Caemlyn road was a wide avenue of people and greenery in the day time and Nerome had found that his mood had soared considerably through the journey. He liked the chatter, the animated noises that were coming from all around him. It brought him comfort, because now, the focus was no longer on him and for him, the focus was no longer on what he was about to do. Pretty women were of a rather large number on road, he noted with some surprise. Large blue eyes smiling at him that way, deep brown ones the other…yes, this was the sort of thing he liked. Rosheen didn’t seem to care much, but Nerome couldn’t help but feel a little awkward about making ‘eyes’ in front of her. She was his mentor after all.

 

Conversation during the trip had been easy and cheerful and occasionally, even eye-opening. It was a good opportunity to get to know Rosheen better and so he asked openly. It had begun with simple questions like, “so what of your life before this?†and had slowly continued on to deeper, more meaningful matters. Matters that he was not used to talking to her about and found himself asking about with a little more care than he put in most things. What was it about the Tower that had kept so many men and women of the Guard sealed to it? He for one was quite sure that he would leave as quickly as possible. Perhaps even find some of his old friends again. He missed traveling. He missed Carthwin and the lot. Those had been good times. But then, good times often made bad memories.

 

“What do you think of this whole…bond business? I hate the sound of it actually. Being tied to just one person, your life after theirs. I don’t mean to sound selfish really, but spending one’s whole life on the politics and games of one woman? Why is it that so many believe in it and wish for it? I don’t understand.â€

It was good to be out and about again. Rosheen had spent a lot of time in and around Tar Valon lately, and every trip always felt like a short vacation. Even if Nerome was trying very hard to talk the ears off of her head. And even if he was asking a lot of questions. Who knew that so many questions existed? Still, she was happy to answer them all, pointing out some things here and there when Nerome failed to comment on it. Mostly he seemed interested in her life though, which was… refreshing. She was used to being the one who had to drag the answers out of people, and Nerome’s interest, whether genuine or not was quite welcome.

 

To her surprise the few days ride to Caemlyn passed quickly, with her telling Nerome about her life before and after she became a Tower Guard. “It’s mostly about the friendships.†She answered when he asked her why she stayed on as a Tower Guard. “It’s something that gradually grows on you. At first your fellow trainees are just… well, fellow trainees. Sometimes you like them, and other times you just want to hit them in the head. I don’t recommend that by the way.†She had added with a laugh. “But then one day you wake up, and find that your life has been entangled with the lives of others so thoroughly that leaving Tar Valon and the Guard behind just doesn’t seem to be worth the ‘freedom’ you gain from it.â€

 

At that point they’d arrived at Caemlyn. Nerome had been distracted by the splendour of the city for a bit, but he’d soon returned to his line of questioning. “You know, you should talk to Aran about this sometime.†Rosheen said. “His stay at the Yards is far more peculiar than my own, and I think you’ll find his reasons to stay behind more convincing than my own.†Well, technically they were the same reasons, but Nerome and Aran had a lot more in common than she and Nerome, so maybe hearing it from Aran would help. And they were on to the next subject. Bonding. Rosheen found herself scratching her head.

 

“Tough question. I’ve been a Tower Guard ever since I was promoted, and yet I’ve also promised to bond someone, when we’re both ready.†Rosheen smiled fondly when she thought of Lyanna. “I guess that’s mostly about the friendship too. You don’t bond someone you don’t get along with. You don’t bond someone you don’t respect, and who doesn’t respect you.†She glanced at Nerome, hoping he got her point.

 

“It’s not an unworthy goal in life, Nerome. Aes Sedai are important. They serve a greater purpose than you or I can ever achieve. For us to serve that purpose, and serve it well, we serve the White Tower. Some choose to do so by staying on as a Tower Guard. As a part of Tar Valon’s army, you’ll see more and learn more than you can ever imagine. Others choose to do so by dedicating their lives to one Aes Sedai. To keep her safe and guide her, and help her as she serves the higher purpose. Aes Sedai are not immortal, they need our help and at times our guidance to survive. It’s a mutually beneficial thing, bonding. Maybe you’ll feel different about it some day.†If the boy truly was more like Aran than like herself, he probably wouldn’t do. Aran couldn’t even commit to one sweetheart, let alone to one Aes Sedai.

 

~Rosheen Tahn Sakhr

Nerome had never imagined his mentor to be the chatty sort. And yet here she was, replying to each and every question without a glare or a grudging look. There were surprises everywhere it seemed. Or perhaps she was just in ‘the mood’ for it? Women felt a lot, he’d been taught. They liked talking about it lots too. Thing was though, Rosheen’s points were interesting. Valid. He had met several intelligent women in his past, but talking with Rosheen brought him to a different sort of intelligence: the intelligence that came with experiences. And she had certainly had many. He noticed it in the way her eyes seemed to be looking at the horizon off and on, as if thinking back to some other place or perhaps a fond memory. He had his own of course; many were just one good laugh here or nights out with the band. Or even times in Cairhien.

 

Who were his friends in the Yard? Who were the ‘fellow trainees’ he was to warm to? A good question. As much as he found himself unable to admit this, he had made few friends since having first come. His training had been much slower than that of the trainees he had first acquainted with and faces had come and gone in a blur and now many of those who had been roommates were now in the Tower Guard. It was one of the reasons he’d decided to wake up, if truth was to be told.

 

Caemlyn city arrived in front of them in all its splendour, gleaming under the midday sun. Memory came back vividly to him, reminding him of his first visit again. A lot had changed he realized. But then, after so many years, things bloody well should. Progress is everything. And cities were all about progress.

 

“Tough question. I’ve been a Tower Guard ever since I was promoted, and yet I’ve also promised to bond someone, when we’re both ready.†Rosheen smiled fondly when she thought of Lyanna. “I guess that’s mostly about the friendship too. You don’t bond someone you don’t get along with. You don’t bond someone you don’t respect, and who doesn’t respect you.â€

 

Respect? He didn’t know much about respect. There were few in the yards he respected and even fewer who he would openly admit this to. It made him smile really, the thought of him finding a woman who he would both respect and value as a friend. Could he see himself Promised to anyone five years from now?

