she had from them was her first name and one of her two surnames. Even her bow, she had gained through trade with other elves, not from any kin.

The elf who had made it had been kind to her. Probably because she had offered to keep other brigands away in return for it. A fair trade. No more. The threat of violence always helped encourage such kindness. Not that any elf would use a bow like it. Far too heavy draw. They didn’t have the muscle mass for it. That was one of the only advantages Thoraniel knew she had from her mixed ancestry. She had the muscle density of elves of the woods, but some of the muscle mass of the men of the fields. The only kind she thought might be able to draw it would be the dwarves of the mountains. Even her kind could not match their raw strength. Even if she could’ve gained their strength, she wouldn’t have wanted to. Dwarves were filthy, ugly creatures. She did not like them.

After once again making sure the room was secure, she took off her hooded cloak, pack and unlaced her boiled leather armor, placing it all right beside the bed. She unhooked a couple of knives and drew off her boots, placing the knives within easy reach in the bedding, and the boots right by her feet. Others might unpack more, but she did not. She did not trust this place to be safe. in fact, she was even skeptical to removing that much, but knew she would sleep better that way. The way it was now, she could get up and be ready to go in a matter minutes, leaving nothing behind. With a hand on each knife, she drifted off to an uneasy sleep and serious nightmares about the past.

Celine didn't pay much attention to the jagged blade forged by the hands of an orc. She knew very little about them. These creatures were a gruesome attempt at something resembling a man or woman of the fields. The fact she lacked any knowledge on these creatures worried her. She was a worldly woman and took pride in what she knew. However some of her wisdom was still limited to the stories told by the ones who came to her. Rangers who'd been attacked by wild animals, villagers having fallen ill after drinking from poisoned streams, or perhaps even more disturbing a cup of poisoned wine. She never forgot their stories, they were tied to their requests. For each she would perform long hours of ritual, cleanse and sew their wounds and ease their haunted minds. There hadn't been one mention about Orcs or a wound inflicted by one. It worried her not because she feared them, but she was afraid of not being able to do what she set out to do, without them getting in her way. Though she might be worried inside her face betrayed no such emotion, the same enigmatic expression ruling her fine features. It only changed when she chose to.

There were many ways to remedy a lack of knowledge and since this bothered her greatly she sought to do something about it. As much as she disliked the help of others she was smart enough to recognize some things could not be accomplished alone. It would not be the first time she used others for personal gain and certainly not the last. Had her doors not remained open to people from all walks of life? They made use of her services and Celine thought of this as a fair trade.

The young farmer Edward had seen the Orcs and even fought against them, or that was what they wanted her to believe. The blade he acquired though was proof enough for her. Aside from the Watchful Man he probably had the most useful information. As Thaddeus jovially urged them all to join in with drink, the serving girl also placed a mug full of ale in front of her. She took it but didn't drink like the rest of the fellowship. Instead she got up from her chair to speak with the heroic farmer.

The young woman urged her untouched mug of ale into the farmers hands with a knowing smile. There was a look in her eyes that was hard to decipher, her kindness was obviously forced yet there was still something genuine there. Though it was buried so deep it was barely visible. "You look like you could use another" "I can imagine your encounter with the foul creature has changed your life completely." She spoke calmly. "Have you been cleansed afterwards?" She asked with a serious expression. Woodhaven wasn't among the villages in her service, yet she did not know of another Godswife living in these parts. A meeting with a creature as foul as an Orc left its mark. Such a thing should be removed as soon as possible. "I can do it for you Edward, but it doesn't come for free" She continued hoping to gain his favor. They were interrupted by the barkeeper, she had seen him approach and turned to him as he addressed both Edward and herself. "Sir Wolmak wanted me to mention he has free beds available if you'd like to make use of them"

Shi'mon took drink. Just one sip of the boorish mens' liquor from before turned to a second, heartier try, until finally a blur of swigs. His muscled loosened, as did his grip on the world. Sitting, the elf already felt himself tiring, but feared looking the fool should he leave too drunk. The glass hit the table harder than he'd willed. At that moment the cloaked one with their hood raised took their leave. Perhaps the incident with the knife roused something, perhaps even now they were creeping to meet the dwarf in the 'shared room'. Many beds. Many possibilities.

