The thirteenth of Sollus.  It's a pleasant day in Karrick's Bend - as, quite honestly, most days are.  The month of Sollus lies in the first half of the rainy season, which is itself not unpleasantly rainy nor very much colder than the sunny season, and is nevertheless what passes for `winter'.

It's mid-afternoon, and people are out and about, doing the things people do.  The market bustles pleasantly, and Ambin the Cobbler passes a bit of time with a customer complaining that his spot is too near the Forge; apparently, when the day is done and he lays in bed, he still hears the ringing clang of metal on metal.  It's a common, but good-natured grumble.  Laethianna rolls up the parchments that Tillar just bought, tying them off with a small bit of ribbon as is her custom.  A nice touch, especially for a town with only one devoted stationer, and to Tillar's mind, unnecessary, though he supposes it does make it a bit easier to carry home.

The farmers and their helpers are out turning soil, as it's a good day for it - warm now, but the ground still damp under the topsoil from yesterday's rain.  At the Ranch, the animals in the corral seem to be enjoying the sun, and Jhevarra walks a pair of horses through their paces.

...And then an unaccustomed sound cuts across the soft susurrations of a town enjoying its day.  A blaring sound.  Like a horn.  Like the one that hangs atop the Watchtower, presumably to be blown if something were seen.

It's possible that someone's even worked out some kind of meaning, like, "Blow once if you see fire, twice if you see stormclouds, and if you see a dragon, just blow as hard as you can while you jump down off the 'Tower."  But if there is such a code, not many people know it, so really, it's just a suddenly disruptive blaring sound.

By the time it reaches the outskirts, it's softened, noticeable more as unusual than as loud - but reach them it does, and it is noticeable.

And whatever it might mean - however probably it doesn't mean anything at all - it's undeniably curious.

The town quiets for a moment, and then the gentle ripple of voices begins to pick up again.  Perhaps marginally louder than it had been, as people wonder aloud what that was all about.

And then the horn blares again.

And at least one thing can be agreed: If there is some kind of code, apparently `Two' isn't stormclouds, because there aren't any.  Just some nice fluffy ones.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:48, Sun 04 Mar 2012.

Opluriko looked up at the sound, soft though it was where she was lunging a horse, putting the mare through her paces. The t'skrang, who thought of herself as a she, though like most t'skrang didn't know definitively and was waiting for that knowledge, looked up, slowly spinning in place to follow the line, the long whip in her hand still waving vaguely threateningly to keep the horse moving. But now her eyes were focused on the town, and if she could see it, the tower itself.

When the second blast sounded, she couldn't ignore her curiosity anymore. She tucked the whip into her belt, as she wore little more than a loincloth, skittered up to the horse, unclipped the line, and pulled herself up onto the animal's back. A lunging harness isn't meant to be a riding harness, but still it gave just enough to hold onto, and Opluriko fancied herself a good enough rider. She turned the mare toward town, tapping her heals to the horse's sides to encourage a nicely paced canter. The sort appropriate if you might have to jump things like fences or hedges along the way.

Mace'arek was in his family's home working hard at cutting a quartz crystal.  He chipped away the edges of the crystal with care, using the skills that had been passed down through the generations of his family.  His thoughts were not with his work, however.  The troll's mind was elsewhere, as it often was, dreaming of the far off wilds of Barsaive and the adventures that awaited.

When the horn blared, Mace'arek was brought back to Karick's Bend, but he did not loose a beat in his work.  Only his brow raised a little at the abnormal sound of the horn.  He continued to chisel away at the quartz, shaping it into something simple, yet beautiful.  When the horn sounded a second time, Mace'arek placed down the chisel and wiped his brow with a nearby rag.  He rose to his feet and lumbered over to the doorway.  He climbed through the door and took a few steps towards the tower, which was not far from his home.  He craned his neck up to the tower and shielded his eyes in an effort to see what was happening in the tower above.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly to his sister, Shal'hassan, who seemed it worthy to come and investigate the matter as well.

Alia was working in the shop part of the house. A number of the herb sprigs hanging from the rafters were dry enough to grind, and that's what she was doing. A big stone mortar and pestle were on the table and she was humming tunelessly as she worked the latest batch of herbs into a fine powder for healing poultices and herbal tonics.

The first time the horn sounded, Alia looked up from the mortar and pestle with a dreamy look. "I wonder why they're sounding the horn." After a second she continued "No, I don't suppose it's stormy, the clouds aren't right. Probably nothing."

She turned her attention back to her task when the horn sounded again. Once again she looked up and this time cocked her head to the left. "That's never happened before." She dithered for a moment "I suppose finding out what's going on wouldn't hurt."

She called out. "Mother! The herbs are mostly ground. I'm going out for a breath of air." She ambled towards the door.

The first note of the horn causes Peck to pause ... but only perhaps as he's glad of any excuse to rest a moment as he struggles through the town with a heavy sack over his shoulder.  Sothanar wasn't one to pay a copper more than he could get away with, and had demanded free delivery into the bargain, which left the blacksmith's apprentice sweating in the afternoon sun under the weight of the freshly forged chains that the Trapper had ordered.

The sound dies away to be replaced with the buzz of speculation.  With a sigh and a grimace, Peck adjusts the load to something less uncomfortable and manages a few steps before the horn sounds again.

The sack hits the ground with a clunk as Peck straightens, looking around him in puzzlement.

Yona Tosken was in the barn when the horn sounded.  She'd been there since the previous day, most of that time in her carefully constructed hideout, which consisted of an empty crate, laid on its side, under a pile of hay.

The sound was extremely faint by the time it reached her, but she recognised it.  She'd been at the market three years ago when Urdon, or maybe one of his gang, had climbed the tower on a dare and used the horn to signal their success to their comrades.

Yona sighed and muttered under her breath, "Go away Urdon!" (words which gave her a small degree of satisfaction, even though she was sure nobody had witnessed her defiance), then returned to what she was doing.  She had pushed some of the concealing hay away from her den, to give herself a little more light, and was currently sprawled half in, half out of the crate, examining the entrails of a rusty old lock that she'd found a couple of days ago.  The lock casing had been badly corroded, but a little work had been sufficient to get it open and give her a look at the innards, some of which were in reasonable shape.

Then the horn sounded again, and Yona stopped her examination.  "That's not good."  The logic was simple enough - even if the first note had just been one of Urdon's gang again, they would not be allowed to stay where they were, or to blow the horn a second time.

Maybe it really was something important?  Another sigh, and Yona crawled out of her crate, pushed the hay back over it, and walked out of the barn into the bright daylight.  Which, she noticed, did nothing to improve the look of the bruise on her arm.  And that reminded her...  She ran back inside the barn and reappeared moments later, leaning on a heavy stick as she walked towards the village to see what was going on.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:00, Sun 04 Mar 2012.

Horrors are attacking, was his first thought. Then he remembered the stupid troll blowing the horn on a lark. When it blew again, though, he was sue it was the end of the world.

And time for battle. He hurried downstairs, and grabbed the battle ax that had been archived there. Hefting it in two hands, ready to take on the world by himself, he prepared to surmount the obstacle of the stairs back to ground level. Hearing footsteps, he became much less the world conquerer, though, and wrapped it up in his cloak, and hurried out the door.

"Gonna see what the noise is all about," he tossed over his shoulder as he went out, hopefully bypassing parental questions or notice.

In the Enclave, Shal'hassan sets aside her own work, joining her brother in the street.  "I do not know," she admits, shading her eyes.  The Tower is kat'ral; the Trolls decided it, and built it, and although some from other Races do climb it and sit watches at times... usually, it is a Troll.  And it's easy to see, even from the distance to the ground, that it is one there now.  He - or she, that's not easy to tell in the backlit silhouette - appears to be hanging the horn back on its hook.

"Two calls," Shal'hassan says, thoughtfully, turning it over in her head.  "I don't know what that means."

But Thal'ur'ten, who works at the slaughterhouse, is passing in his own quick walk towards the Tower, and he pauses a moment to explain.  "People," he says.  "Strangers."

------------

And though it's noted first within the Enclave, the word is soon fluttering up and down the streets.  Strangers.

Karick's Bend has been as isolated since Emerging as it had been within the buried Kaer.  People have left, it's true - a steady trickling over time.  Elves curious to see what became of the Wyrmwood.  A few T'skrang have gone `Upriver', seeking their own kind.  The Orcs, Humans, and Dwaves have far longer treks to their ancestral homes, but a few have set out over the years in hopes of making their way.  Or even to see if the rather tyrannical Empire of Thera might have opened its gates and returned to Barsaive, possibly bringing with it safety...if not freedom.

...Only twice in the fifteen years has a Troll disappeared, and the rest of the Clan has never said that they `left' - they simply stop speaking of them altogether, as if they'd never been.  Some of those beyond the Enclave mutter that they were murdered by the other Trolls for some sleight to the Clan's Honor - but, notably, never where another Troll might hear the muttering.

And no one has ever come in.  Or even back.

As the word passes, activities halt.  Tools are set down, food set aside, conversations forgotten.

...The word passes Peck, as he looks forlornly at the sack of chains - a sack which will be much harder to pick back up off the ground than it had been to carry, or even to pick up the first time, when it had already been on a table.  "Forget the bag!" a passing Windling exhorts.  "Strangers!  Come see!  Come see!"  Without waiting, the Windling follows its own advice, flitting up and over the rooftops where - chains or no - Peck can't really follow.  But it seemed to be heading basically East.

...The wind carries the word to Alia, first in a whisper, and then in a shout.  The shout, it transpires, came to the wind from one of the Orc guards who had been leaning against the corner of a nearby house.  "Strangers!" he calls, excitedly, briefly grabbing the hilt of his sheathed sword.  "Maybe we'll see a real reason for the City Guard this day!"  He pushes off from the wall and takes off at a run.
 Valystinus, Alia's father is drawn out of the house by the sound, and catches up to her, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder.  "Mother will finish up," he says, gently, walking alongside his daughter.

...Kerric passes the Word in his haste to escape the house, and most particularly, the, "Be caref--wh-- hey!" that follows him out the door, suggesting that his father is at least suspicious of the rather large lump beneath his cloak.  As he rushes by, he overhears a pair of Elves; "It means Strangers Approach; and it must be true.  The Trolls haven't the wit to lie!" one assures the other.

...Opluriko rides out past the Corral, and finds the other T'skrang already gathering within the fences, discussing the Word with excitement.  Many of them appear to be armed.  With a clicking sound, Moren calls her horse over to him, and with her, Opluriko.  "Someone's coming," he says.  "From downriver."  He looks at her thoughtfully, and then at the horse, and grins suddenly.  "If you want to stay, you may stay; if you want to ride out and see, or to see from the throng of the city, you may go."

...Yona...enters a town that appears deserted.  There are signs of one or two people, maybe, still in their houses, but most lie empty.  She can hear definite sounds of a crowd drifting out from the east.  But nobody appears to have waited for her.

Opluriko grinned, "Thanks! And don't worry - I'll be fine. Jayme can get me out of danger if there is any." Without bother to explain more, and now having directions, she turns the mare downriver, excited rather than scared. Would they be t'skrang? Or one of the other races? Or perhaps a mix? The last time she could remember being this excited was the first time that she'd learn to jump horses over obstacles - and that was years ago.

The wind whispered and Alia blinked in surprise. "Strangers? Here?"

The orc's shout brought her up short for a moment. "You don't think that they'll want to hurt anyone, do you?"

She was about to continue when her father put his hand on her shoulder. "Father, there are strangers coming! Isn't this exciting?" She nodded absently at the news that her mother was going to finish grinding the herbs.

Outside of the enclave, Mace'aurek could see the people of The Bend making their way east.  Nothing draws a crowd like a crowd, the young troll thought to himself.  He wasn't fond of crowds, and even less so of those composed mainly of other non-troll inhabitants.  It wasn't that he disliked his fellow name-givers, but with his great size, he always felt out of place among so many other smaller folk.

But even his own self-conscious thoughts could not deter the curiosity that seemingly struck everyone within the town, including himself.  It wasn't everyday that the tower horn blew, let alone twice in succession.  Mace'aurek followed slowly behind a group of other townsfolk, lingering behind at a short distance.  He was weary of who these supposed strangers were and what purpose their visit to his sleepy town entailed.  When he arrived at where the majority of the people had stopped, he stood back several yards from the rest of the crowd waiting and pondering the reason anyone would have to come and visit Karick's Bend.

Yona continued towards the sound of the voices, now just as curious about them as she was about the horn.  The lack of people as she walked through the town didn't worry her overly - it just meant less chance of somebody bothering her.  And if the people were still missing on her way back, it might give her the opportunity to take a look around.  There were a few people she'd always been curious about.

Ahead of her she finally saw some of the townsfolk.  They all seemed to be heading in the same direction as she had planned to go, so she followed them.  Not too closely though.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:46, Wed 07 Mar 2012.

"Strangers?" he asked a random person, after he made sure he pointedly didn't hear his parents. He was going to get it later, probably, unless he figured something out. Maybe sneak the ax back in, then sneak out, and come in the front door again...

"Are you sure? Maybe one of the trolls got the signals mixed up... I mean, when's the last time anyone blew that horn anyhow?"

"Strangers ?" Peck echoes the question that is posed across the length and breadth of Karrick's Bend, but the Windling to whom it is directed does not hear him, the small creature already flitting away over the roof tops.

The young man eyes the sack at his feet with consternation.  Oh aye, his curiosity pulls at him too, but what's in the sack represents a lot of hard work and, more importantly much needed coin for the family ...

Looking around the Open Market, somewhat forlornly, Peck sees a familiar face at her stall - old Anje !  With her bad leg, the old woman will not soon be abandoning her simples and concoctions.  Shouldering the bag, the young man staggers over as quickly as his legs will carry him, dumping the sack down with gratitude.  "Keep an eye on it for me, will you ?" he begs over his shoulder, already heading east, no longer slowed by his burden.  "Please !" he calls back as he breaks into a run, not wanting to miss the excitement.

As almost the whole town - less the occasional mother committed to her herbs, and a handful of old women left guarding other people's sacks of yet other people's chains - gathers to the southeast, Mayor Marawel^* makes his way to the fore, with a politely small contingent of guards just a step behind him.  He moves out of the crowd, ready to greet the newcomers.

Until one notices the young T'skrang on the horse, cantering down along the riverbank.  Seeing this, the Mayor begins to hurry his own walk, forcing the guards staying near him to break into a near jog to keep up, trying to intersect their course.

Peck and Kerric, each trying to force their way through the crowd, find themselves pressed into the same channel by the shifting movements of everyone else trying to force their way forward or at least hold their position.  Although `most everyone' has gathered occasionally for major events, there's never been such a press of curiosity before, making it a bit more vigorous than usual.  More dangerous, even.

Mace'aurek, waiting politely at the back edge, watches the shifting mass curiously.  The other Trolls wading through, in particular, look rather like boats crossing a sea of heads - having a rather easier time of it than Peck and Kerric do.  After a few moments, Mace notices the quiet Tosken girl draw up near him, also apparently content to stay on the outskirts.  Aria is also nearby, held back from the crowd by her perhaps overprotective father, who is responding to her questions.  "I don't think we really have enough information to guess," he admits.  "But while it seems very unlikely that anyone would want to hurt us, I can't argue with a bit of caution."

...And yet, despite the Mayor's best effort, Opluriko sees them first.  Only by moments, but nevertheless, the bragging rights are forever hers.  (Or perhaps whoever blew the horn, if they care to tussel over it.)  There are five of them, each very different.  No--six, the Windling was hard to see.  They walk out of the trees, about twenty feet from the river's edge, and approach quietly, watching.  It's clear they heard Jayme's hoofbeats before seeing anyone; they don't seem especially worried, or hostile, but they're certainly cautious, and, on balance, armed.  Especially the Human.

Their Elf draws ahead of his group, and utterly fails to turn towards the Mayor, instead approaching Opluriko directly.  "Ah!" he says.  "It is so good to see a friendly face!"



^{*-Mayor Laeth Marawel, an elf, who has been mayor for about a hundred years now; it got buried in the Races writeup, so I thought I'd re-mention it.}

Yona stayed close to the edge of the crowd, although "just beyond the edge" would also have been a valid description.  Staying out in the open reduced her chances of seeing much, but also reduced the chances of any of Urdon's Gang managing to get close to her.  They were probably somewhere in there - there was no way they could ignore something like this.