 

Definitely. Not. He was about to mention as much when Rosheen continued further. And he found he could do nothing, but listen. It took him a while before he could reply and even then, he replied with care. “I do not know if I want to be responsible for another’s safety. I do not think I can take care of myself at times, forget another person. Especially another person being an Aes Sedai. And perhaps I could serve them in other ways. After all, isn’t being part of the Tower Guard also helping them to strive?†Abruptly he laughed. “Well this is certainly one of the deeper conversations I’ve had.â€

Something told Rosheen that Nerome was using this conversation to figure out what he wanted from life. She smiled at him, silently urging him on to ask more, and to think more. Every trainee eventually went through such a phase, or so she had been told. Rosheen had spent a few days wondering if she was fit to protect anyone. And then, after she had been promoted, there had been that moment when she had doubted the White Tower, when she had carelessly been accused of murdering a trainee. When it had seemed that not even Lyanna would believe her. That too had passed, and on top of it, she had found out who her friends were at that point. Lyv, who just couldn’t believe that Rosheen would do such a thing. Who had even attacked her. It had taken them months to get over that, but they had been closer than ever afterwards.

 

Or take Aran, who had been the only one who didn’t seem to think she was guilty before the evidence was in. Who had set out to find that evidence, even though they barely knew each other at the time. It was his evidence that finally got her off the hook. One of these days she was going to have to thank him for it. She focussed on Nerome again, especially when he mentioned something about being unable to protect an Aes Sedai. “Well, you still have a lot to learn, but you’re getting there.†She grinned at him. “But that’s not the only protection you can offer. You’re also meant to be the voice of reason for an Aes Sedai. Sometimes they get so caught up in their causes that they forget to eat and sleep. That’s where you come in, you remind them that they are only human, and that they can in fact die from little things such as malnutrition.â€

 

“We don’t just keep them alive by defending them from all evil, we sometimes have to defend them from their own actions as well. We are the eyes in the back of their heads. We ask questions for them. You might not be as big and burly as some of the warders, but you have a knack for politics. That makes you just as useful, or even more so than a warder who just rolls his muscles the entire time.†Rosheen pointed at an inn. “We should stay here for a day.†She said. The sign showed a charging bull, but the name was fuzzed out a bit. That was probably a good thing, because the inn was owned by a Murandy trader who’d settled down in Caemlyn. “Go get us a pair of rooms, and I’ll get us something to drink.â€

 

~Rosheen

He had a lot to think about. More in fact than he had first set off pondering over, and that had been puzzling enough. Thing was though, what Rosheen had said made sense. That struck him. Hard. Were all his beliefs and understanding of the Yard and the Tower till now completely wrong? Or was she merely yet another softened by time? It could easily be both; that still didn’t help him much. We are the eyes in the back of their heads. We ask questions for them. He had never realized that Warders had a voice too. He had understood that it was to protect and serve, but not to save and counsel. Even then, did it make any sense to him? “Good morning to you, Master. Would you have any rooms for the night?†the Innkeeper was a burly man, with a slight paunch padding up his stomach which could only be because of too much drinking, he realized as he noticed the redness of his skin.

 

The deal didn’t require much skill and with a firmness that Nerome did not usually have, he got them the two rooms for a decent price. Murandians. They were all the same. The inn was a nice one though, he noted as he looked around. Just right for a short trip. And it had to be a short trip after all. This was all about speed and although Rosheen didn’t know it, Nerome had spent many a day before this practicing time management. Small tasks, unnatural doings- he’d done them all in an effort to prepare for this.

 

The taproom was busy already-overflowing with people and loud raucous laughter. Rosheen was sitting in a corner a little away from the centre of the noise, two large mugs sitting in front of her. She was getting the most interested looks he realized with a laugh. Sitting himself down opposite her, he said as much. “Looks like people like you around here. Some previous history that they can’t help remembering you for?â€

 

OOC: Wasn't sure where to go, so have kinda left it hanging. If you want you can just reply with the night finally ending and her bed being uncomfortable. ;) My next post will be the one where he finds the DFs. :D

“Yeah, apparently I’m just unforgettable.†She said, grinning at her trainee. She kept glancing around, looking for her contact. She felt a little more equipped for dealing with Murandians ever since she … got closer to Vasya, but still… they could be odd sometimes, and she really didn’t feel like involving her trainee in a cussing match with one of those… people. When she spotted the person she’d be looking at, she turned to Nerome. “Ok, there’s my contact…†How to bring this subtly? Without hurting her trainee’s feelings? Because trainees were so sensitive these days. “I’m going to need you to… err… shove off for a while.†A look at Nerome’s face told her that that wasn’t the right term.

 

“I mean, he’s one of Lyanna’s contacts, and… you know, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but… you have to go sit somewhere else anyway. Or go out and discover Caemlyn by night or something. You’re a big boy now, so you can entertain yourself.†Rosheen’s attention turned to the Murandian, who was heading her way. When she turned back to Nerome he was gone already. She sighed. “Trainees these days… so sensitive.†The Murandian picked up on that and laughed. “One of yours, eh? He looks soft.†She chuckled at that. “he’s allright. Getting there, at least.†The Murandian laughed again. “Sit down, you git, and I’ll get you a drink.†Rosheen wandered towards the bar, getting them both a mug. “Trying to loosen my tongue already eh?†he called after her. She rolled her eyes at that.

 

~Rosheen

 

ooc: ok, go for it :D

Insulting as her dismissal had been, none could’ve brought him a better exit than this. He nodded and rose without a word, eyes fixed on the dimly lit streets he could see from the distance. He knew it would be best to leave quickly, because if he was to leave, it would be best to attract the fewest eyes possible. Vaguely aware that the Innkeeper was staring at him disapprovingly, he turned and gave the man a broad smile before pushing through the doorways. He’d get nasty bedding for that, he was sure, but for right now, it cheered him up quite a lot. Good Riddance, at its foremost. Dusk had settled onto Caemlyn in the time they had been inside- he had not realized so much time had passed since he had haggled with the Murandian for a good bargain. Still, it would do. He had planned this for too long now for a minute lost here and there to make him wet his pants and run crying to…well, just run crying.

 

One turn to the left, then keep walking straight. Spencer’s instructions were still fresh in his mind and the map the plump little man had drawn held tight in his fingers, Nerome had little doubt that he would lose his way tonight. Strangely enough, he was excited. He could feel it swelling up inside him and he did not resist it. It would give him strength. In a way it felt ironically like the old times. He was in the dark, clinging to the walls and shadows, with agility and speed giving him sway over the night. For a moment he could picture faces around him, glittering eyes in the dark and an occasional curse from one when another made a mistake. For a moment he wondered if he was doing this for them, but the moment passed easily and in a way, greatened his comprehension. This was for him, Nerome. Completely, only, entirely.

 

And it felt bloody good.