The elf flushed and averted his eyes. Edward, the youth, stood like a cornered mouse beside a pale, brunette woman. Shi'mon smirked as the young man eyed her, blushing at the nearness, yet also shrunk in what the elf presumed to be fear. Then again, it might be the alcohol. For them and him. Mostly him. He felt hot tingling sensation emanating from his stomach. The table, walls, and memorabilia adorning both gently swayed to him. Sneaking in meant fitting among the crowd, but it did require drinking so much. Not this time, anyway. Foolish youth. Shi'mon pinched the bridge of his nose and momentarily shut his eyes. He sank within himself a moment, pushing the embarrassment aside. This would be his party. The young man with the crooked blade, the respectable dwarves, the Watchful and the equally mysterious hothead, and the elf.

Wait. Shi'mon raised his eye to the last. An elf, tall, well garbed, and well cut -- clearly one of some renown. One who looked familiar. Drunkenness be damned, he focused on the crest, pushing his sluggish mind to find the memory. He followed each stroke until the image came hard and fast. Shi'mon's eyes went wide, he let out a slow breath.

Someone cleared their throat louder than the dull roar of the room. Shi'mon glanced toward the voice near Edward. "Sir Wolmak wanted me to mention he has free beds available if you'd like to make use of them," the barkeep explained as he looked over the party.

Shi'mon arose and followed the barkeep as straight as he could manage. The kindly man looked back, smiling warmly. He may as well of said 'too much to drink?'. Perhaps he had and the booze obscured that too. Putting it away, the elf sheepishly nodded before looking about. Without need for explanation the barkeep beckoned the young woman from before, eyed Shi'mon, then told her the room number. Evidently he didn't look a threat. Too flimsy, too stick-like, or did he simply look trustworthy? His mind quieted as he followed the young woman and handed her a coin at the door for her kindness. The dwarf paid him little mind, apparently taken with his own business. Shi'mon stumbled toward a bed, tucked his pack beneath it, and removed his cloak and leather pieces.

Rest would bring answers. The crest felt confusing and frightening, but still obscured. Fear could mean many things and not all of them particularly useful. Shi'mon shut his eyes, imagining the symbol. He struggled a while searching for triggers in his forty-some years of memory. A common practice, he began at his youngest experiences and worked forward. Special attention fell onto those times houses meshed and new kin were born. He, like those of the Elvish people, recognized the subtle signs of age both physical and behavioural. This man held himself in high regard like one of some age. Yet, he was also boastful. Older than Shi'mon then, but by how much? When common practices failed he resorted to the more difficult strategies. The crest appeared in his mind in a fog as a subtle glow. His thoughts followed the lines of the crest, but when his eyes moved with them, he cringed. After a few tries and deep concentration, Shi'mon drew the crest in his mind only. The physical separated, detached, and the subtle sway of the world he'd felt before vanished. He no longer was. The crest shined bright, crisply splayed before a small and subtle glow he knew was now him. He willed himself toward the crest. The darkness surrounding them turned to hot, vibrant reds. Not passionate, nor at all romantic, but aggressive and frightening. His fear lie before him and with it his answers. He dove into the red. He saw finely edged elven blades dash the enemy with such precision that the flesh fell like lace. Hundreds of elves, shoulder to shoulder in sleek golden armour deflecting the rush of brutish enemies. Behind the reapers stood their leaders, the high ranking, and among them stood Mirion.

Shi'mon awoke to his own shaking. Morning's first light had come and he found himself behind the others. Despite the lateness, he moved slowly. His dream hung in mind along with the memories it'd triggered. What would he do about Mirion?

It was not long before one of Rook's new companions leaned forward and grabbed the white-clay jug, a dwarf who had previously introduced himself as Ghas. Rook was somewhat reassured by their presence; as a people who could work hard and party hard, they were well-respected in his book. He leaned back, stretched, and once again began twisting the dice between his fingers, passing them from left hand, to right, and back again at a whim.