So she found a convenient spot, one where she could see in all directions, and leaned comfortably on her stick while she studied the backs of the people in front of her (with frequent glances around to watch for trouble).  Most of them she recognised, even from this angle.

Opluriko was glad to have Jayme, patting the big horse's neck appreciatively as the mare got her around the crowd. She didn't even really notice the Mayor or his contingent, much more interested in the unknown than the known.

She drew Jayme to a halt as soon as she glimpses them, smiling. She was neither surprised nor afraid that they were armed - they had been out beyond civilization, after all, and who knew what was out there?

It was only when the Elf addressed her that she realized she was actually ahead of anyone else. Her chest puffed out proudly - she apparently looked more important than the Mayor. "Hail and well met!" she called a traditional greeting. But then she realized she didn't exactly know what else to say to them. "Welcome to Karick's Bend!" It was easy to hear the excitement in her voice. After another moment of thought, she proceeded, "Let me introduce Mayor Laeth Marawel," she gestured toward the elf and his contingent. But she continued smiling at them, feeling she had done her duty introducing the mayor, and if they decided to continue talking to her instead of him, all the better.

Alia struggled briefly against her father's patiently protective grip. She really wanted to see these newcomers. It was so exciting! Nobody had ever come here before. However, his unyielding grip on her arm prevented her from going forward and probably bumping into one or more of Urdon's gang. Being a little taller than most was an advantage, so she contented herself with peering out over the crowd in an attempt to see something.

As she peered at the group in the distance, she nodded. "Yes father, I suppose so." After a several second pause she continued. "They probably have all kinds of stories about where they're from.  Depending on how far they've come, they might need healing supplies." She started mumbling contentedly to herself about the prospect of the strangers coming to the shop in need of healing herbs.

"You're in the way," he explained, pushing his way past here and there. Darn tallfolk.

The gall of these new folk, to be nice. Now he wasn't going to be some hero, saving the village. He'd probbably be 'some guy in trouble with his dad', instead. At least he could keep his weapon wrapped in the cloak, and not make it any worse. It's possible he could come up with some perfectly reasonable explanation... Too bad you don't go chopping trees with a battle ax. That might actually work... if his dad didn't have servants to do the chopping, anyhow. More thinking needed...

"Kerric !" Peck exclaims in surprise as the ebb and flow of the gathered crowd bring him and the Dwarf together.  Perhaps working together the pair of them can force their way through.

Being of only average height himself, Peck can't see much of what's going on, but his hearing is tuned to long hours at the forge, trying to carry on a conversation over the pounding of hammer on metal, the complaints of horses unwilling to be shod, and the roar of the fire as the bellows fan it hotter. 

"Hah !" a grin splits his lips as he turns to Kerric.  "Opluriko's greeted them ... whoever they are.  Marawel will be livid !"

Seeing Yona only a few feet away, Mace'aurek stepped up beside her.  He towered over her, as he did most people in the village.  "Yona, you look worried," he said quietly in his deep, earthy voice.  "I'm sure they pose no danger," he said pointing to the road where the strangers were approaching from.  He didn't realize her concern was more a result of Urdon and his group than whatever the horn had been sounded for.  Mace'aurek rarely gave Urdon much thought these days.  "They're probably just passing through on their way to somewhere more important then Karick's Bend," he offered her a small grin, his large lower canines protrude from his bottom lip while he raised his brow.

"It's not them, Mace." Yona replied, looking up at the troll and returning the smile, "There's enough people in town for me to worry about."

She shifted her weight, from one foot to the other, considering Mace's comment on the strangers, "I don't reckon they're passing through though.  If people had to go through Karick's Bend on their way from one more important place to another, I think we'd see more of them doing just that."

"Peck," he greeted, less enthusiastically than the smith, but not necessarily less glad to see him. "Don't know why an Elf's mayor, anyhow," he agreed. "Everyone knows it's a job a Dwarf would do much better."

"Stand aside, short people want to see, too," he informed the crowd in general, and the ones who wouldn't get out of his way specifically, as he puncuated with an elbow to the hip, or shin for the really tall ones.

Peck smiles non-commitally at Kerric's suggestion, then follows in his wake with shrugs and apologies for those suffering the Dwarf's passage.

"Not sure I'd want the job," he muses. "Not like anyone's ever pleased or grateful ..."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:59, Mon 26 Mar 2012.

Even though Alia was focused on what was happening in front, she could hear her friends talking nearby. Turning, she looks at them with her typical vague gaze. " You really think that we're their destination? Wow. I hadn't considered that at all. That makes it even more exciting, doesn't it?"

"Never thought of it like that... Maybe it is better an Elf deal with it."

The elf draws up short, tilting his head, looking at Opluriko curiously before lowering his gaze and walking easily up to Jayme, lifting his hand.  "And you brought a friend," he says.  The horse dips her head, letting the elf stroke her mane.

The T'skrang from the group hurries forward a little, chuckling.  "Thank you, child," he says, nodding to Opluriko, and then turning quickly to the approaching Mayor.  "Greetings, indeed!" he offers, projecting his voice remarkably well, speaking not simply to Marawel, but to the gathered crowd.  Kerric's determination - and perhaps elbows - actually draw him and Peck up to the front, but even those far to the back can hear the T'skrang speak, albeit faintly.

"I fear we've caused a good deal more of a stir than we'd intended, so please allow me to assure you, all, that we neither intend nor carry harm to your fine town."  He shrugs, his fine robes rippling with the motion.  "I am well aware how much weight such promises bear, but we do bring a spot of money, and a plethora of tales and, one does hope, engaging conversation!  All we require is a few rooms of your inn, and I assure you, we shall be no trouble at all."

There is then a quieter moment as the Mayor responds, facing the wrong way to be similarly heard by anyone not yet at the front of the crowd, but it seems safe to assume that this is where he explains that Karick's Bend has no Inn, and perhaps it would be best if these Strangers were to pass on someplace better suited.  The T'skrang looks visibly dismayed, and rather startled.

"Well.  I...see," is his response.  "Then it seems our stay will be a brief one, but nevertheless, with your permission, Sir Mayor, might we enjoy your people's hospitality, and perhaps seek a few provisions before we carry on?"

The Mayor replies again, and the T'skrang brightens a bit.

The Mayor turns, then, making a general shoo-ing motion towards the crowd.  "Come now, people, come now," he calls out, albeit not quite so effectively as the newcomer had.  "Back to our day; these folk didn't come to be stared at, now, did they?  Is that the hospitality we offer?"

"We do not have an inn," Kerric says boldly, "but we will offer hospitality. I do not think any have the room to house all of you, but let me be the first to offer a place for at least one of you to stay."

Boy I hope Dad likes it, he thinks. Otherwise my goose is cooked for sure. Maybe he'll be so distracted, he won't even think about what's under the cloak...

Opluriko smiled at the elf, recognizing him as a kindred spirit in his love for animals. They would have to speak later.

But for now, she couldn't help herself and had to add to the mayor's statements, "We have no inn, but we have a schoolhouse that is nearly complete, and nobody lives there. It's nicer than a barn right now, and if we all chip in for the rest of the day, we can make it even better - even if not fancy." She said to the mayor, caught up in the excitement, even though it probably wasn't her place to speak and later she'd probably hear all about that. She turned to the strangers, "Then, if you wish, you can all be together." She turned back to the mayor again, "Heck, we could make it dual function for the near future - school during the day and inn at night, if we're expecting more visitors - much faster than building a whole new building." Then she turned back to the strangers, "Do you suppose there will be many more visitors?" The excitement in her voice made it loud enough that at the very least the people in the front of the crowd could hear her words.

Alia paused when she heard the T'skrang's voice. Her eyes seem to focus a little more than they usually do, but that occasionally happened when she was very interested in something.

Once he was done talking the word stories had a chance to sink in. "Oh father! See? I told you that they might have interesting stories! And engaging conversation too! Do you think we can invite them over?"

She tugged on her father's arm in an attempt to get through the crowd and close the distance.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:16, Wed 28 Mar 2012.

By the Dark !  Already uncomfortable at finding himself at the forefront of the crowd, Kerric's invitation to the strangers catches Peck by surprise, and perhaps no less the Dwarf himself.  The young smith is not minded to emulate his friend offer, though he has hope of being able spend the evening there himself and hear the promised tales ... even earn some coin into the bargain should the strangers require a smith's services.

"You can stay over at the forge," Peck suggests to Kerric in an undertone as Opluriko gives voice to her thoughts as fast as they occur to her.  A fine idea the T'skrang has, though, he'll admit.

As interested as he was in hearing the stories of the strange group of travelers, Mace'aurek was not sure that his family would be at all interested in inviting any of them into their home, let alone the enclave.  Of course, there appeared to be a troll among the group who would have a better chance of finding the hospitality of Mace'aurek the than the others.

"I don't know about you," Mace said out of the corner of his mouth to Yona, "But I can't see any of them staying at my place for the night.  Still," he shrugged, "I wouldn't mind hearing any stories they might have."  Mace tried to play down his own mounting interest in the strangers, but he couldn't stop trying to strain to see what was happening over the crowd.

"Should we accompany Alia and her father?"

"Wouldn't even want a bunch of strangers staying at my house." Yona muttered back to Mace, "Too many of them to fit in, and we couldn't expect them to sleep in the barn."  Not the barn - that's my hiding place!

The question about following Alia and her father needed a little more thought.  Moving forward, into the crowd would probably give her a better view (and if pressed she would have to admit interest in these visitors), but it would also make her more vulnerable to Urdon and his cronies catching her by surprise.  On the other hand, she'd be standing near Mace, and Alia's father.

"I suppose we should." she replied with a somewhat over-exaggerated sigh, "We won't learn anything from all the way back here.  Don't go too fast though... your legs are a bit longer than mine."  She started forward, using her stick for a little extra support...

Laeth's brow furrows, and he turns.  "Young Kerric!" he says, aghast, but flounders a bit, having his own mention of `hospitality' suddenly twist against him.  The crowd, which had begun breaking up a bit, pauses, curious to see how this new turn will go.  "I..."

And then Opluriko offers her idea, and he turns again.  "The schoolhouse is not ready for habitation," he counters.  "And was never meant to serve as a hostel in any case!"

The T'skrang watches, his head turning almost flat sideways, and then he steps forward, waving his hands in a generally conciliatory manner.  "Oh, goodness, no!  We certainly don't mean to cause any difficulties - although I'm sure this unfinished building would be perfectly adequate, we'd hate to be in the way," he assures the Mayor, and then turns to Kerric.  "Sir...Kerric, was it, yes?  We will gladly--"

"No," the Mayor interrupts, with a heavy sigh, and although he does not, in fact, drop his head and rub between his eyes, it's only because it wouldn't look right.  "No, no, I know his father and that is not going to go well.  The schoolhouse.  Fine.  It will shelter you from the wind and, if not all of the rain, at least most of it."

The Human woman in the group outright smirks, but the rest of them look suitably appreciative, and the T'skrang gives a sweeping bow.  "Ah, you have our gratitude, good folk.  We'll certainly do our best to be good company for the brief time of our stay," he promises.

"Very well," Mayor Laeth agrees, taking a bit of command again.  "Now," he makes shoo-ing gestures to the crowd again, raising his voice, "Since you know they'll still be here tomorrow, let's give them some breathing space."  He pauses a moment, looking at Kerric, and then back towards Opluriko, thoughtfully.  "I have work to get back to," he says, a bit disingenuously - truthfully, he's never that busy.  "Perhaps the two of you could show them the way?"

"Yes. That is, I would be pleased. I'm sure we could scrounge up something for them to eat, as well."

His plan had either worked better, or worse, than expected, depending on how you looked at it. There was definitely a chance his father might not even think about what he had when he ahd left, after all...

"Please, right this way," he said indicating the proper direction. "I'm afraid I am horrible with names, but I will try... You must remember, everyone I have evr met, has been here my whole life. Or theirs, I suppose, if they happen to be younger than me."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:50, Sun 01 Apr 2012.

Opluriko looked a bit abashed when the mayor turned to counter her idea, though probably not as much as she should have. But she did dip her head enough to show that she wasn't going to argue in any way.

And she didn't mind when it seemed the group of newcomers was going to break up to go to different people's houses. Certainly one would stay with the t'skrang, and if they did, she could prod for stories. Her curiosity was only barely contained at the moment.

But she couldn't help but smile a bit when the mayor came around to her way of thinking. Some of the long-lived races seemed to get a bit too set in their ways to figure out how to deal with strange new things like this. But it was she who had planted the idea the mayor had finally accepted, and she was proud of that.

Even though she knew that she was likely to take a lot of flak for that in the near future.

She was stunned when the mayor turned handling over of the newcomers to her and Kerric. She glanced at the dwarf, wondering if this was some sort of April fool's joke a day early ploy to get them in over their heads, but Kerric was taking right to the task, so she figured she might as well also. "Yes, yes sir. Thank you," she said to Laeth. Then, turning to the others, she slid off her mount so she could be at ground level with them, leading Jayme. Kerric was already leading the way, so she walked alongside. "I'm sure we'd all love to hear a story or two, before you go, not right now, of course, I mean.

I'm Opluriko.

Is there anything that you need during your stay or before you leave again?" Opluriko wasn't normally quite this talkative, but she wasn't normally faced with something so new and exciting either, so she was having a bit of a hard time containing herself.

Alia turned back to Mace and Yona. "You know, you could come with us. I'm sure that they'll want to talk with father about getting healing herbs and things like that."

It was hard to hear what's going on, but the wind whispered and she nodded in response. "I think we should wait by the schoolhouse. They'll be there soon enough and we're closer than most of the people here. What do you think?"

The young Smith shrugs his sympathy to Kerric as the Mayor gainsay's the Dwarf's offer, but grins widely when his friend is appointed as official guide, if he has to share that honour with Opluriko.

Nor is Peck minded to just watch them go, no more than he expects the gathered throng to turn around and go about their business.  Keeping close to Kerric, he tries to look both unobtrusive and as if he's doing what he's supposed to, as he tags along, mouth firmly shut but eyes and ears drinking in the appearance and alert for any words the strangers utter.

"This," he says, indicating his companion, "is Peck Murtagh, our junior smith. And you have met Opluriko, who is involved with raising and training horses, which is why she tends to bring one to every tea party," he jokes. "I am Kerric, K-E-R-R-I-C, descended indirectly from the original man who founded this town. Except those who came here long ago must have been illiterate and spelled it wrong," he adds. "I'm afriad I really have no idea what you would need, although I expect food to be high on the list. Please don't hesitate to enlighten me. There was a suggestion you might be able to stay in the forge, but I'm not sure whether the senior smith is using it at the moment. If you prefer a warmer, dirtier place that has a complete roof over it, we can investigate that. It doesn't seem our Mayor was too pleased to have you stay with us, for some reason. That doesn't hold true for all of us, I just wanted to let you know. We'd be delighted to hear stories, if you're willing to share them. I for one, am curious why you're here, where you came from, how you got here, and most especially- what's it like out there?" He gestured vaguely to 'out there'.

... though as usual Kerric was doing enough speaking for the both of them !  With the Dwarf barely pausing for breath, even those to whom the litany of questions were addressed would be hard pressed to get a word in.

His friend's mention of the Forge does alarm the smith, but Peck's 'I meant just you !' dies on his lips as Kerric's speech races on by, and the young man breathes a sigh of relief.

Yona stopped as Alia suggested a different plan.

"Sounds like a good idea to me." she replied, and looked up at Mace.  It did sound better to her.  Probably less people about.  "Might be a bit quieter there, and we'll be able to hear what's said a bit easier.  And if there's less people, we might even be able to speak to the strangers.  Ask them some questions."

Then, because she was already committed to going with Mace, she thought it would be polite to ask him, "What do you think?"

Mace nodded to Yona and Alia.  "I was never one for crowds," he commented.  "Hopefully they don't take too long to get to the school.  I have my duties to attend to."  It was true, he had to finish the crystal carving that he had been working on, and his family would not appreciate him disappearing for the day without it being completed, but it was something that Mace'aurek was known for.  He didn't show much enthusiasm in his families job even though he was expected to carry on in it's business.  With the strangers coming to town, maybe they would accept his absence more readily this time?