 

Of course, it was not exactly called taking “life in his own hands” but this was something he had wondered about too often. Perhaps it would be the something that he had been looking for all this while. Perhaps it would be the something that Rosheen had mentioned to him, when she had told him he was ‘getting there.’ He had trained for this, planned for this. He had bettered for this! One could call it obsession, but to him, it was necessity, this revenge. The thought made laughter bubble inside him and at the same time, it hushed him. Nerome was not the sort to darken his face and brood silently while others laughed but this. This he’d kept with him for years now. A seed of bitterness that hadn’t flourished no, but instead had just stayed there, unchanged. On one hand, this had made sure that his feelings for the night from four years ago were just as intense as they had been on that very day and on the other, it meant that if he failed, moving forward in life would be out of the question.

 

You should reach what appears to be a dead end. Push at the fifteenth brick. You should find it comes loose. Put your hand through, and grope for the key that is waiting on the other side.

 

He was here. Dull red walls greeted his vision and without waiting to think, Nerome pushed at the brick…

oh, Light her head hurt. She'd managed a few scant hours sleep, but the sounds of revelry still issued from the common room. Tyosh and Thorfinn would have long sought their blankets by now, but Dilora could not settle, and the buzz of brandy and brew had distinctly worn off. She needed some air. Donning boots hasitly, she noticed scratches in the small doorframe from where the ogier, Forge, had passed through and chuckled wryly to herself. Where would he have slept this night? She did not think the inn had rooms of a size suitable for Forge's large frame. Shaking her head and trying not to make a noise, Dilora pulled on a long green coat and crept out of the room onto the street outside. She had gone passed windows shuttered against the cold, and inns with a few lights still burning, but for the most part all was still.

 

Walking past those rooms, she found herself staring at a strange sight. A man, tentatively pushing against the wall of one of the houses caught her eye and Dilora, her curiousity piqued, crossed over to him and laid a hand on his arm. "Hello, friend" she told him, cautiously keeping her voice low. "Are you trying to steal something?"

 

Nerome froze, feeling his face turn pale. Of all the bloody times… Was this the time when he turned around and ran? He could probably make it without much trouble- she didn’t sound very young. One never knew though. Turning around slowly, he met her with a weak smile, taking in little things about her face and body methodically. Andoran he would think because of her accent, but in the darkness he could notice little. “Steal? No, no, you are quite wrong. I- well, I…” what in the name of Light could he say to her? She would probably think him to be crazy if he told her the truth. Would that make her leave him though? “I am opening a secret doorway to a house filled with Darkfriends and I plan on killing as many as I can.” His tone was serious, eyes fixed on hers as he said it. It was worth a shot anyway…

 

Darkfriends? In Caemlyn? How likely was that? Dilora regarded him with a stare that belied her slightly confused state and subconsciously wished she had her bow with her. Not that that would do any good in close quarters. No. She'd be far better off with her knife. Her hand lay on it lightly and her eyes sparkled with a suppressed challenge. Secret doorway, eh? This would be something to write about! Dilora Farstrider and her Travels would be on every goodwife's shelf from here down the ages. Danger was something she had not experienced since the carnival here a while ago, but it did not stop the strange roiling feeling in her stomach that was excitement.

 

"Okay, then. So you will need someone to watch your back, won't you?" She kept her tone exactly the same as he had and kept her gaze level. "Go on then. Open the door and let's see these Darkfriends. I'm hungry."

 

If there was ever a time required to prove the saying, “and then his jaw dropped open,” the way Nerome felt just then could have explained it better than any other. Who on earth was this woman? First she has the most unnatural timing, and then she was willing to walk into a haven for Darkfriends? Darkfriends?! Or was she doing this to goad him into admitting that it was all a lie? He opened his mouth to cautiously state that it would be dangerous, when he noticed the hand she had rested on what had to be a knife. Experienced, then? Or just drunk? “Look, I’m not joking. I’ve been planning this for months now and really finally think I’ve the courage to do this.” Taking a deep breath in, he continued. “Are you serious…have you been drinking?”

 

"Last night I had been drinking, but there is no trace of brew left in my system." The cheek of the man! As well accuse her of being a woman of loose morals! Rolling her eyes, Dilora resisted the urge to slap him around the face and stalk off and instead shrugged.

 

"I am trying to help you, man, and you accuse me of drinking? I have never been more serious in my life." Dilora smiled and laid her hand on her knife hilt. "I have had to use this, you know. More people see a pretty face and believe I'm further gone in drink than I actually am, and try their luck. A peddler has to act well in dangerous situations, you know, and I've survived far worse than any mere friends of the dark could throw at me." She shuddered, thinking of the horrors the Bubble of Evil had presented, and how she had managed to put it behind her. Dilora realised with that thought that she had put it behind her - maybe the dreams wouldn't come as often now.

 

Oh Light, he had offended her. “I beg pardon ma’am. I am merely nervous and even if you haven’t been drinking, I have! Just enough to get me alert though.” He said with a laugh. “I am worried, but…you seem far more experienced than I am and I could use the help, I suppose.” For a moment he considered asking her what she was doing out so late, suspicion driving him to the point of wondering whether she herself was a Darkfriend. After all, she would be entering this way. “You see the shaft of light that way?” he said, pointing at the wall. “That’s where they all are.” Reaching in through the crack, he quietly undid the door. “Are you ready to go?”

 

"Yes, I'm ready." She took her knife out of the holster at her belt and stood behind him, the point held low and out of sight in case anyone inside was not a darkfriend. She would not want to cause an unnecessary ruckus if she didn't have to, as that would be bad publicity indeed. "Let's go." She murmured quietly and watched as the door pushed open.

 

Breath held as the door swung back noiselessly, Nerome could almost hear his heart thumping as he waited to see what lay inside. Only to find himself surprised and perhaps even disappointed. It was so…normal. A small table stood in the centre of the room, adorned with a flickering candle that was slowly losing its strength. There were several chairs in the room, all gathered together in a huddle. Had there been a meeting recently? Suddenly he heard laughter coming from the other room. Darkfriends. Celebrating? What in the name of Light? “It looks like there are atleast six of them. Do we wait or do we go in?”

 

Six? Three each, if they were lucky then, and if not Dilora could take more than that as long as they came at her one at a time. Which forced a stalemate. If Nerome went in first he would draw their attack, Dillora knew she could hold the door so no one else could get in, and also no one would get out. However if she went in first herself ... no one would think about attacking a woman, surely? Not if she claimed to be unarmed and drunk at this time of the morning, they'd send her on her way like as not. That distraction should give the man some time to do whatever it was that needed doing and get out. Which reminded her of something she had been intending to ask...

"We go in. I'll go first, as they'll not be expecting a woman and I can claim to be drunk, or lost. You hold the door so no one gets out until we can question them, or report them. By the way, what are we doing here exactly? Why didn't you tell the authorities?"