Ghas remarked on the strength of the brew, to which Rook could only smirk and shrug. "Eh, its a home-brew from around my parts. We call it winter-whiskey, used to go up the Parsacid mountains up a ways, gather snow and herbs and the like. Its a lot stronger than it tastes, thats part of the beauty." Rook's dice-tossing became a bit slower as he talked; he stopped passing the dice between his hands, and began to tap them together in his left hand. "Those gulps I took earlier? Yeah I'll be sleeping like the dead in about an hour. Now, I dont have the gut for liquor like you dwarves do, but I can hold my fair share." Liquid courage, one simple serving.

That was when she joined them. An alabaster statue of a goddess given life, or at least that's the cliche the alcohol was screaming in his head at the moment. She introduced herself as Celine, a Godswife, and the words came unbidden from him. "Yeah, I knew a Godswife once...wasn't too faithful to her marriage though, if you know what I mean." He chuckled at his own joke, not sure if that statement even made sense but pleased at himself all the same, in a way only the drunk can be. It didnt take too long, however, to realize that she might be the last person he'd want to offend. Everyone tells stories, and most are bullshit, but when you hear that someone has the power to shrivel your meat-and-berries with a curse, you dont take chances. At least, not sober.

He stood up suddenly, aware of his lack of sobriety and what little time he had to finish the tasks at hand. Here goes nothing.

"Well, I wish I could sit and chat, but I'm working by the hourglass and the sands are almost all fallen. Enjoy the winter-whiskey, and Ill see you folk in the morning." He trotted his way to the door of the inn, nodding to those he passed on the way out. He threw the door open, but stopped under the door-frame and leaned back in. "And ladies....I sleep with my door unlocked, so if you're chilly in the night..."

Rook's laughter followed him outside, even penetrating the thick wooden door closed behind him.

*****

It didn't take long to find the hovel; at the edge of town, built up against the largest oak Rook had seen in a decade. The whole way here, his inner-voice shouted that this was a stupid idea, that he should turn back and go find some tavern slut to distract him with until the winter-whiskey kicked in fully. But he kept walking. There was a golden light shining from between the hut's gap-riddled plank walls, and the scent of roasting hog and burned pipe-weed permeated the area. Before he knew it, Rook was standing in front of the door, and had hardly put his knuckles to the thin wood when it swung open forcefully. What stood in the doorway could easily be described as a bear wearing a man as a suit, his giant wiry black beard streaked with grey and white. He carried a hatchet and glowered down at Rook.

"I should cleave your skull right here." The man's voice was surprisingly flat, tuneless. Not how Rook remembered it.

"It's good to see you too, old man." The pause afterward dragged on for far too long, but Rook dared not break it. He let the man size him up, waiting for some kind of answer.

"Come in. Got leftovers if you're hungry." The bear-man-thing turned and lumbered into a hovel that, in retrospect, was far too small for a man that size. Rook followed and quietly closed the door behind. Inside was nothing but a firepit, a filthy, worn mattress, some food and jars in a corner, and piles of iron tools and weapons. The large man took a seat on his mattress, bare dirty feet sitting next to the open fire, and Rook stood where he was. "So, out with it. Why does the Great Cheat himself deign to visit old Morien?"

Rook's head was swimming; the crude fire-pit filled the room with a meaty, greasy smoke, and did nothing to keep his head clear as the whiskey pounded on, relentless.

"Truth be told, I just wanted to say hi. Im going with some people..." He paused, not sure how to word the recent developments in his life. "A Watchful. Apparently there's some trouble with orcs we're going to sort out. They're....getting closer." He shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot. "You should come with us."

That drew a bark of laughter, but a hollow one; there was a smile under Morien's beard, but it didnt reach his eyes. "Sorry. No-can-do. Got enough on my plate as it is."

Rook somehow doubted that, but he wasn't going to argue. He just shrugged. "So there's no way I can convince you?"

"None."

Another pause lasting far too long.

"....How is she?" Rook dared to ask. That brought some light to Morien's eyes; a flicker of actual anger and misery, too, and the man roughly rolled to his feet, shuffling through what looked like a pile of refuse.