Opluriko did not interrupt or otherwise stop Kerric's rather lengthy questions, but she at least did not burden the strangers with still more questions.

Peck grins at Opluriko, amused that even her habitual enthusiasm wanes in the face of Kerric's assault.  Even though he can barely tear his eyes from the strangers, fearing to miss any word or marvel, he spares a glance for the T'skrang's mount, admiring the big horse.

"Ah, and I," the T'skrang says dramatically, "Am Tralistaire Ten-Tails!  Traveler, adventurer, storyteller nonpareil!  My elven friend is Llewendan," he gestures with his tail, "And that is the lovely Kira," he indicates the Orc, who nods briefly.  "And wise Calisaren," he notes, gesturing to the Windling.  Although the overall crowd has indeed begun dispersing as the Mayor passed the reins on to the pair of well-meaning children, there is a pause in their movements as the names are given, and, aware of this, Tralistaire again pitches his voice to carry.

"I'm sure your forefathers must have been quite the buffoons, to have so dreadfully mangled your name," he laughs, dropping his voice to a less projected, if still not actually private, volume.  "I've no doubt this schoolhouse will be perfectly adequate - we're not fancy folk, you understand.  Well," he allows, "I am, but nevertheless, we've no interest in ruffling any more feathers than already ruffled."

The Orc shrugs at Kerric's comment about the Mayor's unhappiness.  "We bring disruption at best, trouble at worst.  Can't really blame him."

She drifts over to walk closer to Peck, though.  "Mind, we haven't seen a proper Forge in too long," she comments, her thoughtful tone giving the poor young man good cause to panic.

Opluriko couldn't resist any longer with the orc's comment. "How long have you been traveling then?" she asked.

"The school it is then." Yona pronounced.  There seemed to be further discussion at the front of the crowd, but she couldn't hear a word of it over the murmuring, shuffling, coughing, and general inconsiderateness of the mob.

A movement caught her eye, and she glanced in that direction.  There was nothing to see now, but she was fairly certain it had been Chaia.  Quite frankly, Yona didn't need that sort today.  She started walking towards the school, "This is too crowded for me.  Let's go."

"No, no," he corrected quickly, "not buffoons! No, they just didn't read Throalian, is all I'm saying. Spelled it all wrong."

Alia nodded agreeably. It seemed that her friends thought that the school was a good idea too. She glanced back over at her father and looked a little surprise (as if she'd forgotten he was there). "Father, is it alright if we wait by the school? I'm sure it won't be too long before  the visitors get there."

Peck is indeed perturbed by Kira's attentions.  The crystals embedded in her flesh are most unnatural and disturbing and that would be bad enough, save it seems her interest in his father's workshop is something other than just the need to order a bag of nails or have an edge put on a blade.

"Trouble ?" he blurts out, eyeing the orc, but not meeting her gaze.  Perhaps her words are the most perturbing of all.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:38, Mon 09 Apr 2012.

"I'm sure she means, in the Mayor's eyes, strangers can not be good. Right?" he asked, looking at her, almost pleadingly. He wasn't so sure he wanted to find out why they were here, all of a sudden.

"Well, don't count on that, Alia," Mace said with a small chuckle.  "With Kerric talking to them on the road there, it's bound to be night fall before they reach the schoolhouse."  He then turned and looked down at Valystinus, "Yona and I will go with Alia, sir.  We'll make sure she gets home safely."

Valystinus seems very much on the edge of drawing Alia back home with him, but Mace'aurek's offer gives him pause.  "Very well," he agrees.  He brushes her hair back from her face gently, and the looks to Mace.  "I shall trust you to keep her safe," he agrees.  "I had best be getting back to my work.  And I will see you later, Alia; do have fun."  With that, he leaves, albeit with a backwards glance.

Although Yona's assessment that the schoolhouse area will be generally less crowded than what had become the front edge of the crowd as people finally started moving the other way is accurate, it is nevertheless also true that there are a few others who seem to have had the same idea.  A trio of guards - two orcs and a dwarf - linger nearby in an entirely un-subtle fashion.  An even dozen Windlings have perched themselves nearby, watching. 

And Laethwyr, Chaia and Avahur are loitering directly in the doorway.  Well, Avahur is loitering, leaning back in the shadow of the open door, looking generally sullen and grouchy.  Laethwyr and Chaia stand in the sun, both offering pleasant smiles as they wait.  Laethwyr spots Mace'aurek, Yona, and Alia approaching, and leans over to whisper something in Chaia's ear, who responds with a giggle and a roll of her eyes.

Meanwhile, still on the way, Kira laughs.  "Yeah; just that," she says, with a nod to Kerric.  "Your Mayor guy, you're like his...flock.  His responsibility.  We're not, he doesn't know anything about us, and, well, say," her focus sharpens on Peck, "You've got an alloy all ready to go, and somebody says, `here, add this,' and tosses in a metal you've never seen before.  It's possible it'll make it better, sure, but it's probable it's going to destroy it before you ever have a chance to bring hammer to bear.  You've got your mix balanced, and change is almost never good after that, right?"  She stops, actually waiting for the answer.

And meanwhile, the Human woman draws up by Kerric, looking him up and down somewhat disconcertingly.  Even Tralistaire seems to be watching her, unsure what she might do; and those keeping count realize that she, along with the Troll, were never introduced.

Finally, she says, "So."  She gives a sharp nod of her chin towards his back.  "What's up with the cloak?  That's no way to treat your axe.  Daggers like the dark, but an axe wants to be seen."

"Um, er..." he manages to stammer, then comes out with, "Well, we don't have weapons, much... It was in case... And well, it would have been rude, maybe... I didn't want to be rude..." and more quietly, he adds, "plus I'm not supposed to really have it."

Opluriko spots the three near the doorway of the schoolhouse. Well, she thought to herself. They aren't the worst of the group... But they're not good either... She leaned over and whispered to the stranger elf who so entranced her horse, feeling an odd kinship between him and herself more so than with even the other t'skrang.  Whatever it was, she kept it short.

One of the windlings takes flight and swirls down toward the newcomers.  She's wearing decorative furs and carrying a windling sized bow on her back.

"Wow, so you guys are from outside, right?" she asks as she zips around, paying specific attention to the strange windling.  "Did you come a long way to get here?  Are there lots of other windlings out there?"

Yona almost stopped when she saw the trio in the doorway.  She really wasn't in the mood for Chaia today.  Instead, though, she linked her free arm with Alia, and changed course slightly, so that she moved just a little closer to Mace.

The troll was bigger than Laethwyr, Avahur and Chaia.  Especially Chaia.  His presence, Yona reasoned, might encourage the three of them to just stay out of the way.

As they drew closer to the schoolhouse, Yona cleared her throat and said, "The work's going faster than I thought."  To her, at least, it actually sounded like she didn't have a care in the world.

Alia doubtfully looked up into Mace's face when he commented about Kerric's talking ability. She seemed about to say something and then apparently decided against it.

She blinked when her father brushed the hair from her face and then smiled. "Thank you father! I'm sure we'll have lots of things to talk about."

Once her father left them, she turned her attention back toward the school and started forward. It was only after a little while that she noticed the trio loitering in the doorway. She paused and gazed blankly at them for a moment until Yona took her arm and subtley adjusted where they were heading. "Laethwyr is mean."

She blinked in surprise when Yona started talking about work. "I ground herbs today."
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 20:51, Thu 12 Apr 2012.

Mace was not prone to lash out at Urdon and his gang.  He already had settled the score with Urdon a while back, and he didn't have much quarrel with the others of his group.  Still, Mace knew them well and was witness to much of their taunting and bullying.

When Yona inched closer to him, he noticed the three from Urdon's gang lingering by the schoolhouse for the first time.  He didn't loose a step as he walked closer to them, but he let out a deep, heavy sigh of exasperation.  He was not in any mood for them today.  Thankfully, it seemed, they might all have some reprieve from them so long as the town guards stayed nearby.

Mace settled in next to the schoolhouse and waiting for the group of strangers to arrive.  His attention stayed mostly with the road where the new comers would be arriving by, but he constantly found himself stealing glances towards Urdon's crew.

Peck doesn't notice those ... aquaintances ... gathering on the stoop of the schoolhouse, so engrossed is he in finding, if not a good answer to Kira's question, at least one that won't disgrace him.

"Depends," the young Smith responds animatedly to the Orc, speaking quicker now as the words seem to want to force their way out.  "If you just want to finish the job and make a tool that you know will last, then you'd be a fool to risk it ... but if you need to forge something special, something out of the ordinary ... something that the alloy you're working with, no matter how strong it is, is not going to be strong enough ... then you'd take that risk."

"If you can afford to waste the metal if it all goes wrong, of course," he grins shyly at Kira, the practicalities of his circumstances prompting that honesty.

"Some of my friends are waiting near the schoolhouse," he said to the strangers. Then he added, "and some who are not my friends. If they happen to be rude- please forgive us. They do not represent our community."

The Strangers come nearer the Schoolhouse - enough that those waiting there can hear what's going on.  Particularly as the Human woman spreads her arms and exclaims, in a shocked and all-too-loud tone, "Not supposed to have it?  You pilfered a bloody battle axe?  Oh, Jenette is just going to adore you, I can tell."

The guards perk up a little at the words, but seeing it's Kerric she's talking to, they settle back just a bit - they know where he got it, and they know it'll be between him and his father.  Although any hopes he had that it might not have to come to that are solidly dashed...by Laethwyr's smirk, even if by some miracle none of the guards said anything.

And the woman isn't done talking.  "So, after smuggling it out as a subtly axe-shaped backpack, just what were you planning to do with it?" she asks, curiously.

Kira rolls her eyes, although - after maybe a moment - Peck can tell it's in response to the Human's antics and not his answer.  When she's done with the eye-roll, she focuses back on him seriously, and nods.  "Not bad... head full of legends and fluff, but a good temper.  So, back to your Mayor - being that you, your family, your friends, yeh, even your enemies," she glances towards the waiting trio that Kerric has offered his warning about, "Are his metal... how do you respond?  Worth the risk to shape something special, something out of the ordinary?  Or can he not afford to waste you all, if it all goes wrong?"

Meanwhile, the Windling does look to Quendalaa, and appears poised to respond, but it is Tralistaire who answers.  "Ahh, near and far and back again," he says, with an expansive wave.

Calisaren shakes her head.  "Such measures are always relative," she counters.  The T'skrang scoffs.  "Nonsense; we've traveled, and none would argue it.  I've seen the sunrise lost to the glow of Death's Sea, have I not?  Watched it rise past the peaks of the Caucavics, even been lost so deep in the Liaj I knew not if it were day or night.  Trees so thick," he confides, looking to Quendalaa and slapping his tail on the ground, "They may as well be caverns."

Calisaren looks thoughtful throughout his response, and finally nods.  "Well enough," she allows.  "So we've been far.  Yes, there are Windlings out there; our folk fared as well as any, I would say.  Perhaps a little better, even."

"Pilfered is a bit... strong," he protests. "It wasn't supposed to be... uh... all like this. It was just... well, it was an alarm. We don't have an alarm for enemy, and another unknown strangers. I think. And, uh, it was supposed to go right back without anyone knowing," he says, all hope dashed of that happening, now with the loud proclamation. Even the guards knew he was a dead man. Oh well, might as well live it up now, he couldn't get a whole lot worse. Unless he actually used the thing, probably. That would be worse, his father would likely be more angry if he had actually killed someone. Maybe he could work that into his defense later...

Peck's jaw sets as he follow's Kira's gaze and finally notices those gathered near the Schoolhouse.  He throws a warning stare at Laethwyr, a reminder of something he'd thought long settled.  That gaze doesn't rest long on Chaia, though, if for different reasons, nor Avahur either, though that more of a judgment call that he'll not try anything with so many around.

The Orc's blunt analysis of his own strengths and failings, he misses in his distraction, though the young Smith catches up again as Kira reshapes her original question.  Despite his earlier words with Kerric, Peck hasn't considered the Major's responsibilities overmuch, but now his mind races.

"No," he replies at length, "I don't think Mayor Marawel would ever risk anything that would threaten us all.  He's not a greedy man, nor ambitious - what progress we've made has been slow and sure."

He raises a brow at the Orc. "Do you think such a risk is necessary ?"  Why does the woman ask such questions ?  What do these strangers know that might be so dangerous ?

"I suppose if someone was going to be wasted or made into something better, the Mayor could do worse than choose the younger ones like us, to see what you're up to. Just what are you up to?" he finally blurted out the question they were all not asking.

Alia stayed by the protective bulk of Mace as they approached the schoolhouse. She gave her cousin a nervous glance; she didn't understand why he was so mean. Only when they got to a spot where she couldn't see the three did she settle down.

The strangers seemed to be talking with Peck and Kerric, so that seemed good. They finally got a good look at the newcomers, and she sighed when she saw the robes on the T'skrang and the way they moved. "Doesn't it look like they're real?" She walked forward with a slight smile on her face and approached the newcomers. Her gaze was locked on the T'skrang and his robes. "I wonder how he does that? Maybe magic of some kind?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:13, Sun 15 Apr 2012.

The windling's eyes get wide.  "Wow, I have no idea where any of those places are, but it sounds awesome."  She flits around a bit more.  "Where are you on the way to, now?  Something amazing, again?"

"They look real enough to me." Yona answered, a little puzzled by Alia's words.  She looked about, searching for a place where she could sit down, and eventually gave up.  Too many of the wrong people had got here before her, and the best places to sit were too close to them for her liking.

Chaia and Laethwyr watch the approach, and particularly the exchange between Kerric and the human woman, with visible amusement.  They hide their smiles as the Strangers draw closer, though - both of them are very good at that.


As the group does draw near enough, though, Laethwyr steps forward.  "And welcome to the Schoolhouse," he offers, with a sweeping bow.

Chaia matches it with a nigh-perfect curtsey.  "A few of our friends are looking for some things to make it a little more comfortable," she says, brightly.  "I'm sure we'll be able to round up some spare blankets, at the very least."

"I'm Laethwyr," he resumes, the pair trading off as though they'd somehow been rehearsing for weeks.  "And this is Chaia.  Feel free to let us know if there's anything you need!"

...And for a moment, the two seem rather non-plussed as they're not immediately responded to.  The T'skrang, hearing Alia's comment, does a little shuffling movement, shrugging his shoulders and flicking his tail, setting his robes briefly in motion, scenes dancing across the fabric, and he laughs.  "No, not-- well, perhaps magic of a kind," he allows.  "But only that of needle and thread, and the finest fabrics, and I do confess, a rather obsessive habit."

The Troll appears quite fixed on Mace'aurek, and strides easily past everyone else to approach him.  He stops a full body's length away, and bows.  "Vodarr," he says.  [Language unknown: "Me ni Ineterove Stthiv, ic U behas ngieet li nt hehe. E recom are erwema sarill a, as u wer ittr'eilean A sttha o llmitr he a."]

And Kira, meanwhile, is still busy with her conversation, and seems disinclined to let it be interrupted now.  "Nonsense," she says, waving away Kerric's interjection.  "You're his best material.  I can't guess why he left us in your care, saving that you seemed eager to take up the job.  Maybe he was just being nice.  No, might be testing you a bit, but he's not throwing you out, I'm sure."  She grins, looking back to Peck, her pointed teeth showing, and shrugs.  "Who knows?  I'm not one to say what's needed and what's not.  But we've brought no danger we know of," she promises.  "And not," she glances again to Kerric, "`Up to' any such thing.  Just here to meet some friends."


...So finally it falls to their Windling, Calisaren, to give a faintly exasperated look to Quendalaa, and, shaking her head, flit forward to meet Chaia and Laethwyr.  "Our thanks," she offers.  "Your kindness is noted."  She glances around at her companions.  "Whatever the evidence may imply to the contrary."

"Yes. They are very kind and polite. Very nice display of what our Kaer should be like, and I commend them on remembering hospitality I have not yet begun to offer." He isn't happy about it, but he's not saying it like it was pulling teeth, either. It would be nice if they got aong for once... at least in front of these people, anyhow. Problem being, of course, the nicer they were now... The more they'd see Urdon later, probably.