 

Here came the tricky part. All this while he had been questioning her, but it seemed the tables had turned. How the hell was he supposed to explain his past? Light, it had taken him ages to explain to Rossa and right now, they had precious minutes... “I know it’s impossible for you to understand, but please, just, believe me when I say, I’ll explain everything. Later.” He felt every word as he said it, his eyes stressing the intensity of how he felt. Seeing her nod brought him relief he could not understand- had he really grown that dependent on a woman he had known for a sum total of two minutes?

 

Time to move in then. Dilora could feel her heart beating loudly in her chest, so loud she thought it would disturb the darkfriends in the next room. She had not thought that the man she was with might actually be a darkfriend himself intent on murdering some innocent. No. She chose to believe that he was the innocent party or else her sense of right and wrong was severely skewed. She'd not been wrong yet...

 

His hand turned on the doorknob and pushed it slowly open and Dilora seized the initiative and threw herself in to confuse them. Staggering, she looked around as though in a daze and announced herself loudly.

 

"Hello, my name is Dilora Fashelle. I'm a peddler and I was wondering if you needed anything." Standing there sheepishly, she wondered when her companion was going to get to the business of talking to these people...

 

He felt the blood roaring through his ears as he heard her speak. Dilora then? There was a thin sliver of light between the door and the corner, and it was through that he peered into the room. There were six people in the group as rightly guessed and all of them were staring at her with what could only be called fascination. One of them rose, laughing as he eyed her. Like meat, he thought with resentment. And that was when he saw him.

 

”Nerome! Get up! Blood and Ashes, Nerome! GET UP!”

 

And yet he could not. All he could do was stare. A hooded man was walking up to him, shrouded so well in the shadow that he couldn’t make out his face. As if he had read his thoughts, the man let down the hood. The first thing he noticed was the thin scar running down the man’s left cheek, coiled inwards like a serpent. Looking down at Nerome, he smiled.

 

The same eyes, the same scar. Here. That same smile. He was seated, with his back straight, watching Dilora like the rest of them. He had killed Carth, right before Nerome’s eyes. He had stuck the dagger into him. Anger surging in him like a relentless wave, Nerome found all practical thinking lost behind in oceans of thoughts and need for revenge. With a snarl he dove for the man, striking him down with his machete as rage took over him. Blind he might be, but oh the satisfaction…

 

 

Dilora saw the look in their eyes, assessing, calculating, wanting ... more than wanting. Want so strong it bordered on need and they closed towards her. They were rough looking, except for one that was seated and had scars on his face. She felt the air in the room grow thick with tension and knew that all eyes were on her. Her companion may as well be invisible for all everyone thought. And then he raced past her and plunged his long knife across the seated and scarred man's neck; bright crimson redecorating the furniture. His conspirators looked on in absolute shock and amazement before moving slowly, oh so slowly, to their feet and grabbing whatever weapons were to hand.

 

One of them, a large bearded man with a fine looking coat if you disregarded several holes in the back, doubtless caused my a knife to the previous occupant, grabbed hold of Dilora's arm and swung her around to face him. A strange light, a hungry and animal-like gleam in his eyes that made his face seem barely human, and yet there was intelligence therein that made Dilora shudder. Still, he was human, and as vulnerable as the next man. With all her might, she brought her knee up into the vulnerability and scored her own knife along his arm where it held her. With a shout, he let her go and Dilora quickly followed it up with a blow to the back of the head with the hilt.

 

Chaos bubbled in the living room as more people awakened to the fact that there was danger on their hands. The burly man crumpled to the floor like a dropped sack of potatoes, and his companions stepped over him, even on him, to try and get to Dilora and her companion. They had to keep their heads!

 

Blood soaked through the man’s shirt and onto him but he did not even get the chance to take it in. He did not have the time for anything. People were around him, skilled Darkfriends who as shocked as they might have been knew their way with blade and death. And he, mere Trainee from the Tower Guard in Tar Valon. He had learnt his share though, but it was more the need, the desperation to spill blood the way it had years past, when he had watched frozen and pale. He had woken unconscious the next day and followed it up with years of slacking and laughter. The past had been a delicate wound he had kept wrapped and forgotten for many years. Too many years. No more! He would need speed and he needed the Spring. Drawing on his emotions, he pushed himself forward, ducking and hacking both blindly and carefully.

 

Soon enough though, even in his mad burst he knew they had to run. And Dilora knew it too, he realized as she looked towards him for a moment. Although he had been chanced merely with glimpses of his companion’s skill, Nerome realized instantly that this wasn’t the first time she had walked calmly into a mess of blood and antagonism. Beating down one last man by attacking him, he ran towards the door, yelling for Dilora to stop. They needed no exchange of words to know what they had to do. Lungs squeezed and out of breath, yet he couldn’t stop running.

 

Dilora Fashell

Nerome Seshir

Forge woke up grouchy and early. He hadn’t slept well in the hayloft. He rarely did when he had to sleep above ground level. He wasn’t an eagle to sleep among the treetops! At least the horses hadn’t caused much of a ruckus when he walked in last night. They often did at their first sight of an Ogier, but he guessed they had been as tired at that hour as he had been. Unfortunately, he was still tired, and the hour was very early. The sun had a long ways to go yet to make its presence known in the eastern sky.

 

Sighing like a giant bull about to smash something, Forge dropped his travel pack to the ground, then eased himself down the sturdy ladder. Brushing off the accumulated debris from a night where hay had been both blanket and pillow, Forge took stock of his surroundings, and spied a water trough that was obviously used by the stableman to wash up and decided to take advantage of his time.

 

Stripping to the waist, Forge took out his razor and strapped it vigorously on a strip of leather until the blade reached a suitable edge, then he washed his face and lathered up. This certainly wasn’t the first time he had shaved with cold water, but he doubted he would ever grow to like it. Taking a tiny metal mirror out his personals bag, Forge propped it on top of a fence post and began touching up his facial hair.

 

Unlike most Ogier, Forge disdained the long mustaches and bushy, chin-covering beards his kind preferred. Instead, when time permitted, he kept his upper lip smooth and trimmed his chin hair to a very thin and short strip just below his lip that narrowed to a point just above his chin. For one thing, it was easier to keep out of the forge fires in the smithy, and for another Lily had always said it make him look handsome. Blushing at the thought, he quickly looked around to make sure no one had seen him. By the Light, sometimes he was as silly as a child! His ears twitched wildly in his bemused state. He kept his hair relatively short for the same reason, though. He blushed again.