"Dont ask. Not now." But, as if sensing Rook's drunken insistence before it could even come, Morien stopped rifling through junk, took a deep breath and clenched a fist. "A fever. Not two weeks past. Right after her third child. Fever spread to the baby. Spread to the kids. Spread to the father. Not much more to tell." He stood up, turned, and tossed a brown burlap sack at Rook, who only barely caught it (and almost lost his balance doing so.) "Take this. Go." And Rook was brusquely shuffled out of Morien's hut, almost tossed into the wet night.

Well, yeah I guess, I am lucky you didn't cleave my head in, old goat. Ill look through the sack later, I can barely fucking stand. Oh gods, Summer...

When Rook was further down the road, a howl rent the night sky. The grief in it was almost too much for Rook, and he almost ran all the way back to the Galvanizing Spirit.

Her presence caused a certain feeling of discomfort or weariness, making Edward fumble for words. She was used to this kind of reaction. Superstitious villagers spreading fanciful tales about them. Stories told to jealous wives by poxy-faced men, of black hearted witches who ravaged them in the dark of night. Those stories were fancies, hiding a deeper truth. These stories survived for generations and it caused the reputation they had to this day. They served a double purpose, a shared benefit. Their skills as healers always ensured they had a running business, though they were feared and rarely received gratitude for their services. Their reputation was a more powerful protection than any weapon or amulet and she knew this well. For this reason almost none of the Godswives made any attempt to rectify the myths created about them. Growing up she was taught to use their reputation to her advantage and work around it if she had to. Not all people were easily convinced of her good will.

She was amused by his flustered demeanor and did nothing to ease his discomfort. Instead she merely watched in silence as Edward spoke to the innkeeper who much to his dismay dismissed him after a few kind words of encouragement. Some of the fellowship were down to their last drink, retreating to their rooms shortly after. Celine hadn't traveled very far herself but recognized the need of a good nights rest. Edward had not answered her question. Though she knew he would need it, if not now perhaps later.

"I see" She started. The young woman took the cup from his hands since he wasn't going to drink from it and he'd spilled some on the floor, the ale having splattered on the bottom of her dress. "Let's just put this back over here" She placed the half full mug on the table of the fellowship and turned back to the young farmer. The Galvanazing Spirits lived up to its reputation as his face was flushed. It could be from drink or it could be because of her. She couldn't tell but she didn't really care. "If you find your nights have become restless............, haunted" She emphasized the word haunted with a slightly disturbing tone. "Come and see me" She continued calmly. The young woman retrieved her cloak from the chair, giving a nod to all of the fellowship still seated. "Though......" " I cannot promise the price will be the same as it is now" She added as a last means of convincing him. It was simple really, a trade of sorts. He would tell her all he knew about the orcs and his encounter with them, in turn she would rid him of the mark.

Following Wolmak Celine walked up the steps of the worn stairway, it creaked as she moved. The door had been left open and the warm glow of a burning fire spread across the hallway. The dwarf Wolmak must have been either a fool or rich, having rented a room as large as this. Being a dwarf she was sure it was the latter. The room was one of the better ones the inn had to offer. The fireplace if anything was proof of that.

She wasn't the first one to join him and she recognized one of the elves. The heels on her boots clacked on the wooden floors as she walked inside. The dwarf had his back turned to her but she made no attempt to draw his attention. There were multiple beds placed in a somewhat sloppy circle, one of them standing underneath a window. That will do just fine. She thought.

The Godswife eased down onto the pleasantly soft bed. The window allowed the light of the Moon and her stars to seep through. The pack she'd taken with her didn't have much aside from basic traveling gear. Most if not all of her ointments, herbs and incense were still at her croft. It was too much to take with her. Besides she knew when and where to harvest her healing herbs almost as well as a farmer would his crops. She looked at the moon while changing into her nightgown. Celine wasn't much concerned with her modesty. The moon was also a woman after all. She narrowed her eyes at the lady of the night, annoyed for some reason, or more accurately, angry. Each month I pray, I offer what I have to you and yours. Never have I asked for anything myself other than to better the lives of these ungrateful townsfolk. Now when I asked, I begged you to send me a sign if he's alive, you refuse! In her anger she had gripped the sheets bawling them into her fists. She took a quiet breath willing the anger to fade. It was replaced by a sadness that ate at her. But for some reason she allowed it, she had to. Otherwise she would lose her mind and never find him.