Despite being wary of the bullies, Opluriko offered them a smile. Perhaps this time would be different - how could one not want to be nice to strangers and learn of their tales? She suspected she would not personally have to worry about the bullies for the time the strangers were here.

She looked over at Kira, overhearing. "You have friends here?" She found that surprising - as far as she knew no one had really gone into the wilderness. Oh, some of the herders had occasionally spent a night out, searching for a wandering beast, but not really out out.

Mace'aurek had been leaning against the wall of the school, but when he clearly saw the massive troll break from the others and move with meaningful stride toward him, he quickly straightened out his posture.  "Vod’arr," the young troll spoke, firm, but a little surprised.  He did not expect that he would be the first troll of his moot to greet the stranger, but here it was.  It was as though he were a dignitary of his own moot, and he knew the importance and honor this occasion brought, not only to him, but to his entire clan.

Mace spoke in the troll tongue.  He was sure that Orm'gha could speak dwarven, but it was a respectful thing to speak as trolls would.  He offered a slight bow for his own greeting,

As Mace spoke to the troll stranger, his voice rose into a loud roar and his light brown skin flushed in what seemed like an angry red.  His friends and most everyone else in Kerrik's Bend had never seen the usually mild mannered troll behave in such a way.

"I think she means, make new friends, 'Ko."

He looks at the big troll, a bit astonished. "Mace?" he asks, not sure exactly what else to say. Is it normal for trolls to do this? He never saw a troll greet anyone they didn't already know. Well, at least he knows Kerric's behind him, whatever was said.

Alia glanced back when Yona speaks up. "hmmm? Oh, yes. Real they definitely look real to me. They almost look like they could move on their own."

She was unaware that Laethwyr and Chaia had come up behind her. Her smile vanished and she started when they spoke. It looked like she was about to bolt for home when the T'skrang shrugged and the robes did their marvelous dance. Clearly torn, she sidled off to on side so that she could keep an eye on them while looking at those wonderful robes.

Upon hearing that the robes are the product of fine craftsmanship alone, she looked a little disappointed. "No magic? But they look so lifelike! You must be very good at embroidery!" It looked like she was going to go on when Mace started roaring and she stopped to look at him in surprise.

The windling, her immediate curiosity abated, continues to flit around, going ahead of and behind the group as she runs a merry chase to get a good look at the newcomers without ever coming quite into a position to get swatted.  Obviously, she is interested in the other windling, but the others are different from what she is used to, as well, so they get some attention.  In particular, she marvels at their weapons.

Opluriko glanced at Kerric doubtfully. But he had already moved his attention on to the trolls, so shrugged and continued forward. She was wary of the bullies, but unlike some in the group, not cowed by them.

Peck too finds himself ignoring the provocations offered by Laethwyr and Chaia (and if he was being honest they're not doing other than his own friends and himself would do, were the situations reversed and the enthusiasm of Kerric and Opluriko hadn't pulled them to the fore), as he seeks to correct Kira's misconception.

"To be honest," the young Smith can't help a smile himself, in the face of the Orc's toothy grin, "I think Mayor Marawel is just thankful you didn't appear at the gates with words of doom or rash promises.  I fear our curiosity won us the prize of being your guides, and he is no less curious than us, but his position has certain demands ... he's happy enough that we can do no harm to your opinion of our people."

"When you put it like that ... I suppose yes, he trusts us not to make a mess of things."

The Elf looks up at Opluriko, tilting his head far enough sideways that some of his hair cascades down in front of his face.  He whispers something back.

The Troll is perhaps the only one who doesn't seem startled by Mace'aurek's sudden roar; he stands straight before the younger Troll, and rumbles something back, in a low, dark tone.  [Language unknown: "M e wilblebut," p thaterera, ol asil asith foneiongleus terman'ureivethe wewil il and all Ntiwersta.  Erhaer venicaart itnepo heromeera ardeveous, k n nastei it st ortdayhas korhoupro sthe'asutti, acera ingwertheugh i p stlipofo peomof sa m icahouoreman, at Nedifo enulll ulplie k u hi ro ect riunecno unicng iouromresrut, pe whiithugh romverwhi.  "E reaentate li stder hasousbut nc inent ossi lesce butverain n Ulti p rutad daystiine," u te.]

Opluriko cocks her head at the elf for a moment, as if surprised. "None. Just curiosity."

The windling continues to cavort about, eventually coming to rest on the ground and walking along with the others to rest her wings for a bit.  She really wanted to hear more about the outside, as evidenced by her eager ears, but seems to have decided to wait a bit until the travelers start to volunteer information a little more freely.

The T'skrang lifts an arm, looking down at his own handiwork.  "Truthfully, if I do say so myself, it is indeed among my finer talents," he acknowledges.  "Magic... well, truthfully, it's seldom so dramatic."  He picks up a small pebble from the ground, and tosses it into the air, catching it between two fingers.  Then he makes a funny little twist to his wrist, and all at once, the pebble grows, extending out in both directions, until he's holding a staff made of stone.

Unphased by her ally's trick, presumably having seen it before, the Human walks up behind Peck and gives him a friendly - if somewhat sharp - clap on the back.  "It's hard to be bested when people are paying attention, isn't it?" she asks, bluntly.  She looks over at the pair from Urdon's Gang, eyes flickering past Chaia and settling on Laethwyr.  "You don't like it much either, do you?  Interesting.  Hey, who wants to be the first to know my Name?" she asks, suddenly.

"I thought introductions... would be nice." He says, finally getting a little diplomatic. Or maybe just quiet all of a sudden.

"That was clever." Yona murmured, gazing at the T'skrang who had just turned a pebble into a staff.  "I wonder if he could teach other people to do that?"

And almost of their own volition, her feet began to shuffle forward, carrying her towards the strangers.

Alia watched completely enthralled by the visions the T'skrang's robes made as he made simple movements. "They're very beautiful. It must have taken you a long time to make them."

She watched curiously as he bent over and picked up a small pebble. Her eyes tracked the pebble until he caught it and made a funny gesture. Her eyes widened in surprise when the small stone changed into a staff. In a tiny awestruck voice she whispered "You . . . do  . . . have magic!"

Mace nodded to Orm'gha.  [Language unknown: "K silica n be,"] he said simply, returning once more to his calm demeanor.

Mace stepped over to the edge of the crowd, primarily made up of his friends and the strangers.  He was not some great orator, and he didn't like drawing attention to himself, but he did not want to insult Orm'gha.  At first, he waited for a break in the conversations, but it soon became apparent that he might have been waiting long into the evening for that.  Instead, he cleared his throat and said above the crowd, "THIS IS..." he started off loudly and the feeling of embarrassment rushed over him when everyone quieted and looked in his direction, "Orm'gha Skyglow." he finished quickly.

Introductions were not Mace's specialty.

"Pleased to meet you," he said quietly, glad it was some troll honor/introduction thing, and not a fight, since he was still keeping an eye on Mace. Not that he could have done much...

Peck's conversation with Kira (or perhaps conversation is too fine a word, for it feels to the young Smith more like sparring - verbal, perhaps, but just as exhausting as his infrequent mock battles at the Forge with those far more familiar with weapons than he) is interrupted as Tralistaire performs his trick with the stone, leaving Peck astounded.

So much so that his feet all but leave the ground when Flechette surprises him, her hand on his back proving the truth of her words.

"W-w-what is your name ?" the youth stammers, feeling he is supposed to ask and trying to regain his composure, poise having long since fled.  "I'm Peck," he blurts out, matter not that Kerric has already done the introductions.

He's suddenly aware that it's getting quite crowded around the stoop and is at least comforted that at least some of crowd are his friends, dipping his head quickly towards those he has not yet greeted.

Opluriko wasn't quite certain what to make of Mace's introduction of the newcomer. But whatever, sometimes the other races surprised her. So she nodded politely to Orm'gha.
She was much more intrigued with the elf, and now that others were calling it out, she suspected what she had only seen Ten-Tails do in her peripheral vision and therefore hadn't quite trusted herself was actually true - which was fascinating as well.
She really hoped they'd be willing to tell story after story...

Laethwyr actually steps back a little from the intensity of the Human's look, blinking.  "Er," he says, the hesitation quite unusual for him.  "I...of course, we would be honored to know your--" he begins.

She waves a hand dismissively, interrupting.  "Timid.  All too timid.  C'mon, we're the most exciting thing that's happened in your lifetimes.  You, then," she points to Kerric.  "You didn't mind stepping all over your Mayor's toes.  That was promising.  Or you," she pins Chaia with her eyes.  "Putting yourself here to snatch the honor away - that your idea?"

"Are you implying this is some sort of a test? You've been mighty circumspect. If it is, what makes you think we would approve of your results, or even care if we pass it?"

Opluriko had never been called timid in her life, at least not that she could remember. She turned to Flechette, although not previously that interested in her. "So what would you be asking, doing were you us?"

The directness of the human stranger's words is most unexpected, but in contrast to his initial hesitation, Peck finds himself grinning as he picks up some more on the rules of the game.

The young Smith looks to Kira with raised brows.  "Your friend seems awfully keen on stirring the pot," he remarks. "She would be that metal you'd throw into the mix, then ?  Now, does she usually make things better or worse ?"  He turns so that smile encompasses Flechette as well, though his eyes betray he's not in any wise as confident as he sounds with this gambit.

Close enough now to hear what was being said, Yona felt the need to reply to the woman, declaring that they were not timid, but merely polite.  Unfortunately she was far to quiet for that, especially around strangers.

She did, however, manage to pose the two questions that, if they had been asked already, then she had been too far away to hear the answers.  Clearing her throat, she asked, "Where are you from, and why are you here?"

Alia kept looking in awe at the stone staff. In that still small wondering voice she talked to herself. "If he's an adept, maybe the others are too? There's only one way to find out."

She turned her attention to the next closest stranger. "Are you an adept too?"

It percolated through that people were introducing themselves.  Belatedly she remembered that trolls can get touchy about really weird things and it was best not to irritate them. "I'm Alstroemeria, but everyone calls me Alia."

Kira shrugs in response to Peck's question.  "It's what she does," she says, a little dryly.  His follow-up, however, raises an eyebrow.  "I like that."  She nods.  "Though mind, from my view, she's not a wholly unknown compound, and of course, she acts with more purpose - to her mind, I think she's more the testing block.  Strike against her and see what holds and what breaks, and that changes the question a little.  If something does break, has that made things worse?  Or has it found an important flaw?"

The T'skrang waves his arm again, giving the stone staff a quick spin in his hand and then setting it down into the ground, and bows to Yona.  "We are from everywhere!" he says, cheerfully.  He pauses, glancing down at the Calisaren, and clears his throat.  "Well, from across Barsaive, most recently simply traveling up along the Serpent."  He waves back towards the River with his free hand.  "We are indeed Adepts, all, and will certainly be interested in meeting with those of your town soon.  And as I said, we are simply here to meet someone.  The choice of your village for it is, so far as I know, quite coincidental, but I'm sure they'll be along soon, and then we'll be merrily upon our way.  Although I dare say, we're more than happy to take up your Dwarven friend's suggestion - that we are here to meet new friends - while we are here.  It is, I find, difficult to have too many friends, don't you?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:25, Tue 01 May 2012.

The Human ignores her friends' explanations of her behavior, looking between Kerric, Chaida, and Opluriko with a satisfied grin.

"I test everyone," she says, cheerfully.  "At least, everyone who strikes me as worth the time - for instance, children who ride out ahead into the unknown, or who bring along their own axe because they're quite sure they can offer the guards much-needed aid if there's trouble.  So, what makes you think I care if you care?"

"If I were you," she muses, looking to Opluriko, "I'd probably be hiding."


She certainly hasn't failed to notice that the three guards nearby have straightened up, watching more closely, one of the Orks actually taking a few steps closer at the last piece.

"I think," he says slowly, "it might be wise to alert the mayor more people are on thier way. Including someone named Jennette, correct?"

Opluriko was a bit puzzled, and thought for a long moment, trying to decide how to answer. Not thinking of a good response, she instead announced, "Well, we're here. We can show you around." She ground-hitched Jayme, knowing the big horse would wait unless enticed not to, and led the way inside to give a brief tour. After all, there wasn't that much to point out.

The windling apparently caught the last bit from Kerric.  "Oh, more people?  Coming here?  Wooooooow.  I didn't know there were so many left!"

Even the heady news that more strangers will be arriving shorty does not entice Peck from his conversation with Kira.  "An' Flechette be the anvil, who is the hammer ?" he smiles with delight at the game, "Who is the forge that heats the metal before it is set upon the anvil ?"

"An' who is the Smith, wielding the hammer to shape an' test the molten metal ?"

"Flawed or no, the metal's fate is dependent upon his skill."

"You know, Peck, there's a point where the comparison has got to stop. I think maybe you passed it..."

"Oh I don't know," Peck grins at the Dwarf, "we've barely scratched the surface ... why there's still comparisons to be drawn with fullers and flatters, sates and swages, even hardies and the mandrel, if we want to plumb the depths !"

He shrugs to Kira. "My friend prefers action to words," he explains.

"Quite difficult, yes."  Or any friends, for that matter.

Yona considered the words of the T'skrang briefly.  He hadn't really said much, so there wasn't a lot to consider.  Basically the strangers had come from several different, but unspecified, no places in particular, and they had come here for a somewhat vague reason.

Still, the reason, vague though it was, had given her a slight opening for more questions.  "Who are you meeting?  If we know their name, then we can look out for them."  Which was stupid - it wasn't as if Karick's Bend saw so many visitors that there was much chance of confusion over which ones were supposed to meet up.

"And why do you need to meet them?"

Alia turned her attention back to the T'Skrang when he expounded on where they were from and all the other stuff. Ever the trusting soul she didn't think to question him on the "all adepts" comment. "So what is everyone's discipline?"

Without thinking about the ramifications, she blurted out "We haven't got any." when he expressed interest in meeting the adepts of the town.

After a moment the idea that more people will be showing up piqued her interest and she continued to pepper the T'Skrang with questions. "Will they be adepts too?"

Mace watched and listened to the strangers converse with his friends.  He was content to just sit back and let them do all the talking, but he remained keenly aware of both Orm'gha and Urdon's gang.

When Alia let slip that the town had no adepts of their own, Mace raised his brow, waiting for the stranger's reaction.  He still wasn't completely convinced that this group held no ill intentions towards the town.

Alia's comment does indeed catch the Strangers' collective attention, which is suddenly focused almost entirely upon her.  Even Kira, who is clearly enjoying Peck's extension of the metaphor almost as much as he is, stops and turns to look at the young elf.

"None?" Tralistaire asks, slowly.  "I...yes, yes, they will," he answers her next question in a sort of vague attempt at continuing the conversation, but it's clear his heart isn't in it.  "Are you certain? None at all?  Could anyone be, perhaps, secretly?"

But the Windling, Calisaren, breaks her own gaze from Alia, shifting her focus to their temporary lodgings.  "I think it is less than coincidence we find ourselves staying in a school," she says, softly.

Opluriko looked at the windling, wondering if that meant the strangers would be willing to teach them. For now, though, uncertain how to answer, she instead moved into the building, looking for the bullies or nasty surprises they may have hurried in. No need to have the strangers experience them - and she was safe enough with so many around even if they were hiding in ambush in the school.

He chuckles. "Secret adepts. I presume that you teach someone how to be an adept in a school, from that last comment. Which isn't done being built, yet. but- if we had secret adepts- I don't think we'd be the ones who would knopw about that. Heck, for all I know, everyone but me is an adept, they just didn't want me."

He looks at them and asks, "Just what does an adept do, anyhow? I mean, different from normal people wandering around doing heroic stuff."

"I'd thought most of what we hear of Adepts was fabrication - something to make a good tale, but nothing more," Peck remarks, his tone somewhat subdued in the face of Tralistaire's obvious disappointment.  "The tales have it that they all went away, a long time ago."

"If you are Adepts then you are the first living that I've heard tell of," he tells the strangers, more wide-eyed than he'd like.

Interesting. Some of the strangers seemed surprised that there were no adepts in Karick's Bend.  "Do most places have adepts then?" she asked, aiming her question at the T'skrang who seemed to enjoy showing off.  She felt that he was the most likely to answer her, so she pushed for a little more while she was at it, "Only I've never seen any here.  I'd really like to hear anything you can tell me about any that you've met."