 

Returning to the mirror, he touched up the last bit then headed to the back of the stable and took a dunk in a big water tank. He was sure the farrier wouldn’t mind he thought happily as he soapily scrubbed off the residue of many days on the road, especially if Forge had the time to help him with some work. Glancing at the still-dark sky, he figured it was still some time before the sun peeked above the horizon. Finished with his wake-up ritual, the giant 12-foot tall Ogier heaved himself out of his “bathtub” before he realized he didn’t have anything to dry off with.

 

Grunting at his oversight, Forge reluctantly dried off with his coat and shirt, hoping they would dry before he needed to go anywhere. Still, he felt much better than he had when he woke, and as he pulled on his breeches and stamped into his boots, he decided to see what work needed to be done in the smithy. Slinging what water he could from his still-wet hair, he pulled it back in its usual ponytail, and strode back into the stable, where he slung his travel pack over one shoulder and stuck his coat and shirt in the other arm loop.

 

Carrying his belongings around to the farrier’s work area, Forge noticed several items that needed finishing. As he walked around the smithy, the old farrier he had met the day before walked in bleary-eyed.

 

Coming to a startled halt, the farrier stammered at the unexpected sight of an Ogier in his shop, “Uh, hello friend Ogier. What can I do for you? I‘m Evan Eward, at your service.”

 

Forge smiled at the stolid little man, and returned the greeting, “Master Evan Eward, I am called Forge, and it is I who am at your service.” Gesturing to the scattered tools and half-finished work, the shirtless Ogier continued, “I promised to help you if I had the time, and it looks like I’ve got some to spare before my companions break their fast.”

 

Listening to the suddenly excited bald-headed blacksmith as he recited the business of the day, Forge nodded and moved to his travel pack. Pushing it over on its side, where the two axes were out of the way, he untied a leather bundle at the bottom to reveal that it was an Ogier-sized blacksmith’s apron wrapped around a hammer and clamp. Nodding to Master Ewan, Forge got to work.

 

The rhythm of the hammer’s swing, the heat of the fire, the colors of the molten metal, all embraced Forge like a lover. This was what he was born to do. Perhaps no other being, either human or Ogier, had ever possessed his skills with hammer and steel and stone. Alas, he couldn’t shape living things like the Great Trees the Ogier cherished, but at his hands cold iron seemed to almost come to life. Even simple things like horseshoes and barrow rods appeared to blossom like works of art.

 

As the sparks flew and iron took shape, Forge finally felt at home in this human city. He was just beginning to lose himself in the work when he heard a cry from across the square. Pausing, he heard the sound of running feet, so he took a step closer to the doorway to see what was going on.

 

He had just gotten to the large opening when he spied Dilora running behind another human, both covered in blood. Jerking out of his blacksmith’s apron, he hefted his hammer and boomed out in his deep bass, “Dilora!”

Tyosh rose early like he did everyday, but not in the same spirits he did everyday. The drinks seemed to have gone directly into his skull; it wasn’t very often that liquor could make him sick, but this was definitely one of those times.

 

He groaned as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. It had been comfortable enough; he probably would’ve gotten a good night’s sleep if it hadn’t been for the slight echo in his movements. He looked down at his clothes and gave a disgusted snort; he had slept in his travel-worn clothes after all the ale that had circulated his body last night.

 

Well, luckily he did have his herb pouch, which was sure to contain something he could brew into a cure for this sickness. While he scavengered in his pouch he remembered about his journey to the south. Somewhere in his nightly tumble he had forgotten all about it. It promised to be something new, traveling with an ogier, a peddler and a huntsman. These three in unison with an herbalist made a rather amusing party, he chuckled at the thought of the conversation they would have along the way.

 

Aha, here they were. He took a few pieces of his willowbark in addition to some flatwort and andilay. Now the secret to a good tea containing willowbark was to add the shavings, not a whole stick. Tyosh didn’t want to make a mess in his room so he started his adventure down to the common room and maybe get some hot water for the tea.

 

As soon as his right foot touched the landing of the stairs he heard the name of one of his companions bellowed in a deep voice. He had no idea what was happening but he was sure it wasn’t anything he’d enjoy with this headache. He ran straight to the door in time to see Forge about to dash after a man and a woman he could only guess was Dilora. Tyosh could only fathom that his ogier lungs had emitted the booming voice from a few moments ago and he was pretty sure that meant Dilora was in trouble and she wasn’t just playing “tag” with this stranger. The herbalist only had his hunting knife handy, it would have to be enough for now, he stuffed the willowbark into his mouth and chewed madly while hurrying after the trio and wishing he had his bow or quarterstaff.

~Thorfinn~

 

Thorfinn had been up all night getting the suppliesready for the long trip his conpanions were going on. He had to wake the traders up and many had been reluctant to serve him, but Thorfinn had his way of persuading people when he needed to. The goods had been loaded onto Mani, Thorfinn's Dhurran Stalion, and was heading back to the Inn, he was hoping Dilora's kart would be large enough to carrie all the supplies.

 

He contomplated the journey ahead, It had been over 6 odd years sine he had been in Shienar, maybe the route would stop off at his old lords keep. He had been quite well known in Shienar for his skill in killing the carrion in the area. I had meet my fair share of Mydraal. Many atime Thorfinn had shot the raven off of a Mydraals hand as it was making his report. He patted his Two Rivers Bow on his back, he had used this bow for nigh on 30 years it had done him well. He gripped the Hilt of his broadsword, Know this is less comfortable, I haven't used you in at least 6 years. Viper had been a sword handed to Thorfinn for his services to his lord. He was good at it but even better with his sheild as well. He was more of a brawler with a sword and sheild. Though he had taken down his fair share of shadow spawn. Yeah they were the days

 

'DILORA!!'

 

Thorfinn looked up to see Dilora chasing a man not known to him, the voice had been Forges the Ogier. By the Light, lets see whats goin on here. And with that he went off at a steady trot with Mani in tale.

~Dilora~

 

Running at full tilt through the cobbled streets of Caemlyn was having a strange effect on Dilora. Her head was certainly a lot clearer; indeed the cold morning air was like a tonic to her, refreshing and revitalising places as though she’d been dunked in a stream. But this … this was wrong. Running from supposed darkfriends now in fear of her life had not been the ideal start to the day, particularly not a good idea in using herself as bait. She wondered if any of them had been killed in the attempt. A brief glance over her shoulder revealed they were not in pursuit just yet and when she turned her head she saw her companion pause briefly, as though unsure of where to go. I’d best get my stuff and my wagon – we can get out using that as a distraction. First things first though … get to the inn…

 

“This way.”