I won't forget you Drustan.........

For the most part, Lila had gone unnoticed, and she was happy enough with this. She saw the ways that their eyes slipped over her, almost as if she wasn't even there, and that was good. That stopped her from feeling scrutinised and pressured, and it meant that she didn't have to carry a conversation. If there was one thing that she hated, it was having to carry a conversation with strangers.

The only person in the group she had any desire to form a friendship with was the woman who had so valiantly leapt to her aid with tooth and blade, but she had already retired to a room by the time Lila found the energy to move. She had wanted to wait until the newly formed troupe had dispersed enough for her to properly escape unnoticed. It was likely enough that no one would have noticed her had she gone when the rest of them were there, but there were at least two people blocking her way and she did not have anywhere specific to go.

The rooms in the inn were an option, of course, but Lila had a certain deep seated distrust of convenience. It went hand in hand with her deep seated distrust of public sleeping quarters. This was mostly to do with the fact that she had spent very little time outside her home town, and she was used to being the one who changed the sheets.

At home, she was the one who took care of everything and knew where everything was, not so in an inn. Which was why Lila waited until the majority of the group had dispersed and she slipped out the front door, leaving her tankard on the table untouched. Fully prepared to settle in to a tree and doze on and off until morning.

Thaddeus sat back in his chair, slowly sipping from his ale, watching the members of his party mingle and chat. The affable dwarf, Wolmak, offering the beds of his room to the others. Celine talking with Edward -- about what, Thaddeus wondered? What would the Godswife have to say? One by one, the fellowship dispersed, some leaving through the front door (like Rook or Lila), others retiring to their beds. He looked down at his ale and smiled at his own muddled reflection. He had never worked together with such a large number of people before. He knew all of them at least superficially. It must be an even more novel experience for the rest of them, since they were almost all strangers to each other.

In the end, he was one of the last to stay. Gehrhart approached him and asked about the training of the group. Thaddeus thought about it for a second before answering. "The elves will know how to take care of themselves. Edward is very inexperienced, obviously, but he slew a number of orcs. If nothing else, he's got talent and spirit. The rest of these people are here because they're trustworthy and have other useful skills. The Godswife is a healer, Ghas is an inventor and hunter..." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "And so on and so forth." He leaned a little closer and smiled sheepishly. "Though I'm not sure why Rook is here. He conned himself into it, really. I won his loyalty in a game of dice. I couldn't resist."

He leaned back and finished his drink. "At any rate, master dwarf, I suggest you get some rest as well. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

---

The next morning, at dawn, Thaddeus was already waiting for his new comrades at the northeastern gate of Merryspring. Some of them arrived one by one, others in pairs or groups of three. He greeted them all with a warm smile and inquiries about their rest. Not all of them looked like they had slept soundly. Nightmares about the journey ahead? Thaddeus knew how they felt. Or perhaps some of them had been getting to know each other a little more intimately.... Thaddeus smothered a grin at the thought. So soon? Probably not.

Once they had all been gathered, Thaddeus called for their attention. "Good, we're all here. Woodshaven is a few hours on foot from here. And yes, we will be walking. I know some of you have horses or ponies here -- I've arranged for their stay and care here. After Woodshaven, it's very likely we will be entering the Dark Forest ourselves. That is not a place for horses," he said, a slightly ominous tone to his voice.

"Anyway, let us be off!" He hit the road with confident strides, motioning for them to follow him. "Are any of you friends yet?" he called over his shoulder, grinning.

All Gehrhart could muster was a snort of derision, "The only thing you count on an elf to do is be petty and arrogant" he spat back, "You're a good man AND I trust ya, but i'll never understand why you do some of these things". Feeling very tired all of a sudden he stood and patted Thaddeus on the shoulder "I'll see ya there then" ,he said as he walked back to the old innkeeper. "I trust my young acquaintance paid for a solo room for me then?" he asked the man. "Why indeed he has master dwarf" the innkeeper said to him as he cleaned a mug "Far room at the end of the hall, can't miss it". "I won't be needing it" Gehrhart said "In the morning i'd like you to return the money back to him".
"Of course master dwarf" the innkeeper said slightly confused, "But, if i might ask where shall you be sleeping?"