"Anything at all.  All we have here is old stories."

Alia was oblivious to the fact that she became the center of the strangers' attention. Her focus again drifted to the middle distance, though she did respond matter-of-factly to the T'skrang's question. "No. None at all."

After a moment she started mumbling to herself "How could anyone be an adept secretly? I thought that adepts were flashy people. How could you hide being the best archer in town and pinning a bird in flight to the wall by its tail feathers? Even if they tried to hush it up, someone would find out. Everyone knows everything about everybody here."

Yona's comment draws her attention back. "Ohhh yes! Stories. I love stories."

As Opluriko passes through the doorway, Avahur gives her a brief, glowering, nod.  Coming from him, it could mean... almost anything.  Inside the schoolhouse, she finds quiet.  The thick-built walls cut out much of the sounds from outside, although the barely-begun roof provides little in the way of even shade, let alone shelter.  There's a pleasant smell of sawdust.  The schoolhouse-to-be has the beginning structure for three separate rooms and a storage closet, but currently that's all they are - the shapes of rooms, with wooden forms marking where they'll be.  A large pile of cut wood rests in the back.

Outside, the Human smirks at Kerric.  "Normal people don't go around doing heroic things," she counters.  "By definition."

Calisaren flits up, however, and hovers nearby, tilting her head thoughtfully.  "He makes a very good point, however, in that heroes and Adepts are separate, if related, classes.  As are," she adds, "Adepts and flashy people."

Tralistaire proves an easy mark for Yona's queries.  "Well," he says, with what he probably thinks passes for a modest wave of his hands, "Old stories are often the best stories, but new, vibrant stories certainly have a certain appeal, don't they?  But where to begin..."  As he ponders, Kira walks over and gives him a firm push on the shoulder, nodding to the doorway.

"Inside," the orc suggests.  "Begin inside."

"Right. Inside seems a good start, then we can hear a tale..."

OOC: A tale of a fateful trip, a 3 hour tour... :P (No not planned, but when I reread how it sounded... well, let's just say I beat the rest of you to it.)

Opluriko wasn't really sure what to make of Avahur's nod, and so ignores it. Safer that way, really. She is pleased to find it quiet, instead of the lurking place of others, but then considers the pile of wood and heads that way, just to be certain, while keeping her ears open for what the others are saying.

Yona made her way inside, leaning heavily on her stick.  She was determined not to be separated from her source of information from beyond Karick's Bend, so she stayed as close to the T'skrang as possible, and adopted a serious expression which, she hoped, made her look as if that was where she was supposed to be.

Just to reinforce that impression, she attempted to engage her new friend in conversation as they walked.  With any luck nobody would be rude enough to interrupt them.

"Have you travelled a long way?" she asked, and then clarified, just in case he though she was wondering how far he'd travelled today, "I mean, how far is your home from here?"

Alia follows the others into the school. Once inside she sits down with her back in a corner so that she can watch the all of the newcomers at the same time. She has a dreamy smile on her face as she waits patiently for the stories.

Peck is more than keen to hear what tales the strangers will tell, and follows close on Kerric's heels, nodding to Yona and Alia as everyone crowds forward.  But the young smith pauses on the threshold, locking eyes with the three members of Urdon's gang loitering on the step.

"Truce," he suggests, more statement than question, gaze hard as he meets Laethwyr's, softer with Chaia, and with just a hint of the hand of friendship towards Avahur, but not so that the other two would take note of it.

The windly has gone back to flittering around everyone, but doesn't seem to have much to add to the discussion.  Mostly, she is content to listen intently to what is being said.

Even Kerric seems to have wound down, waiting for 'the others' to tell their tale.

Laethwyr snorts a bit, the small sound carrying in it the question of how Peck could consider himself worthy of such a lofty concept as a truce.  Does the roach negotiate truce with the boot? Or does it simply scuttle back to the darkness and hope for---

A sharp elbow in his side interrupts the poetically condescending thoughts flowing across his face.  Chaia nods.  "Truce," she agrees, with a little nod.  "We didn't come here to make trouble in the first place," she adds.  "Just to be here."  Laethwyr's nose wrinkles, but he shrugs, and, without a word to Peck, turns and joins the general flow into the schoolhouse.

"Ah, far indeed," Tralistaire replies to Yona, looking curiously at her stick as he walks beside her, and using his own magically crafted staff with rather more flair and less actual leaning.  "I am not at all certain I could claim to have a home at this stage in my travels, in fact, unless one can be so bold as to claim all of Barsaive as a home."  Despite the dismissive words, his tone indicates that actually, he probably could be that bold, if pressed.  Or at least prompted.  "But if you mean my birthplace, well, that is not so far from here, for like most T'skrang, I was born amid the scales of the Serpent."


Once inside, people make themselves generally comfortable.  Avahur stays by the doorway, now almost seeming to keep watch.  The Human with the attitude shifts her pack and leans casually against the wall, arms folded.  Tralistaire simply lets his weight rest a little more on his tail.  Kira wanders to the woodpile, with an absent nod to Opluriko.  Llewendan pauses outside, petting the horse's nose briefly and whispering something; the horse turns and trots away when he's done.  Calisaren sits cross-legged on the ground, not terribly much smaller than she is standing, and Orm'gha simply stands, almost refusing to be comfortable.  Curiously, although some of the Windlings who were flitting about do pass overhead, only a few dip down through the missing roof, and none of them stay.

Chaia and Laethwyr stay close together; despite the elf's dismissive attitude, and even with Avahur presumably guarding the door, there's a subtle shift within the closed walls.  The presence of the Strangers makes things different, of course, but nevertheless, they are outnumbered, and the psychology may be subtle, but it is also undeniable.

"Would you all, um, like time to settle in? We could come back later? Otherwise... we'd love to hear your tales," Opluriko said, not yet sitting, but looking like she would like to, instead trying to be polite. Probably there were better ways, but she wasn't very experienced.

"We should scare up some food and drink. Would you like it ow, or later?"

"Me too," Peck quietly concurs with Chaia, a self-depreciating smile on his lips.

While he'd rather be near his friends, the young smith chooses not to shun the other three, so ends up on his own betwixt the two groups, standing with his weight comfortably supported by the wall.

Looking out the door at the Human woman, his eyes widen, but as she enters the schoolhouse he looks away, face carefully expressionless though his eyes flick back to her when he thinks she's not looking, and unconsciously he finds himself folding his arms, almost mirroring her stance.

The answer was, of course, no real answer.  Still Yona nodded gravely, for all the world as if the T'skrang had imparted some ancient (and long forgotten) truth.  "With such far-ranging travels it's small wonder that you seem so wise and marvellous to one who, like me, has travelled so little."

Hopefully that had encouraged him to keep talking.  Not that he appeared reluctant to do so.

Yona leaned on her own stick, "Where will you go to when you leave Karick's Bend?  I mean the first place you'll head for."

Of course, she seriously doubted that the name would mean much to her, at least if it was any further away than the Kaer...

Alia paused for a little while; when the others started talking about food and drink she looked up. "If you need any healing herbs, I can get some."

Quendalaa, for her part, settled in to the rafters and watched the goings on below her.  She didn't hide, exactly, but she did make herself smaller than normal and fix wide, wondering eyes at the newcomers, watching them intently.

Mace followed the group into the schoolhouse.  He at first seemed to hesitate, not sure if he should join everyone inside, or if he should leave and head back to work.  Still, he did not trust these strangers completely, and so he settled on entering to learn more, and to keep an eye on his friends.

Inside, he stood nearby and listened to the visitors.  He perked up when he heard Yona asking of where they were headed.  "We would be pleased to hear of your journey and it's destination.  Most of us have not been not much farther than the outskirts of town.  I've often had a fascination with the lands that lie beyond our small village, although I often wonder if they could ever live up to the lands I have imagined in my own dreams."  Mace gave a sheepish smile, not wanting to be thought of as a child with a wild imagination.

Tralistaire laughs.  "Ah, and a flatterer!  Among my favorite skills, I confess."

He looks to Calisaren, curiously.  She nods, and tosses a Look to Kira.  Kira shrugs, looks at Peck, nods, and then glances at Orm'gha.  Orm'gha gives a grave, deep nod, and passes his own gaze towards Flechette.

She laughs, shrugs, and says, "Yeah.  'Wendy?"

Llewendan straightens from where he was crouched in the corner, a small fieldmouse resting on his hand.  "Oh, quite," he says.

Whatever it is they're passing around, it seems doubtful that it's their appreciation for flattery.

"We do not know where we might go from here," Orm'gha says, replying directly to Yona.  "But for now, here is where we are," he considers a moment, "Glad, to be."

"There are, as you suggested, Adepts most everywhere.  Everywhere there are people," Calisaren says.

"We're never common," Flechette interjects.  "But any town of more than a few dozen ought to have at least one.  Somewhere.  There's something mystic about it..."

Even as she waves this off, Calisaren picks it up.  "Every Discipline is part of a Grand Pattern - among the largest Patterns observed.  This may mean little to you, but...suffice it to say, there absolutely should be Adepts here in Karick's Bend.  That there are not indicates...something...amiss."

"Something we must investigate," Orm'gha adds.  "And perhaps correct."

Tralistaire gives his staff a spin.  "Or vice-versa," he suggests.  "It must be noted that not everyone can be an Adept, but if there are suitable candidates...as you have also asked, our abilities can be taught.  There is in fact a certain obligation to do so, when you walk upon a Path.  If any of you know of anyone who might be interested..." he trails off a bit, looking about the room questioningly.

He's answered almost immediately by a new voice - female, and coming from above.  Sitting atop one of the walls, across from Quendalaa, is a dwarf, dangling her feet over the edge and looking entirely comfortable there.  "Like that one," she says, pointing straight to Yona.  "She's mine."

Opluriko couldn't help but laugh. "Seriously? Who wouldn't want to be an Adept, even if only a quarter of what's said in the stories is true," s/he replied.

The conversation was growing increasingly bizarre.  Yona remembered a story one of her aunts had told her when she was a child, about a girl who had wandered into a cave and arrived in a land where everything was upside-down and backwards.  Yona felt as if she had gained a new insight into how that girl felt.

She looked up at the source of the new voice, and shook her head.  "Yours?" she asked, and then added, a little more boldly, "I prefer to think that I am mine."

Then she flinched, as she remembered, too late, that some of Urdon's gang were present, and had just heard her say that.

"This is strange," he commented. "I think it is time for the rest of the story, as they say. You probably have the people most likely to aspire to be adepts here now, if not perhaps the ones best suited." He doesn't add, just those others are not suited.

Peck's thoughts echo Opluriko's words.  That the stories could be true ... and if those marvellous things that Adepts do can be taught ...

But in those stories nothing came to those that did not grasp what opportunities came their way ...

"Aye," he answers Tralistaire intently, "I'd learn, if any would teach me."

"I too would be a willing student," Opluriko said, thinking Peck's answer was probably much more along the lines that the Adepts were looking for.

Alia looked up in surprise when the new person appeared and claimed Yona. She really didn't understand this at all. "How can you tell who should be students, let alone for which discipline?"

"Well, I kinda was wondering the first part, myself. The second part- well, I guess it's in you to start. Like, if there's something with an axe, I'd probably be better at that than you might be."

Most of them nod or smile in easy agreement with Opluriko's instinctive response, but Kira says, very seriously, "The wise.  Being an Adept carries a lot of weight.  Responsibility.  Shape.  To take myself for the example..."  She looks to Peck.  "You work in the Forge, yes?  Right now, you can still walk away from it.  Choose to be something else.  Might mean a quarrel with your dad, I wouldn't know, but it's a choice you can make.  But trained as a Weaponsmith, and it becomes a part of what you are.  You can't put it down."

"Well, it's quite difficult, in any case," Calisaren offers, from her point on the floor.  "Not actually impossible.  But, indeed, it requires `putting down' almost all of your Self.  I understand the process is very like dying."

Laethwyr does indeed snort at Yona's comment, but Jenette is too busy laughing to notice, interrupting the more serious conversation unabashedly.  She drops herself down from the wall, landing lightly on her feet - her dwarven legs don't have a lot of room to bend, but she absorbs the impact easily, barely scuffing the dirt she lands on.  "Her own.  Do you hear that?  Oh, yes, we're going to get along just fine."

Calisaren ignores her as easily as she'd ignored the Windling, though, looking up to Kerric.  "Interestingly," she muses, "We very likely do.  Adepts are generally drawn to prospective Apprentices when the times are right, and in a void such as you have here, I have little doubt our paths have woven together for a reason."

"And," Tralistaire adds, with a laugh, "The lot of you have certainly shown the right general spirit."  He looks to Opluriko, particularly, with a grin.  "Truly, riding out ahead of your entire township.  Just to be the first to know, I expect?  What would you have done, had we been, oh, monsters, say?" he asks, and like many of their questions, although it sounds almost rhetorical, he seems to be expecting an answer.

After that short pause, Calisaren picks up again.  "It is indeed, as your Kerric says, `within you' - although as Kira indicated earlier, it's a good deal less formed within your Pattern now than it will be, for example, tomorrow, should you step upon our paths.  There are few guarantees in life, but there are sometimes tests.  Indications."

Even as she says it, Llewendan crouches down and sets his field mouse on the ground.  It scurries into the room, sniffs briefly at Mace'aurek, darts past Alia, and then scampers to Opluriko, where it stops, suddenly, standing back on its hind legs and looking up curiously.

Meanwhile, Flechette steps forward - luckily, from a different wall than the mouse is near, as she certainly doesn't look down while she does, her eyes locked on Kerric's.  "Something with an axe?" she asks, with a faintly disturbing smile.  Her own axe is suddenly in her hand; she holds it in a casually threatening way, but in fairness, it is a difficult thing to hold peacefully.  "Think there might be something with an axe in you?" she asks.

"I do not wish to fight, or spar, or something like that, right now," he cautions, as he unwraps his axe from under the cloak. "I do however, think there is more of me in the axe. Or perhaps both. It is something I have not come to a conclusion on, but I do suppose I'd be the only one in this peaceful village to actually show up with one. And a hard time finding a war axe instead of a wood-chopping one, too, I'd be surprised if there were more than a couple anywhere around."

Opluriko was a bit startled with Tralistaire addressed her. She didn't like the comparison to dying that had been offered, and was thinking rather intently on it, paying less attention than she had been, if only briefly. Dying wasn't something she intended to do for a very long time.

Opluriko shrugs at Tralistaire, as if the answer was obvious. "I'd have turned Jayme around and ridden back to town and warned of exactly what it was," she answered, her attention once more focused on the conversation.

She considers Calisaren's words as she watches Llewendan crouch and set the field mouse free. She saw it scamper around and stop at her, and had a feeling this was exactly one of the indications Calisaren had been speaking of. What else could it be?

She didn't particularly like or dislike mice, really. They could be a pest - one year they had ruined quite a large portion of the horse's fodder when they found a way in, leaving the horses hungry and less fit. But she also knew they were a part of nature, and felt no animosity toward them as a race (only to those specific individuals who had ruined the feed). Usually she would have swept the mouse away from foot traffic with her long tail so it wouldn't accidentally be stepped upon and left it at that. But with the words still echoing in her head, instead she crouched down and held her hand out near it, similar to how she might hold her hand out to a horse to get her scent, to see what it might do.

Alia's gaze shifted back to the middle distance as she contemplated what the others were talking about. In a half musing tone of voice she murmured "I wonder how an adept can tell when someone is ready to learn their specific discipline. Especially some of the more subtle disciplines."

Almost as if she hadn't really noticed the mouse standing on the floor by Opluriko, she continued. "I'd think that a beastmaster would show signs of being able to deal well with animals. A warrior or swordmaster would be able to use weapons really well. But how would you find some of the more subtle disciplines? What would a mater look for in a wizard or illusionist to be?"

Finally she seems to notice the mouse and Opluriko. She blinked at the sight of the mouse not running away. Then she turns her attention to Kerric and the warrior woman and their discussion of axes. Curious, she waited to see what would happen.

Yona ignored the mouse.  She'd spent far too much time looking for peace and quiet in the barn to be distracted by things like mice, spiders and assorted other small creatures.  Even if they were acting strangely.