 

Her voice was not raised, yet it carried an urgency Dilora thought he’d recognise. She’d seen the way he had handled himself, and recognising that they would be overrun had been a good tactic, even if Dilly herself had thought it doable. It would appear this one had some training from somewhere. Well, they’d not have anything else to do on the journey out of the city, so she could ask him all about it then. They rounded the corner, dark clouds hanging ominously in the sky giving a sense of oppression. Steel and silver clashed like bright swords, and Dilora would not be at all surprised to see sparks of lightning where the clouds clashed. And then they arrived at the stable yard where an unusual sight greeted them.

 

Stripped to the waist, and looking as though he had lost a fight with a lake, Forge the Ogier stood looking at Dilora and Nerome. Without a second thought, Dilly told him to grab his things and move towards the inn. They had work to do! People followed her into the inn.

 

The common room was surprisingly full when they entered. Thorfinn and Tyosh were already there, and the presence of Dilora, Forge and Nerome made it feel really cramped and small despite its capacious bounds. Hesitantly, she looked at the man that had made her, via her curiosity, walk into a den of wolves and get chased out again. The Light only knew they were probably behind her by now. If this wasn’t such a comical situation, she knew it would be the prime candidate for another song – the Ballad of Dilora’s Battle. Darkfriends, strangers and a twelve-foot Ogier … all combined with everyone else pulling against the joint struggle. She panted for breath, needing to compose herself before she began to speak. Where would they go? Tar Valon lay north and it would probably be the safest place. Most could hide in her wagon, but the Ogier couldn’t … he’d have to ride alongside. They’d make a strange crew, an unlikely merchant train headed for the city lights and the wealth of the White Tower, but they might well be able to pull it off. They could always pass as a menagerie if the occasion called for it…

 

“We should leave. Now. You!” Dilora looked at the man she had encountered outside that fateful house and put her hands on her hips. Every eye in the room looked at her. Suppressing the wry grin that people were obeying her, Dilora began to list her needs in order to go. True, she hadn’t got anything real to trade, and she hoped that Altie would be shod so they could make a quick getaway. Blacksmiths were known to have early starts in Caemlyn. “We’ll need some soap, all kinds and also whatever little things we can carry – gather your belongings all of you and we’ll head north to Tar Valon.” To Nerome, she added. “Do we need anything else, or to send any messages?”

~Thorfinn~

 

Thorfinn had tied Mani to the Horse rail outside and had went into the inn and meet Tyosh, who looked blarey-eyed. And very soon after him in came Dilora and Forge followed by a man he didn't recognize. He listed to Dilora explaining her urgency to leave and asked for the need of soap.

'I've got soap Dilora but it's just a plain non-smelling soap. Do you need more?'

He couldn't understand the reason why she'd need soap. But when he heard that there was darkfriends following Dilora the hairs on the back of Thorfinn's neck raised and he grawled inside himself. Just what we need Darkfriends, thry better watch who they choose to chase. Then he heard something from Dilora that made Thorfinn think. She had asked the new-comer if she needed to send her messages. The only people i've heard say that is Aea Sedai, is she? Don't be stupid.

Thorfinn rushed out to Mani and nocked his bow before mounting the Dhurran Stallion.

'I'll keep watch ma Lady!'

The tension in the room palpable, the excitement snagged at people like small sparks. Tyosh eyed the room, with careful precision, weighing each expression, remembering every detail. The willowbark had helped with clearing his head but all this worry was giving him a new headache all together. He could remember most of the faces that were present last night even through the drunken haze. But the young man that had entered the tavern with Dilora was a complete mystery to him. But what was even more shocking was the state of his and Diloras persons. He hadn’t noticed it earlier but now it was screaming to him. Blood stained their clothes like shadows in a dense forest, and by the looks of it, these shadows were about as fresh as they came. What kind of crime had they committed?

 

But what in the Light linked Dilora with this blood stained man? Was this like the ogier, another rare and unique friend? He’d really have to remember to ask. Now was obviously not the time though, in this frantic atmosphere it’d just be a bother. The young man didn’t look particularly dangerous but there was something about him that reminded Tyosh of a sleeping wolf, just one poke away from getting your arm chewed off or sliced off by the look of his weapon. The peddler’s friend seemed in need of being out of this place quickly, not knowing about the young man at all, Tyosh had no idea what he was running from, but he was pretty sure the blood had something to do with it, which meant Dilora was sure to be running as well. So really Tyosh didn’t even know the people he had met last night, they all seemed like different entities, as if the dawn of a new day was also the dawn of a new change in their minds.

 

The biggest change or at least the change in the biggest person was in Forge. Whereas last night he seemed like a pacific, good loving ogier, today he was a 12ft mass of muscles ready to pounce on the first thing that threatened him and his. And the blacksmith hammer he was holding really did not help sooth Tyosh’s mind or incite him to ask the ogier what the bloody hell was happening. Just like before Dilora held a certain mystery to her, an unknown side to her, but even covered in blood and looking like she’d kill you as easy as she’d buy you a drink, Dilora didn’t project hazard in Tyosh’s mind. But the small lady did transform into something else, instead of working things to her need delicately, she was full on giving orders, like a grand general. The herbalist even found himself willing to comply to such imperativeness. And then of course Thorfinn had become a tool, he was willing to hammer anything, he’d even gone out scouting with a determination that made Tyosh sure that no enemy would get through.

 

Maybe it had just been a day, maybe they had even become chameleons to what he knew of them, but he felt warmed up to his party and he wouldn’t abandon them even before the trip had started, just because things got rough. No, he’d stick with them; it’d be a great adventure in any case. Now just to confirm if what Thorfinn had heard about Darkfriends was true, he’d have no problems with Darkfriends, but it’d be good to know what they’d be handling from here on out.

 

But those would be issues for the road, there was a need for haste and he’d solve nothing standing here like a woolhead. And with that Tyosh went about collecting his various affects and his horse, Arrow.

 

After collecting his own things he thought he should pick up the party’s supplies for the road, in the haste he was sure, things would get left behind, so he hastily made his way in a clock-work fashion through the various shops, picking up pots, pans, food supplies, some herbs and the ever-sought soap for Dilora. After picking all this up he headed straight to the inn, if there were Darkfriends involved then he wanted to be there to fight!

Watching his Little Bee transform into the Queen, Forge smiled with pride. There is good steel inside that pretty package of smiles and clever songs. As he listened to her issue commands for their leave-taking, Forge considered the situation carefully. These humans can be so hasty. Sometimes they run over the edge before they even know there’s a cliff.