"Outside" Gehrhart replied as he headed for the doors "I want to see the stars". "Ah" the innkeeper said as realization hit him "I warrant you haven't seen the sky at night then?" "I have but never for long" Gehrhart answered as he exited "I find it relaxing". "Well a good night to you then master dwarf" The innkeeper called as Gehrhart left.

While he had been truthful about his desire to see the stars there was an ulterior motive to Gehrharts wish to stay outside. He made his way to his pony and retrieved from its saddlebag one of his most prized possessions from a small wooden case, a small delicate looking lute carved from wood and engraved with dwarven runes, He also retrieved a clay pipe and pouch of tobacco. Taking the flute, pipe and a small blanket he found a dry spot under a tree on the edge of the town and sat at the base of the tree lighting his pipe and began slowly playing the only tune he knew, a dwarven lullaby. The stars are beautiful tonight, he thought, like diamonds thrown across an ocean, I wonder if you ever saw them. A tear began to form in the old dwarfs eye, I think you'd have liked the stars He continued Maybe you're one of them, way up there away from all this. The old dwarf looked up at the night sky through the branches of the tree at the stars, if you are and you're watching I hope i can make you proud.

---

He didn't know when he had fallen asleep but he awoke the next morning at the sound of a rooster crowing, the lute sitting in his lap. He returned to his pony and stowed the small instrument back into its case. Daddy loves you he thought as he gently placed the case back into his saddle bag and began preparations for the ride. He hoped Wolmak would be around soon and they could head off to their destination and could get this adventure really underway.

Celine awoke early. The stars were still shining while she got herself ready for the journey ahead. She worked quickly, which seemed strange since there was no apparent reason for her to hurry. Dawn was still a good hour away. She put on an unremarkable earth colored skirt and a white blouse with a square neckline. The sleeves reached halfway down her arms stopping at the elbows. A tan leather bodice was worn over the blouse and she laced it with practiced skill. After she finished putting on her clothes she gathered all of her belongings into her traveling bag. Overnight some of the others had found their way to Wolmak's room, several of the beds she'd seen empty were now occupied. They were all still sleeping when she left to catch the last rays of starlight. The peaceful silence of the slumbering town managed to settle her dark thoughts if only for a little while.

There was a stream nearby of which the water was pure enough to drink. She'd seen it when she entered town the day before and it was close by the entrance where Thaddeus had asked them to meet. The stream rippled calmly and she could see the rocks underneath the water, it swirled past these stone obstacles. Such was the way of water, always around and over never straight through. Patience was its power as was proven by the smooth pebbles that made up the bottom of the stream.

The stars were watching her from above as she dipped in her feet, letting the stream caress them. The feet were the most impure part of one's body and should always be washed first. She splashed her face several times, gasping as the icy water touched her skin. The water ran down her neck but she let it, staring at her distorted reflection in the rippling water. After a while the image started to become cloudy and her eyes glazed over, she wasn't sure what she was seeing. There was someone else beside her, another quivering reflection in the stream. At first she couldn't tell who it was, the features were hazy and unclear. Until she saw a pair of piercing deep set eyes which made her heart leap with recognition and she whipped her head around furiously. Her raven locks obscured her view. She brushed them away impatiently seeking the owner of that familial gaze but all that lay before her was an empty road, the claws of grief around her heart tightening once more. The grief held little influence anymore as with most other feelings, she was numb to the core. Only he could stir up these buried emotions. Even a moonlit illusion was enough to make her heart leap and her stomach flutter. She was going on this journey for him so she could get her life back. Their life together.

The night had made way for dawn, the mysterious few hours of twilight where neither the moon or sun ruled the sky. A place in between where their journey began. The visage in the moonlit stream excited but also troubled her. What does it mean? Was it the sign I asked for?

She spotted Thaddeus walking to the gates, even from this short distance she could tell it was him. When she arrived, the other soon joined in. They would not be needing their horses. Celine was used to traveling with a horse since she carried multiple traveling bags with her. Thaddeus had warned her to travel light so she had. The only drawback was the limited amount of ointments and herbs she could bring. Some of them were easily broken while others had to be packed separate from one another. As they walked she found her thoughts going back to the visage in the stream. It might not be real but it was still the first time she'd seen him since he went..............away.