Others were questioning some of the strangers, but she barely heard them.  Her attention was focussed on Jenette.  The dwarf acted like she knew things about Yona that the girl barely knew about herself.  Somehow, though, it seemed to lend confidence.  As if something in the way Jenette spok to here opened some portion of her which had been tightly locked for a long time.

"I hope we do get along." she confirmed, already taking a liking to the dwarf.

Flechette's disturbing smile is echoed by the look of concern that arrives on Peck's face as the short woman approaches Kerric threateningly, and that worry is little relieved by the Dwarf's surprisingly peaceable response.

Indeed, his mind is only partly on his reply to Kira, and his words surprisingly alike his friends.  "Walk away from the forge ?  To be a Adept, I could ... but for nothing else on Barsaive would I.  I think the fire and the metal are in my blood, and I cannot set aside that part of me.  But as I understand it the Calling, to be a Weaponsmith I would not lose that, but gain so much more !"

"It's a nice axe," Flechette comments, as Kerric brings it out.  She twirls hers as she steps closer, catching it up under Kerric's and suddenly whisking it out from his hands.    Her other hand reaches out lazily to catch it, and she tucks her own away in almost the same movement.  "Fair heft, excellent balance," she says, giving it a little bounce in her hand.

Most everything else goes still, even her own teammates quieting as she casually snatches Kerric's weapon away from him.  She can't be unaware of the sudden stilling around her, but she is certainly unconcerned.

Although the mouse, perhaps sensing the sudden tension in the room, dashes suddenly away from Opluriko, towards the doors.

"Yes, it is," he replies stiffly. "And I suggest you request to handle it next time, I consider that quite rude," he says as he reaches for it back- not quickly grabbing, but simply reaching to take it normally.


If she pulls some fast move, he will look at her disgustedly, and stop trying. "I said I am not  here to fight, right now. This is not the time nor place for it, the others would very much like to hear the rest of the story. Perhaps we could step outside if you insist... For now, though, please return my property."
This message was last edited by the player at 12:22, Sat 21 July 2012.

Opluriko is certainly late to noticing the action, or the silence, entranced by the mouse. It really wasn't until it had fled and Kerric had spoken that she looked up to realize what was going on. She frowned, and put her foot forward as if to take a step forward, but then held back. Kerric could handle himself. But she narrowed her eyes at Flechette for a long moment before glancing between the rest of the newcomer strangers to get some idea of their own reaction.

"Kerric !" Peck calls out, unable to stop himself as his friends passes beyond rudeness to 'fighting words', matter not 'she started it' ...

"Let it pass," he implores his friend, very aware of the affront to Dwarvish pride, but sensing that the stranger does not mean him harm.

At least he hopes not.

Yona glanced at Kerrik and the woman woman, aware that everything had suddenly gone quiet.  She didn't say a word, but simply limped closer to Jenette, moving to stand beside her.

She leaned on her stick and watched as things started to unravel between Kerrik and Flechette.

The rafters of the school house, it could be said, were perfect for a windling.  Unlike a finished building, there was plenty of venting so no smoke from fires below would linger in the peak of the building, and the perch was nice and high.  Of course, as excitable as a windling is... that can be interspersed with periods of lethargy.

In retrospect, it shouldn't be taken as much of a surprise that Quendalaa actually fell asleep on a nice thick beam a few minutes into the conversation.  It was interesting, but she was tired from an intense period of flitting.

And, it should be even less of a surprise that she managed to roll over in her sleep, emit an undignified squawk as she fell and woke, and barely remembered that she had wings before she hit the ground.  Blushing sheepishly, the small figure gained a little altitude and settled back in to watch what was going on.  The brush with a fall certainly seemed to have done wonders for her fatigue.

Flechette does, indeed, twist it a little away from Kerric as he reaches for his axe - in keeping with their play, she does this, too, casually, as if she's just turning it to change its angle in the light.  At his response, she smiles a little.  "Nonsense," she says.  "We fight, you lose."  She says it not so much as a prediction as an event, as if it's happening while she says it.  "And if this was 'your property', you wouldn't have to sneak it about, would you?" she asks, giving him a sideways glance.

She pauses briefly as a sudden Windling drops into the middle of everything, and then flips the axe around and offers it back to Kerric.  "This axe has a heavy history, kid, and you're no part of it.  If you want it to be yours, you've got to change that.  Then maybe I won't be able to take it out of your hand whenever I want."

Quendalaa's appearance offers a fair tension break for everyone, however, even bringing out a snorted chuckle from Kira.  Kira turns her attention back to Peck, reaching out to touch his arm briefly as if to assure him that his friend is OK.  "Well, it's fortunate for you, then, that I don't believe you'll need to.  We'll have a talk with the Smith soon, if you'd like; I suggest we just tell him I'd like the use of the forge, and am willing to trade service for time on it.  Best not tell him yet I may be training you myself - contrary styles aren't often welcome, with good reasons, but I hope he'll understand when the time comes."

At this, Laethwyr finally breaks his silence, throwing up his hands and letting out a disbelieving 'pah!' sound that he seems to have been holding in for a little while.  "No, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, but really, I can't allow this farce to continue," he says.  "Truly?  You choose Peck?  Yona?" he asks, stark disbelief washing out his usual tones of mere disdain.  "Next you'll be saying that Alia the Airhead is ideally suited to...to..."

"Elementalism?" Tralistaire prompts, thoughtfully.

"Yes, fine, Elementalism," Laethwyr continues, brushing the thought away with a sweep of his arm and a flick of his wrist.  "Indeed.  No, this is become entirely preposterous.  You need to meet my friends.  I assure you, you will find in us far superior 'material' to work with, if that is what you seek."

Alia was still trying to figure out just what happened with Kerric and Flechette. First they each had an ax and then she had two. It was strange how she could do something like that.

She didn't laugh when Quendalaa fell off of the rafters. Such a fall could hurt a windling! "Are you alright?"

She started when Laethwyr spoke up specifically about her and he used the nasty nickname he always used when the adults weren't around! The strangers were interesting and they seemed interested in her and her friends. The taunt in front of the strangers burned her and something finally broke in her. "You shut up! You and the rest of Urdon's gang do bad things and get away with them because all the adults are too busy to deal with it. Now these people come in and pay attention to us and you want to take that away like you do everything else! You . . . " Trailstaire's single word sunk in and she looked at him in surprise. "you . . . you think so?"

"Where are your friends, Laethwyr?" Opluriko asked, quite frankly surprised they weren't around. Probably off somewhere causing trouble...

OOC: D'oh! Missed the 'gives it back' part. My bad... retcon:

---

"Thank you. Doesn't matter if I lose, though. You don't steal my stuff and leave unscratched, even if that's all I score on you." He puts the axe away, in a more promounced place, this time, tucking it in his belt. "I don't think I'd fare that poorly, myself, but that doesn't matter either. You got a point to make now, or is that you can take an axe from someone who isn't expecting it your whole point?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:52, Mon 23 July 2012.

Peck quickly nods his acceptance of Kira's offer ... truth be told, his mind is racing at the prospect and his mouth can't hope to keep up.

But Laethwyr's outburst gives him pause.  Though his inclination is to ignore the Elf, he feels perhaps as if his would-be rival has a point - perhaps Peck and his friends have been hogging the Stranger's attention ... and that selflessly given, mind.

"I think Marden would be only too glad of an extra pair of hands, and happy indeed to have someone in there with more than an apprentice's skill," he turns back to Kira first, then tilts his head towards Laethwyr.  "I meant what I said before ... you are welcome too."  That might be stretching the truth.  "Mind you behave though." Gaze hardens. "You don't interfere with this working."

"Is it always like this?" Yona asked Jenette as the tension started to drain out of the air.  The question, of course, suggested another one, "Have you done this sort of thing before?"  She shifted her weight slightly, leaning on her stick as she shuffled her feet.

Then, as the elf spoke, she lowered her voice and murmured, "Laethwyr's friends are bullies and trouble-makers."  She suppressed a shiver that ran up her spine, a small quiver of delight at the thought of being able to tell somebody the truth about Urdon and his gang - somebody who hadn't already decided that she was just making up stories.

At least she hoped Jenette hadn't already decided that.

Laethwyr meets Alia's eyes as she shouts at him, folding his arms and waiting it out with a sneer - but her question to Tralistair startles him.  Even as he scoffs, the T'skrang is giving the flick of his tail that, for the lizard-like folk, equates to a shrug.

"I don't know, of course," he says, in a hasty, don't-get-your-hopes-too-high tone.  "But the nickname Airhead is not entirely uncommon among those with early leanings to the path."

Laethwyr seems about to interrupt, but Opluriko's question brings him back to the understanding that he's rather surrounded, which does deflate him somewhat.  "They're..."  He glances at Chaia, and then to Avahur, and freezes.  Avahur stands in the doorway, his hand held flat, with the mouse resting on his palm.  He's leaning towards it, letting it sniff at his nose.

To Kerric, Flechette laughs.  "Think you could give me a scratch, now?  Modesty's not one of your strong suits, is it?" she asks.

A bit stunned, Laethwyr turns away from Avahur to look at Peck, giving his head a shake.  "Wouldn't want to dirty myself in your forge anyway," he says, dismissively.  "If you will excuse me, I shall go get my friends, and you may see for yourself."  Spinning on a heel, , he stalks out, brushing past Avahur without looking at him.  Looking a bit sheepish, Avahur lowers his hand, letting the mouse run off.

Jeanette watches Laethwyr go, shaking her head a little in bemusement, and then looks up at Yona.  "Always like what?" she asks, with a straight face, followed by a grin.  "More or less, I suppose, but we've never quite done this before.  I've never seen a whole town actually without Adepts.  But if I can take Kira's suggestion a little further..."  She looks around at everyone.  "If we're to teach you, I'd suggest we all keep it hushed, for now.  Even from friends.  Even from family.  People might react funny, once word gets out; easier to tell them what's done, than what's doing, if you see my meaning.  Harder for them to say we're Horror-Touched when they can see you're trained, and still alright.  As for your...friends," and she looks to Chaia, who hasn't left, and seems to be staying awfully quiet, "Well.  We're trouble makers ourselves, and," she looks at Flechette rather pointedly, "Some of us could easily be mistaken for bullies.  If they have the spark, we'll likely be willing to teach them, too, and maybe they'll find a better purpose in it."

Orm'gha nods.  "Most do," he says, his deep voice rumbling out.

Yona watches Laethwyr's overly theatrical retreat, exercised with a precision which speaks of hours of diligent practice, and manages to keep from giggling at the speed with which he had been knocked down to size.

Then she nods to Jeanette, her face still a deadly serious mask, in spite of the excitement and curiosity that wells up in her heart, "Keep it to ourselves?  Of course.  I'm good at holding secrets.  I learned that lesson well, at the hands of good teachers."

And that statement, coupled with the conversation that others are having about the forge, prompts a new question, "Will we have to tell my Dad?"

Opluriko cocked her head a bit. She had hopes that some day Laethwyr would recognize the errors of his 'friends' and become a decent person.

S/he was far more surprised, and concerned, with Avahur. Oh yes, s/he considered Janin and Sithathys the most disturbing as the group, Janin because he seemed to delight in annoying her personally and Sithathys because he seemed to enjoy annoying the animals, but s/he considered Avahur possibly the most dangerous. S/he had no proof, but s/he suspected there were plentiful reasons why animals should not like him. And so when the mouse went to him, and was even more friendly with him than it had been with her... S/he was not at all pleased.

Opluriko frowned a bit at the keeping this all quiet. Subterfuge was not exactly what s/he considered her forte. But s/he gave the tail flip that was a shrug and nodded. "So then how to we explain the time we're spending with you? That we really enjoy your stories?"

"No," he agreed with Flechette. "Neither are compromising my principles or giving up. Just because someone says I can't do something, doesn't mean I don't try. It's obvious modesty is also one of your lesser skills. I wouldn;t count on you not getting a scratch, even if I allow that you might win."

After the subject of keeping quiet comes up, he comments, "How do you suppose sneaking around with an axe every day is going to stay quiet? I think everyone's painfully aware, my skill at holdout of large weapons is as lacking as my modesty. I think perhaps, I might need to inform my parents of this, for it to work. And I will not lie to them about it, even should I decide not to tell them right away."

Peck notes Opluiko's surprise (at least he believes it to be so, though reading the face of a T'skrang is not always easy) but shrugs, for his opinion of the pair is more the other way about. "I did not expect much different from Laethwyr, and truth be told am thankful I do not have to put up with him around the forge," he confides in his oft-time companion, "but I believe Avahur has a decent streak within him, though he is easily lead by the rest of Urdon's cronies."

He frowns, pondering that. He's sure his own friends have got him into predicaments he'd rather have avoided ... though never with ill-intentions, which makes all the difference.

But the smile that sits upon his lips as he completes that thought is swiftly wiped clean by Jeanette's sobering words.  Stands to reason that if Adepts are real, then Horrors are too, though till that moment the young smith had not made the connection.

"Aye," he echos Yona's swift assent. "Though working at the forge, it should not be a problem - easily explained away as differences in technique."  At least he hopes so. The feeling of dabbling in something wrong is nagging at him ... but his thirst for that knowledge keeps those fears in check.

The windling gave Alia a sheepish smile.  "I, um, I meant to do that.  Yeah, totally." She totally didn't, and that is clear to everyone.

"So, you're going to teach us stuff?  That'd be awesome.  I can totally keep a secret, too!  It'll be just like planning out a prank.  You never want to spoil the ending before the fireworks start."

Alia didn't flinch when her cousin met her eyes. She wasn't going to go back to being meek Alia any more. Trailstare's shrug set her back a little bit though. "How soon before you can tell? "

She gave Laethwyr a defiant look. "You never want to dirty yourself with real work anyway."

Upon hearing that they should keep things hushed up, she nodded. " Maybe the best thing is to tell a little of the truth? They are teaching us. Just about some mundane stuff. I suppose I could be learning about herbs and stuff like that. Maybe the others could be doing similar things?"

"You don't really suppose anything we might want to be kept secret, will be, with them knowing, do you?" he asked, jerking a thumb toward the departed bully.

Alia thought about things for a moment. "Why should they? If they're learning or even think they're learning it will be in their best interest to keep things hushed up too."

He just shrugs, then mentions, "Not sure if Urdon can learn."

"I believe Laethwyr is easily misled," Opluriko countered quietly, as one of the gang was still here and s/he didn't want to be overheard, noting how Peck's thoughts were, like her own, turned toward their enemies. "I hope you are right, my friend, that Avahur has a good streak to him, but I suspect he is one of the worst..." For now s/he left it at that. If they wanted to chat about that later was one thing, but in front of strangers, and a gang member... well, that wasn't where s/he wanted to go right now.

"They do what's in their best interest. They'll keep it quiet, same as us," s/he said, tail-shrugging.

"Exactly," Flechette says, stepping over and draping an arm casually over Chaia's shoulder.  She starts to guide the younger woman towards the doorway.  "You and your friends will keep quiet because it's in your best interests...yes?"

The way she says it, it's as much a threat as it is anything to do with the offer to teach them anything also.  Chaia's face goes pale, and she just nods.  With a little push, Flechette sends her out after Laethwyr and Avahur.  "Make sure they know," she directs, and then turns around, not even watching as Chaia hurries after her friends.

"Mm, right," Tralistaire says, watching Flechette with the same faintly uncomfortable look he'd had when she started leaning on Kerric.  "Now that we're all alone..."

"At least, as alone as fourteen people all together can be," Jenette interjects.

"Er, indeed.  But now that we are, I must ask - how close are all of you?  These others that you warn us of are, it seems, a fairly...cohesive group, at least - you seem to consider them to be this Urdon's, and they appear largely to agree with that.  And we are, I may proudly say, an established group of adventurers, bound to each other by blood and magic, and known throughout much of Barsaive as Skel'cha'ach's Avengers!"  He pauses here and gives a sweeping bow, and it's easy to doubt that he ever says the name without the bow.

"But I daresay, I don't get quite the same sense from all of you.  You seem, well, aware of one another, but I imagine everyone in your town is more or less aware of everyone else.  Are you friends?  Are you known as Kerric's Crew, perhaps?"