 

The two drinking companions turned new party members swiftly departed to make their preparations, and with an amused “All women are Aes Sedai,” and a sarcastic knuckle to his forehead, Forge was right behind them. Crossing over to the smithy, he carefully weighed out the knowledge before him. Dilora and her strange companion had returned at a run covered in blood, recounting a tale of fighting murderous Darkfriends. He believed everything Dilora said, but he was uncertain about the other fellow; he still hadn’t even learned the man’s name. He carried his blade fairly comfortably, so that meant despite his youth he had had some weapons training. Forge had been involved in enough warfare, that he quickly surmised the stranger was a young soldier, or the like, still green as fresh grown grass, but with the sense of invincibility that all young human men had. It was a dangerous combination if it went un-checked. Forge didn’t know what kind of man he was dealing with, but it was best he found out quickly.

 

With hurried apologies to Master Eward, Forge carefully re-wrapped his blacksmithing tools, tied them to the bottom of his travel pack, and shrugged into his still-damp shirt. He pulled one of his axes out of its loop, and slung his pack over his opposite shoulder. Striding purposefully back to the inn with axe in hand, he carefully surveyed the surrounding area for any signs of unusual activity. He saw nothing in his brief look.

 

In his time away, he had made his decision. Nerome might be as true and pure as Avendesora, but he could also be choke vine. That evil little plant had no roots, but rather thrived by sucking life from whatever tree it’s seed had clung to. There would be no choke vine profiting off of Little Bee’s life! He had to find out.

 

Aside from Dilora and the blood-covered stranger, no one else was in the common room when he returned. At this early hour that wasn’t unusual, but he had little time to figure out what was going on here before they would be surrounded by folk who were likely to panic at the mere mention of Darkfriends. In fact, he thought he heard a cook bustling around in the kitchen. Yes, it was best if he worked quickly. Haste spoiled the work, but swift, sure strokes made the metal. Setting his pack near the door, he crossed the common room and approached Dilora’s acquaintance.

 

“What is your name, lad?” he asked in a whispered deep bass that sounded like the groaning of a giant wind-whipped oak. For an Ogier it was a whisper, but apparently it still startled the man.

 

“N-N-Nerome,” he stammered.

 

“Well Nerome, we have a bit of a problem here. It seems you’ve brought trouble upon our little troupe, and I’d like to know what you’ve gotten us into…” Forge waited patiently for an explanation, but seeing stubborn resentment begin to form in Nerome’s face as he sat there silently, Forge’s patience ran out.

 

Grabbing Nerome by the front of his shirt with one hand, Forge lifted him high in the air. Nerome’s eyes grew larger as he rose higher, until they looked nearly as large as the glaring Ogier eyes he was staring straight into. His ears laid back flat on his head in anger, Forge looked harder than an anvil. If they were to survive, there could be no secrets here. With an angry growl, Forge demanded.

 

“Spill the beans, boy. What have you gotten us into?”

 

At first, Forge thought he had frightened him too much as Nerome turned white as an apple blossom, but when he began to stammer out his story, Forge gently set him back down. And what a tale it was, too.

OOC: Loooong post.

 

Everything was becoming a blur.

 

Nerome could hear voices around him- lots of them. He could feel the heat in the room, the tautness in the air. Nausea gripped him for a few moments as he looked down upon his hands; his right palm had taken a deep gash which had allow blood to come oozing out, mixing unhesitant with the blood of the foes they were now hiding from. People were looking at him, he knew. Wondering who in the name of Light he was and what the hell he’d brought to them. If they were wolves, then he was a ragged skinned dog. And he was growing weaker. Not physically, no- every slash had struck hard, but it was his mind that was bothering him. His thoughts, his fears, his realizations.

 

I just killed someone.

 

Many someones, rather. Darkfriends. Dark bloody friends! Burn it, he could’ve planned better. This…execution of plans, where was it going to lead them? Death was not an option. Again and again the pictures collided in his mind. The Darkfriend stabbing Carth. He himself killing the Darkfriend. The events were entwined in his mind by threads of horror and satisfaction, and in that moment Nerome knew he would never forget. It had been worth it though. Something was stirring inside him, growing and falling like a mighty wave in the ocean. He was changing.

 

From a distance that wasn’t present physically, Nerome could see Dilora Fashell moving around, commanding, controlling and most of all, in her senses. He knew nothing about her, and yet her behaviour before and her behaviour now said enough to make him believe that she had been where he was now, well before this. Blood bathed and heated, her eyes turned to him suddenly. “You!” Her cry came, hands on her hips the way women so often liked. “Do we need anything else, or to send any messages?” It was then that Nerome was startled back to reality, his mind razor sharp and empty. Rosheen.

 

He had forgotten about her. Burn it burn it, burn it all. “Yes, there is one I must send. I have a friend who I came with staying in another inn. Who shall carry the message?” Looking towards the man who Dilora pointed at before moving away hurriedly, Nerome stepped forward assessing his features. It would not do to fail now due to trusting a fool, or worse yet, a sly who thought he knew it all. The man before him however, was neither. “There is a woman by the name Rosheen Tahn Sakhr in the Inn The Light’s Abode. It is not far from here, you needn’t take a horse. You should find her easily enough- she is tall, and carries off a mohawk. Here, take this to her-” Quickly he pulled off his cloak. Smeared with blood as it was, Rosheen would be able to tell the cloak was his. She needed some proof after all. “Tell her, we shall be waiting in the outer city for her. My horse would be in the stables as well, please ride him.”

 

Thinking he was finally done with all questions, Nerome sat himself down, for suddenly his wounds had begun to hurt and all numbness was fading away to leave a pitiful throbbing in his arms and legs. It was as he was reaching for the wet cloth and bowl that sat complacently a little away, that doubt came his way again. This time, in the guise of an Ogier. A booming voice and eyes that did not show any sympathy, Nerome found himself worried. No trouble now, he found himself pleading. Before he knew what was happening, he was against a wall, raised high enough to be looking down at the Ogier. Reluctant as he was when he heard his questions, being swung around like a doll in the air when he was dazed and wounded was more than enough for him to give in.

 

“You want answers? Well so be it. I was born Nerome, of noble blood in Cairhien. My mother was Selandre. It was in my fourteenth year that I learnt that my mother, and most of the House, except for the High Seat, my grandfather, were Darkfriends. Yes, all of them damnit. And no I’m not a flamin’ Darkfriend, I’m going around killing them aren’t I?” How many times would he have to tell this bloody story? He should’ve just been rid of it, removed all ties to Seshir blood and Cairhien long years ago. Nerome could pass off for an Andoran if he truly wished it, and had he lived in Andor, he would’ve probably been able to do so without trouble.