Mirion, the Elf of Standing, the Courageous, the Self-Proclaimed though Admittedly Skilled Assassin. The latter meant killing him might be too challenging, if not immoral. Protecting himself so violently meant his safety, maybe, yet it deprived the fellowship of Mirion's skill. Good. Compliments meant some bit of respect -- even a bit stayed his blade. Mirion the Fellow, Mirion the Somewhat Admirable, Mirion the --

"Chipper mood, aye?" one of the fellowship chirped with startling enthusiasm. Shi'mon offered too big a smile and adjusted his pack. By the Goddess, had he been smirking?

Slowing to the back of the group, Shi'mon fell in beside one of the humans. She paid him only a passing glance before smoothing the straps of her pack. Tan skin further sun-kissed and the hands of a serious craftsperson. The little scars on her fingers, mostly cuts and burns convinced him she must be a smithy. Or perhaps a builder, though, what about the burns? Shi'mon expelled the thought. Quietly walking beside another brought a certain joy. Every stride spoke leagues if one could read them. Though Shi'mon could not, he enjoyed imagining what the sway of one's shoulders or hips might say. After a moment or two staring at the Watcher's backside, Shi'mon found himself surprisingly amused. He thought for a moment the supposed-smithy noticed.

Turning to her, Shi'mon let on a devilish grin and said quietly, "A long walk ahead of us. How might we pass the time?" He then allowed his eyes to drift back forward, only to find an armoured dwarven arse. "Never mind that... I am Shi'mon. May I ask your name? I notice you've a crafty look to you, a fletcher perhaps?"

Wolmak awoke and removed the sword from the fire, dipping it in a bucket that had been sitting below a hole in the roof slowly dripping water into the room. It made the annoying and consistent dropping worth it all. The water hissed and bubbled as the blade was rapidly cooled off. He picked the blade back out and wrapped it up skillfully as everyone else continued to sleep. He picked up his smaller pack and attaching his warhammer to his back, ensuring that the head with its emblem and jewel were hidden, he moved out of the room before closing the door.

He waved off the inn keeper as he attempted to return some of the money, "Keep it, you have been naught but good of service." He moved out of the inn and into the sloppy mud of the town.

He moved to the stable beside the inn in order to ensure that his horse and his masters was well looked after. He had considered getting them sent home however who was there to send it home? They did not know the way and likely no-one else would. Trade Dwarves and Men was really only within the inner Kingdoms where the borders of their kin met. He walked out, pack on his back. Thankfully due to being a dwarf it was only marginaly heavy, though to a Man or Elf it would be far far to heavy. He adjusted it slightly so he could still get his warhammer easily should the need arise. He caught up with the rest of the group, waited for Edward and then offered the sword. "This is yours Master Edward, you won it and so yours it shall remain until the day you chose that it should not be." He nodded oveer to a small cluster off rocks. "I'll be over there if you need me." With that he walked over to the rock formation, took out an old wooden pipe and placed some tobacco in it before lighting it. It was a good day to be outside.

"A long walk ahead of us. How might we pass the time? Never mind that... I am Shi'mon. May I ask your name? I notice you've a crafty look to you, a fletcher perhaps?"

Lila's eyebrows twitched upwards when he spoke to her, and she twisted her mouth into a wry, almost unfriendly smile.

“I am called Lila, I have until recently been a blacksmith.”

She gave the man an appraising look out of the corner of her eye. He was an elf, and she had never set much store towards elves, but this one seemed nice enough, and he recognised her as a tradesperson, even though his initial assumption had been fletcher. If she had been a fletcher her arrows would have been better made, and perhaps her fingers would be less clumsy and covered in grime.

“And what it is that you do, Master Shi'mon?” she asked lightly, glancing to where Thaddeus was leading the way ahead of them and the rest of the motley company were walking around them. Walking next to the elf was requiring her to stretch out her legs more than when she walked alongside Thaddeus, because the elf was so much taller.

But Lila didn't mind. Every step took her further away from the hot fires of the smith and the blood that she would never stop feeling on her hands.