Flechette wrinkles her nose.  "Alliteration," she mutters, disdainfully, and throws in a rolling of her eyes just for good measure.

"I wouldn't really say we're a group," Opluriko said, glancing at the others. "We've all had our own things to do, that didn't involve loitering. But we are all friends."

"I like that," he says, smiling. "Never could figure out something to rhyme with Kerric that wasn't stupid... But, yes. Friends. Perhaps we could be a crew, but I don't think we've ever really had the same purpose to unite us quite like this."

Alia shook her head slightly at Kerric's joke. "If we put down Urdon and his bunch, aren't we showing that we're no better than them? I'd rather we not really talk about them unless we have to. Aren't there other, more important things to talk of?"

Opluriko made a lot of sense, and she bobbed her head in agreement. When one of the strangers escorted the last or Urdon's gang out and pretty much threatened her, she raised an eyebrow. She certainly wasn't expecting one of the strangers to act like that.

She shrugged. "We are friends. Urdon's gang does what Urdon tells them. They're not friends, even to each other."

Yona watches with barely concealed delight as Chaia is escorted out of the building and, not to put too fine a point on it, threatened.  Not such a wonderful reversal for her, of course, but marvellous for those who have suffered at her hands and those of other members of Urdon's gang.

Now, looking around the room, she realises, with a start, that only those she would consider friends are still here.  And the strangers, of course.

"We are friends, yes.  Just not as well... organised... as Urdon's friends."  That part is, at least, true for her.  While she had never really been part of an active group of friends, she felt "safer" with the people in this room than with any member of Urdon's gang.

Even on those rare occasions when one of Urdon's cronies was talking to her in a reasonably friendly manner, she had always felt that she was balancing on a precipice and in danger of plummeting to her doom.  Not so with the people currently in the room.

"But we are friends.  Even if we don't have a clever name for ourselves."

"We all stand by each other," Peck adds.  As the others have said, they've never thought themselves a gang ... but while most of Urdon's cronies are with him out of little more than fear, this group of friends have just naturally drifted together.  To his surprise he realises that he far rather spend his free time with them than with any other in Karick's Bend, save for his family, of course.

"Friends, aye ... good friends." He grins at his companions, quite delighted at the revelation.

"Friends, then," Calisaren says, making it almost a pronouncement.  "And you?" she turns suddenly to Quendalaa, her fellow Windling.  "It seems everyone has found the beginnings of a fit but you, and while I do believe in coincidence, I believe far more in a pattern, especially when it is laid out before me.  Tell us about yourself, if you would," she asks.

The windling, normally outgoing, seems to wither a bit under the sudden attention.  "Um, I'm, um, Quendalaa, but you can call me Quen.  Or Dalaa."  Her wings buzz nervously for a second.  "I'm a hunter," she blurted with a bit more enthusiasm.  "We, the windlings, I mean, we have a proud tradition in the kaer.  We were the rat catchers and mouse chasers.  We didn't forget the ways of the hunt, because we lived them, even inside."

Llewendan walks over to Opluriko, and sketches a quick, startlingly formal bow.  "It was not the mouse's choice to make," he says, simply.  "It was a question of who responded to the mouse.  Not a large question," he notes, looking away for a moment, frowning.  "After the horse, but," the frown suddenly transforms into a bright smile, "All creatures great and small!  Yes, therein the question lay..."  He trails off again, and then shrugs.  "I am not so very good with people, I confess, although there are a few I think might make good pets.  If I may ask, do you have a favorite?  Can you describe them for me?"

----------------------------
Flechette watches Kerric silently, saying nothing, just staring into his eyes.  She takes out her axe again, and a leather strap, and starts slowly running it along the edge...

----------------------------

Calisaren smiles.  "A hunter?  Mm.  Interesting.  Follow me," she directs, wings blurring as she flits straight up...

----------------------------

Orm'gha addresses Mace'aurec in Troll. 

----------------------------

Tralistaire smiles at Alia, his tail switching lazily.  "I think you're quite right," he offers.  "There are, indeed, more important things to talk about.  If we are going to decide if your nickname is, shall we say, indicative of more than an insightful nature that clearly makes certain others uncomfortable, then we needs must explore the possibilities."  He holds up one hand, small fires dancing on the ends of his fingers; in his other, he holds a handful of small rocks.  "Where are you drawn?" he asks, moving both hands in a pattern.  He closes both fists, claps his hands together, and then turns them up, opening them slowly, holding cupped a double-handful of water.

----------------------------

Kira sits down on the wood pile, apparently making herself comfortable on the uneven, probably splintery, wood.  "So.  I've no doubt Smithing is in you, boy, and Weaponsmithy seems quite likely, and not only for Calisaren's prattle about patterns."  She pauses a moment, and then allows, "Not that Calisaren's prattle isn't valuable.  You've steel in you; in your eyes and your hands.  If it's in your heart and your mind, then the billows are like as much a part of you as your lungs."

She sighs a little.  "And here's where we annoy your Master.  Before I can teach you, I'll need to know what you've learned wrong.  No need to start mucking up his Forge just yet, though.  Talk me through it.  Say you've got a knife before you, one made to carve meat; it's got a nick halfway down the blade, the edge has dulled, but the steel is good, the handle stable."


------------------------------

Jenette takes Yona aside, speaking in a low voice.  "The path of the Thief isn't an easy one," she cautions, "But you're already on it, so I think you know that.  Even among friends, we're set apart.  People often don't trust us, and that's fair enough, but there's more to it than that.  It's in ourselves.  When you said you were your own, oh," she grins, "That settled it.  Every Thief is their own.  It's the first thing we take.  Remember it.  You belong to you.  Not me, nor your friends, nor your family.  What you learn from me, what you do with it, these choices belong entirely to you."  She stops a moment, and runs a bejeweled hand through her hair.  "You know all this, I know, but it's important enough to say anyway.  If only so you know I know it."

"Our Discipline is perhaps the most misunderstood of them all.  Illusionists are dismissed, Nethermancers feared, and I admit freely I don't understand Beastmasters one whit, but none are as distrusted as we are.  They don't understand that theft is an exchange, and one that enriches the so-called victims.  We take mere possessions, and leave behind freedom.  Growth.  Truth.  This ring I took from a young woman pushed to marry a man who beat her.  Thinking she had thrown it away, his family refused her, and her own thereafter.  She's now a rather successful adventurer on her own.  This one," she wiggles another finger, "I just liked."  She shrugs.  "Nobody's perfect.  Out of curiosity, which one do you like best?"

On the hand she's holding up, the pinky has a puzzle-ring.  The ring-finger has a plain ring with a faint inscription around it; above that, a ring made of twined bands of silver and gold, the silver plain, while the gold has a serpent-scale pattern.  Her middle finger bears a

  Her ring finger holds a simple silver band with some kind of inscription on it - it's too faint to read without really leaning in and squinting, but Yona's pretty sure it's a language she doesn't know anyway - and, above that, a ring of twined silver and gold with a serpent-like pattern engraved into the gold.  Her middle finger holds a rather gaudy ring with an emerald that could fairly be described as over-large, unless you're the sort who thinks emeralds really can't be too big - it's enough, in fact, that Yona can almost make out her own reflection in its main facet.  Almost hidden underneath that is a band of a dark metal set with red stones.  Finally, her pointer carries a ring with a pearl in the middle, and a different, small, gemstone at each corner of the setting.

  Just incidentally, it's the twined silver-and-gold that apparently liberated the young woman to a life of adventure, and the puzzle ring that she 'just liked'.

He watches Flechette for a bit, then says, "Might as well start at the start. I don't think stropping this axe would do much good, the edge has been gone for years. And no matter how good Peck is, it never seemed right to let someone else work on her, so she hasn't seen a stone since before I was born, I think. I kept it oiled and well enough, but- I would appreciate if you would show me the right way. If I'm going to be using her a lot, she needs to be taken care of proper-like."

Alia looked in awe when Tralistaire generated fire, stones, and water in his hands. A couple of times she looked like she was going to say or do something. Finally, near tears, she admitted "I can't pick! I hear them all call to me! I think I can even hear the plants calling me!"

Opluriko was far too focused on Llewendan to notice the pairing ups and conversations going on around her. She returned a bow, although it was probably not so formal. She really didn't practice that sort of thing much, and tended not to think about such things much - until she noticed others bowing around her. Her tail flipped to the side as she thought for a long moment, and she smiled as she answered, "I'm not sure if you mean a favorite person or a favorite animal?" But she shrugged. "I will assume you mean animals, but let me know if that's not true. My favorite animal is Jayme - the horse I rode; strong, enduring, willing to learn, straightforward, and just a bit playful. But I sometimes wonder if it isn't just that horses are the animals we're most accustomed to working with. I've heard stories of people who kept raptors for hunting before everyone was forced to the caverns, where the birds eventually died out. I've often watched a hawk who resides in one of the grazing meadows, and thought wouldn't it be awesome to be friends with an animal like that in the same way as being friends with a horse? So beautiful, graceful, quick, attentive, reserved, and never wasting a motion..." She trailed off, thinking, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of her neck. "But I've never met an animal that I didn't respect in some way. From the industriousness of ants to the beauty of butterflies, all have their ways."

Yona studied the rings, her expression thoughtful, "I like them all." she answered eventually.

"The green stone I like less than the others though.  This one... " she taps a nail against the ring with the faint inscription, "... could be interesting.  Or it could just be a recipe for soup.  The gold and silver one is cleverly made, and has a good story to it.  This one... this one I like best."

The puzzle ring.

"I would enjoy solving it, and then finding out how it works.  Discovering its secrets - the hows and whys of it."

Peck hangs on Kira's words, embarrassed by her praise, and keen to prove himself worthy of the gift she offers him.  But he is initially flumoxed by the simplicity of the question the orc poses, on top of his worry over that "what you've learned wrong" which leaves him doubting himself, though he tries not to let that show, sure that the way he responds is as much a part of the test as what he says.

"Use the honing stone," the young Smith answers Kira, "smooth out the nick by concentrating on just that one spot, then when that's done, rub it along the length of the whole blade to sharpen it.  Plenty of spit."  This last almost an afterthought.

Mace leans his head back, looking up through the open roof.  He speaks back to Orm'gha in their shared language.  [Language unknown: "It reany ouatpa.  Me pa ut pro oerwhitin i wipricsi, ll os il nteratrat reprut.  Na nte ch Ilte ichounanyrat ho our pe."]

Flechette nods to Kerric, and, still without a word, shifts to settle next to him.  She takes out another stone, offering it to him, and then holds her own at an angle, so that he can better see what she's doing.  He can see his own reflection in the metal of her axe, distorting and reappearing as her arm glides across, shifting when she changes her angle a bit.


Tralistaire nods, tail flicking.  "Not the plants," he says, gently.  "Spirits within them; Wood elementals."  He lifts one hand, letting the water flow down into the other, catching all of it in the cupped palm, and then switches hands and repeats the process, making a small waterfall.  "All of the Elements have their place, and while there are Elementalists who follow one path exclusively, the strongest of us pursue balance."  As he says it, he lets the water fall, splashing onto the ground, and reveals the small rocks resting in his other hand again.  He starts juggling them, in a tight, figure-eight pattern.  "Water, earth, fire, air, and wood.  I, I confess, picture them as limbs on a body; arms, legs, and tail.  But that may not suit you..."  Tralistaire falls into a kind of lecturing mode, but it is at least half performance, all the way through - he's never a boring speaker, peppering the conversation with jokes, and never entirely holding still.


Llewendan cocks his head, hair trailing over his shoulder, and grins.  "I mean your favorite," he says, simply.  "I had a raven, once.  Different than a hawk, of course, and far different from a horse.  Ants, you say?  I cannot say I have ever worked with an ant - what do you suppose their perspective might be like?" he asks, interestedly.  He keeps talking, drawing out Opluriko's views on the views of different creatures, occasionally, almost accidentally, sharing some minor detail of his own.


Jenette laughs.  "Could be a recipe for my mother's soup," she suggests.  "Then it'd be both."  Then Yona chooses, and she responds with an "Ahhh," wiggling her pinky.  She slips it off, holding it out in her palm, split into three pieces.  "Why don't you have a look at it, then?" she offers.


Kira nods thoughtfully, and glances over towards Flechette and Kerric, engaged in their own sharpening.  "Now, you see Flechette there?  She knows what she's doing, you'll agree, but she's...thinking shorter term, I'd say.  She sharpens her blades for the next battle, because the next battle is where her mind is.  I sharpen for the next decade.  The next wielder, even.  Because my worry is for the weapon."  She takes out a knife of her own, but no stone, and holds it out towards Peck.  "Let me see your grip," she asks.


Orm'gha continues to speak to Mace in Trollish, looking up at the clouds.  Though his neck really must be hurting after a while, he never turns it back down, or works it side-to-side to alleviate the strain.  [Language unknown: "Es, re li ver ni the foerngro ill.  Econpo, ar, ro der ek p wil thiortrat Illessess..."]  He begins to speak in a slow, poetic cadence, his already deep voice dropping to a rumble like rocks in a mine.


And Quendalaa and Calisaren flit through the rafters at dizzying speeds... until finally Quendalaa catches Calisaren, and the two tumble onto a beam together.



...And, one by one, each of you looks up.  And realize that it's beginning to grow dark outside.  Just barely beginning, but considering that moments ago it was mid-morning...  You feel remarkably clear-headed, though.  Not at all as though you've lost time, but almost as if you'd gained it.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:02, Thu 04 Oct 2012.

Yona holds out her hand to Jenette, palm up, with the puzzle ring sitting in its centre.  Somehow she feels that the ring has not given up all of its secrets.  There are still things hidden within it, she is sure of that.

Or it could just be the slight disorientation caused by the change in the light.

"Thank you.  That was... a tricky one.  But enjoyable."

He watches, and tries to mimic the moves of the stone before putting too much pressure on. When he's sure he has it right, he starts bearing down, to really get a good edge. nope- that's not right either, taking too much off at once is bad. There. Just right, a few extra strokes because it's so dull, but that's the way of it. And flip it over, and try to match the count, sharpen it evenly on both sides. A bit of spit to keep it smooth... Get the right angle, it wouldn't do to sharpen an axe like it was a wimpy sword.

"What time is it?" he asked suddenly, realizing he couldn't have been sharpening this axe all day, or it would be a nub of steel.

Opluriko seems absolutely entranced by Llewendan. S/he listened carefully to all he said and answered truthfully, but quietly. S/he was so entranced that s/he forgot to really watch for anyone else, like the bullies, coming by. "Their eyes have so many facets, like jewels. Have you ever looked through a jewel? All the colors are distorted, all the images repeated. But they don't have ears, at least, near as I can tell. They must have terrific scent, to follow trails like they do, to find food like they do. And they get along so well - everyone working together toward the same common goal. Can you imagine what it would be like if a town worked toward the same goal like ants do?" But at the same time, she seems just a bit spacey, like there's something else going on in her head.  She looks up, realizing it is growing dark. She blinks in surprise, but doesn't otherwise seem bothered. Instead she turns to the elf and asks, "Do you want to ride? Now? As the evening rides the sky?"

Kira's knife is a thing of beauty.  The handle is not fashioned from rare wood, nor do precious jewels adorn it and the blade itself is plain steel, but in itself it is perfect, simply the best blade he has ever held.  Its edge not kept sharp with care and effort, but an intrinsic part of the whole.  A blade worthy of those heroes in the tales he loves.  No, it is not worthy of them, it is they who must strive to be worthy of it !

And then it is gone, lost in the realisation that the day is somehow all but done.  No, not quite lost ... even that little he ... saw ? felt ? has opened up a crack, a small glimpse at a world hitherto unknown.

Peck looks up at Kira with wonder and no little envy, "this is how you look upon a knife ... or an axe or a sword all the time ?!!"

In reply to Vestrial (msg # 193):

Alia listened and watched as Trailstaire goes through his patter. She's captivated by his performance/lecture, but in spite of her interest her eyes glazed over.


When she came to back to herself, she was crying, but they were happy tears. When she looked up she grabbed Trailstaire and hugged him. "Thank you! I think I understand a little more now."

It's only then that she notices how late it it. "Wow! It's really late! My father is going to be worried."