 

“I saw my uncles kill my grandfather, I saw my mother congratulate them for the success. I saw her see me, and I ran away, my horse my only companion. I joint up with a couple of lads who lived by the road as well and for a while there was peace and friendship, and even warm beds later on. Soon though, it came to be known to us that we were being followed. Quietly, the chasing most subtle. But with every city we moved onto, the followers became more daring. Darkfriends.” He bit off wryly, his mouth twisted as if he had just tasted something better. “A large group, larger and more skilled than the lads and me. They caught on soon enough, just when we arrived in Tar Valon.”

 

“Sure enough, they were after me, but they killed most of my friends in the process. I was wounded seriously and the only option was to be set off to the White Tower, to be healed. Had nothing better to do, and a want for vengeance breeding inside me that would only get me killed. I volunteered for training with the Warders and have been there since.”

 

“Two years, and no less, I trained and now here I am, having had my revenge. Blood for Blood indeed.” Noticing that Dilora was listening, he turned his eyes towards her and spoke. “I told you I would tell you later.” Turning back he looked towards the Ogier, unsure of what to expect. “It’s the truth. And we have to leave, if we want to live. I am to return to Tar Valon. Will you accompany me?”

~Thorfinn~

 

A dog ran along the street, a cockril crowed in the distance and the streets were bare. Thorfinn scanned the streets looking for anything out of the ordinary. women and tradesmen would bussle by now and again only galncing up at the furclad bowmen on his dhurran stallion. He had saw Tyosh head out to get his supplies and Forge go out to the smithie and return with one of his axes and his pack on his back the axe in his huge hands. As the Ogier closed the in door behind him Thorfinn heard men talking among themselves as the walked by glancing at the inn door and then up at the stoney face of the hunter. They had a look about them that was hungry, he had seen it before. He slowly drew a broad headed arrow from his quiver and notched it. The men picked up the pace and hurrried down the street and round the corner. A face appeared round the corner they had gone and fanished again.

I wonder what Dilora has got hereself into, she seems nice enough or maybe i have underestimated her. He considered what he had been told, the darkfriends and then need to leave soon, And who was that lad who was with Dilora it seemed as if she had just meet him. He seemed vary pail when he had left. Will he be coming with us? Hopefully Tyosh will get the extra supplies.

The streets were getting buzzier now and the Town Watch were out doing there patrols now. It was time to return into the inn the Darkfriends wouldn't attack when the watch was about. He moved Mani over to the stables and moved inside.

'Stable boy, get Dilora's and Tyosh's mounts ready we'll be leaving quite sharp.' He flipped the last silver coin he had into the boys hand.

~Dilora~

 

The man was an initiate of the White Tower, training to be a Warder no less, and knowing Darkfriends? What had she gotten herself involved with this time? Dilora felt a genuine concern for the lad, who could almost have been her younger brother. If, she thought ruefully, Nerome had not been Cairhienin… It was certainly a painful story. Another person that had fallen afoul of the shadow, Dilora realised. She also realised that she had not thought about the terrible events that had happened the last time she visited Caemlyn, when that Bubble of Evil had terrorised countless innocent folks at the carnival. There had been more pressing matters at hand to keep those thoughts from intruding on her mind today, and those matters still pressed. Light, Dilora hoped Tyosh would be quick to fetch the man’s companion, Rosheen, so that they could all get out of this place as soon as possible. Her party wore mixed expressions: grim, thoughtful and in pain. I’d have thought Tyosh would have had something he could take for that hangover…

 

And from there they would venture on to Tar Valon. Well, that had been her plan anyway, to journey north and see if anyone wanted her wares within the Shining Walls. It would be good to have some company for the time being, and she nodded resolutely at the man.

 

“Of course. I was headed in that direction anyway, so it makes sense. If it helps at all, no one knows I am headed for Tar Valon, and hopefully we will not be watched.” The rolls of fabric she used to catch windfalls on while passing through forests could be lowered to dangle over the sides of her wagon, giving its easily recognisably painted walls at least some camouflage. Altie, if she had been shod, should be up for a little trip by now and was hopefully not too restive. North, to Tar Valon, and from there who knew? Wherever the winds of trade blew, Dilora could be found at the source. Maybe the Aiel were interested in trading a little. She had heard of their incursions into the Wetlands, as they called them, and thought it would be quite interesting to have a different perspective on life. In addition to that, they were known to embrace peddlers.

 

“We’ll leave as soon as this Rosheen arrives. Tyosh, if you’ve not left yet, skedaddle!” She cast a fond look in his direction, hoping he would not take it too hard. “I’ll buy you a steak and an ale at the finest place in Tar Valon if you’re quick.” That got him moving. Dilora smiled and shook her head to herself. Men! Maybe when they got to Tar Valon, he’d have the chance to talk with some of the Yellow Ajah about those healing techniques he’d perfected – surely a herbalist such as himself would enjoy that. And Forge, the Ogier, would most likely love the grove that was purported to reside inside those majestic walls, wouldn’t he? Thorfinn should see some more of the countryside before returning home to Emond’s Field – perhaps she could give him some letters to deliver to her aunt and uncle in Baerlon, and to her banker. Oh, Dilora would pay him handsomely, of course, for doing so. There were so many sights to see out there, so many people to meet and interact with. He should see as much as he could. “Do we have all our belongings together?”

~Thorfinn~

 

Thorfinn walked into the common room after leaving Mani with the stable boy. Tyosh was gone and Forge, Dilora and the stranger were standing talking, Dilora looked at Thorfinn and asked if all there things were ready.

'Yes Ma Lady, I have got all the belongings ready and loaded onto your cart. Tyosh should manage to get you your soap soon. I saw some odd looking men hanging outside the inn, may i suggest that we leave by a different door?'

Thorfinn had had Here horse shoed and all the other horses too, it had taken all his money in doing it but he was willing to spend some money to help someone in need. Anyway he could make it back easy enough.

He looked at the stranger and weighed him up. Looks an alright lad, he seems to know how to use a knife at any rate.

'Eh, excuse me Ma Lady but will you friend be joining us?' He could of swore that he saw a bit of worry on the boys eyes for a minute but maybe it was just his imagination. He pulled up one of the chairs and brought out his long pipe and tabac pouch. Thumbing the tabac into his pipe he waited for a reply.....

OOC: Thorfinn my good man... we're using another thread now, it's called "A thread in the pattern" so I suggest you scaddadle over there for the next post and stuff.