Llewendan's eyes light up.  "I would," he says.  Grabbing Opluriko's hand, he half pulls her out the door, with nary a `don't wait up' to his friends.

Outside, he whickers softly to Jayme, who snorts back.  He laughs, and smiles back at Opluriko.  "She says she will carry us," he confirms.  "Together, perhaps, we will weigh as much as Lamakal."

Lamakal is one of the T'skrang on the ranch - and he is, indeed, fairly large.  The T'skrang say that he's good with the animals because he eats like them.  But without giving Opluriko a chance to wonder how he can draw not just a general sense of agreement from Jayme, but in fact, an actual name, Llewendan is already swinging her around and urging her onto Jayme's back, preparing to climb up behind her.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:36, Thu 04 Oct 2012.

Inside, the other Adepts seem to have been caught up in things as well. Tralistaire glances up towards the sky, and Flechette watches Llewendan go out the door with a small shake of her head.

Jenette holds the ring on her palm only briefly before closing her fingers around it.  With a simple, single-handed movement, it's back on its finger.  "Well done.  Not everybody gets it their first try - you've got a knack for mechanics, don't you?"

Kira shrugs.  "Yes," she responds, simply.  "Weapons want to be their very best.  Not the way people want, or even," she, too, gives a glance towards the departing elf, "Animals, but it's there.  The same way, I think, that woodcarvers often claim they're simply setting free a shape that's already there."

Tralistaire smiles.  "I think you do," he agrees.  "And I suppose he will.  It is getting rather late.  It's probably best you all head home, or your parents are going to begin to worry we've eaten you."

Flechette laughs at that.  "Might just, at that.  Jen, it's your turn to cook, isn't it?"

Jenette glances over.  "Nope," she says.  "I did it three nights ago.  It's Kira's turn."

Kira snorts.  "Nice try," she growls.

Opluriko manages to remember to wave to her friends, but seems just as eager as the elf, suddenly, to get out of the building.

She blinked at surprise that Llewendan knew of Lamakal. She was beginning to understand how he could get sensations from the animals, far more than just standard empathy, but that was still boggling. But obviously, he did, and had gotten that from Jayme.

Nonetheless, she is too caught up in the moment to let these wonderings stop her. Instead she swings up with a practiced ease. She was going to take the back, as T'skrang had tails and elves didn't, but seeing how it was obviously that Llewendan was planning to get on behind her, she just held wrapped it around her waist. As mounting the hindquarters could be tougher than the front, she offered a hand to the elf, though she doubted he would take it.

She made no effort to direct Jayme - she suspected Llewendan was going to do the directing, continue the lesson, so to speak.

"Thank you," he says simply. "I suspect I will be having quite a long conversation after I return. I will try not to tell them, as you have suggested, but I will be telling them I plan on learning to use this axe. I will no longer be carrying under a cloak of secrecy."

He heads off, cloak on his shoulder, axe in his hand. He did not, after all, bring anything to carry it with, like a normal person might.

Peck simply nods, still caught up in the wonder of it all. "Tomorrow ?" he asks Kira hopefully.

"There's a... a... I'm not sure of the word for it.  But it's like when you know what a person is thinking, just by looking at them.  I've always had that same thing with things like your ring, and locks, and anything like that." Yona explains to Jenette, quietly, "I look at a thing, any thing with moving parts, and it speaks to me.  Tells me how it works.  Not in words though.  I just see it, inside my head."

"All the parts, moving just how they're supposed to.  Sometimes I even see them moving in ways they're not supposed to as well."  She smiles nervously.  This is one of her secrets, and she just gave it to a stranger in exchange for an offer of learning.

Llewendan, so far as Opluriko can tell, doesn't really direct Jayme, either - he just lets her run, and she does.  The trio gallop through the town, hair, mane, and tail streaming...  The mare carries them directly east, just past the town limits, where she can really stretch her legs.

----------------------------
Kira nods.  "Tomorrow," she promises.

Flechette watches Kerric leave, and then turns back into the room with a big grin.  "That's funny," she says, holding in a laugh.  "Looked like an ordinary cloak to me."  Tralistaire chuckles at her joke, while Kira snorts slightly and Calisaren rolls her eyes.

Orm'gha rests a hand on Mace'aurek's shoulder.  "Tomorrow," he says, echoing Kira.  "We shall meet again, and continue.  For now, you should return to your family."

And Jenette, leaning a little closer to Yona, just nods.  "Me, too," she returns, with a smile.  She seems to understand what Yona's offering.  "I always used to say they sang to me."

-------------------------------
Kerric, with an increasing sense of trepidation, returns home.  And not at all to his surprise, both of his parents are waiting for him.  Dinner is made, and on the table, but they're both standing, facing the door, when he opens it.  His father's arms are crossed, which is never a good sign, and neither one says anything when he walks in.

With a wave, Alia ran home. There was so much that she wished she could tell her parents. She finally found out where she fit in!

She was still ruminating over what to say when she arrived home. "Father? Mother? I'm home!"

"Hello," he says sheepishly. "Sorry, I lost track of time. I decided to sharpen Grandpa's axe, and, well... It's in nice shape, now," he says lamely, setting it against the wall.

Opluriko shuts her eyes, trying to feel at one with Jayme, enjoying the ride and trusting the combination of Llewendan and Jayme to keep her safe - or at least alert her if she's not.

Unlike most of his friends' parents and loved ones, Peck's adopted mother and father have known that he and Kira have spent the whole day at the forge.  For a moment, as he enters the kitchen, the young smith finds himself still bound up in the lessons of the day, and blinks at them as if they are strangers, people who wouldn't understand what he's been slowly struggling towards, even if the truth of it remains just beyond his grasp.

But then he sees their concerned faces and pushes the lessons of the day aside.  Even such powerful truths cannot displace the years of love they have shown him.  "Kira is teaching me," he tells them, "I'm learning."  Then mindful that the forge has been not all all productive this day, at least not in any usual sense, "I'll talk to her ... see if she'll help with the work.  We'll catch up."

Worried now, not only at the loss of coin, but of the townsfolk that are waiting on nails or tools or the like ...

"In the morning, then?" Yona says, with a nod and a grateful smile, and takes her leave.

She makes her way slowly home, leaning on her stick.  She doesn't hurry, needing time to think, and suspecting that nobody has noticed that she's missing, least of all her father.

And there is so much to think about.  Some of it is new knowledge, new ways of looking at things.  And some of it, she's starting to realise, is stuff that she knew before, or at least guessed, but never thought about enough to know that she knew it.

As she reaches her home she stops for a moment; should she go to the house, or straight to the barn?

The house, and a growling stomach, win the debate.  She pushes the door open, and goes in to face her father.

Mace gives Orm'gha a slow nod, and steps backward slowly.  "I will see you tomorrow," he says.  His tone is thoughtful, distracted, and he barely seems to notice the others as he walks out and makes his way back towards the enclave and his own family.

Aedalo and Tyellyria are both sitting just outside when Alia gets home, Tyellyria resting her head against Aedalo's chest as they both watch the sky.  Aedalo pats the ground next to them, smiling at Alia's approach.  "I'm glad you're back," he says.  "I looked for you, but..." he shrugs.  "Well, you're home now.  Where have you been?" he asks - not upset, but somewhat worried.  Tyellyria just smiles a bit - in her second century, days simply aren't significant enough periods of time for her to get worried about anymore.

----------------------------------
Kerric faces a somewhat less happy welcome - his father, Lorgan, is waiting for him, arms folded over his chest.  Kyra, his mother, is usually more sympathic, and... isn't in the room.

"Sharpened?" Lorgan asks, raising a rather bushy eyebrow.  "I see."  He glances at the axe as Kerric sets it down, his frown deepening.  "Boy, if you were out sharpening that thing all afternoon, it would be worn to a nub.  Where. Have. You. Been?"

----------------------------------
Opluriko's ride blurs, but as hard as she tries - or as much as she relaxes and tries to let it go - she doesn't really feel Jayme any more than usual.  Still, that's more than many, and the rhythmic beat of her gallop is relaxing.  Too soon, though, Jayme stops, and Llewendan slides easily down, dropping on the side without Opluriko's tail.  Opening her eyes, she finds she's just outside the ranch's fence - just a bit further in, she can see quite a crowd starting to gather.

"Thank you," Llewendan says, including both Jayme and Opluriko.

----------------------------------
Ulisa smiles at Peck, but Marden looks...tired.  He runs a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from washing up at the end of his day, and nods.  "Aye, t'morrow will be a busy one," he agrees.  "But s'long as you got those chains delivered, it's alright.  Whole town's a day off track."  Then his brows furrow, and he frowns slightly, looking at Peck more carefully.  "What was that, though?  Kira?  Teaching you what?"

----------------------------------
Yona finds Jander sitting alone in the farmhouse, stirring somewhat listlessly at a bowl of stew that's still far too full to have stopped steaming.  He looks up when he notices the door opening, and takes a quick bite, tucking away whatever thoughts might have been troubling him.  "Welcome home.  Interesting day?" he asks, nodding her towards the pot.

It's always been something of a quirk of his - he never wishes her a `good day'; it's always `interesting', or `productive', or `successful', or...something.

----------------------------------
Mace'aurek has the somewhat uncomfortable sense of being watched from the moment he enters the Enclave.  People seem to pause at what they're doing as he passes, although of course, no one is so rude as to stare.  When he comes into his own house, he finds his family gathered around the table eating their own dinner.  They, too, pause when he comes in, and Granduil stands up.  "Mace'aurek..." he says, almost in a growl.  Without waiting to hear anything Mace might have to say, he states, "You left your sister to work alone, and have left your job undone all day.  We cannot feed all if all do not do their part.  You will go straight to your bed, and we will speak tomorrow."

Shal'hassan smirks a little bit, while Endoray gives him a quick sympathetic look, but Granduil's pronouncement is made.  Both quickly turn back to their own plates.

"Getting my mind together, I suppose. I am aware this would not be your favorite thing to hear from me. I have been nearby, just sitting, mostly.

"I think that it might be possible for us to both get our way. I see your wisdom in your choice of path for me, although I do not agree with it. It has occurred to me, if I should diligently pursue the education you wish, instead of fighting it tooth and nail, you might let me pursue what I wish, as well. I do not see the end being as easily negotiable, but neither of us will have our hopes damaged for the time being.

"What do you think of this idea?" It seemed perfectly logical to him. PAy lip service to his father's idea, honestly strive to succeed at the tasks given him, but not pursue it with the zeal he would pursue his own interests. His father should be glad to get him to stop fighting about it, hopefully. It seemed a fair enough trade, if a lot of work for him, but then nothing you want comes easily.

Opluriko is at first frustrated by the lack of that connection that she had felt so recently, but eventually the horse soothes her, as always.

She is not overly surprised that the ride ends too soon. After all, it was already dusk when they started.

Opluriko nodded, but replied, "And thank you. You know your way back from here, right?" She wanted to confirm, as he was new to town.

Only then did she peel her eyes away from him long enough to notice the gathering crowd. She frowned a bit, thoughtfully, at that, but then shrugged. What would be, would be. Patting Jayme's shoulder, she let the horse amble in, cooling her down from the brief run so that the mare's muscles wouldn't cramp up.

She tried to ride through the crowd without a word, toward the barn where she would groom Jayme before setting her out for the night. But she doubted that would happen...

Alia smiled at her parents and sat down on the spot where her father patted. "We were listening to stories at the schoolhouse. Did you know that elementalists can talk to plant spirits?"

She took a moment to snuggle close to both of them and looked up at the sky as well. As she sat and looked at the sky, she tried to see if there were any spirits around them. Happily she sighed. "This was the best day ever!"
This message was last edited by the player at 22:14, Wed 24 Oct 2012.

Mace's stomach rumbles when he smells the food on the table.  But he just bows his head at his father's ruling, and walks slowly back to his room to lay down.  Despite being sent to bed like a child, he feels strangely uplifted, looking forward to the morning.

Peck still can't get his mind around all that has happened in the space between the sun's rising and setting ... and while he's sworn not to reveal exactly what has been going on in the forge, he's not minded to lie to his adopted father, matter not that the Smith will see for himself on the morrow exactly what Kira's been teaching him !

The chains, he'd all but forgotten about them !  Dipping his hand into his pocket while he considers his words he hands over the coins that Sothanar had so reluctantly parted with when he'd recovered the sack and made his apologies to old Anje and given her the tale of the mornings excitements.

"When you do this," his fingers move as he's seen Marden's do so many times, when the Smith thought noone watching, or speak the 'Words' ... I think that is what Kira is trying to show me ... except she doesn't need the gestures or even to speak at all ... I think it all comes from within."

He realises that perhaps he's said more than he ought.  "I don't think she'd be pleased with me telling you that, though," he adds, sheepishly.

"Interesting.  Yes."

That was certainly one word for it.  Yona starts to help herself to some stew, and briefly wonders what Adepts usually eat.  Then she turns around and looks at her father.  No time like the present.  Even if she often has trouble talking to him about important matters.

"Interesting...  Some strangers showed up in town.  One of them has offered to teach me... a trade."  Being nicely non-specific on the nature of that trade seems like the best course of action.  "She thinks I'll be good at it."

Lorgan - who is already frowning as deeply as he can - now narrows his eyes at Kerric.  "Getting your mind together would most certainly be my favorite thing to hear you've done," he hrumphs.  "I think you're missing important details in your...negotiation.  You think what I want for you is adding up sums and keeping good notes?"  He relaxes his face a little, to something at least fractionally more `conversational'.  "Son, what I want for you is for you to not go charging off after some romantic idea of `adventure', getting into unnecessary fights and getting hurt.  If you don't care to follow my trade..."  His expression softens even a little more, although it's still largely angry looking.  "Well, yes, I'll be hurt.  But fine.  Join the lizards on their ranch.  Become a tailor.  Work one of the farms.  Anything...that doesn't use...that."  He jabs a finger at the axe, eyebrows dropping again.

---------------------------

Llewendan waves confidently as he takes off at a run of his own, disappearing quickly in the growing dusk.  Opluriko's fears are well grounded, however - as she rides Jayme into the crowd, T'skrang of all ages gather eagerly around her.  "What were they like?" "Are they nice?" "That was one of them on Jayme!" "Will they kill us all when we sleep?" "Are you getting married?" "Are they ticklish?" "Did you see any magic?" "Are they going to buy horses?" ...Among dozens of other questions that Opluriko can't quite make out.

---------------------------

"Why, no," Aedalo replies to Alia's question.  "I'd no idea.  What do you suppose a plant would have to say?" he asks.

Tyellyria, though, follows her daughter's gaze up to the stars.  "I did," she says, softly.  "Stories Mother told; less, I thought, spirits of the plants, and more spirits in the plants.  But of what they spoke, I never knew."

---------------------------

If it were anybody else, Marden would probably be a bit embarrassed when Peck demonstrates the little hand-gesture he does - but it's alright with Peck.  "Aye," he agrees, "It all comes from within...but there's no magic in what we do.  You'll learn from me, as I learned from Thandor, and he learned from Ollivear, and he learned from Marten, and he learned from Periton.  Iron calls for real sweat; any shortcuts this `Kira' might be offering you aren't true smithing."  He nods, satisfied with his wisdom.  "She comes by tomorrow, I'll thank her politely, but I think we know what we're doing, hey?  Mind, any Smith is welcome to have a hand at the Forge, if she's needing it for her own work, but my apprentice, now, that's another matter."

-------------------------------

Jander gives his daughter a thoughtful look, one that holds a certain tempered hope, but one overshadowed by caution.  "A trade?" he asks.  "The sort that pays?"

Speaking slowly, and carefully choosing his words, he tries to reason wiht his father. It wouldn't do to just lose it with him... again.

"I am not being disobedient enough to try to do this behind your back. If you are right- and I admit, I don't think you are- I should be abandoning this after a short while. That's the job of parents, I suppose, steering their children to what they think is the best course. It has never been an issue, that I would follow your trade as a second choice. I would, in fact, be proud to. It still would be a second choice, however. If I do abandon this after a while, I will never think about what I could have done, should have done, or would have done otherwise.

"I don't want to be a lizard, or a tailor, or a farmer. This is what I want. If it matters, I will make something to carry it in, so the neighbors don't know. You are... a good father. You have taught well and wisely, even though I frequently don't take the lessons to heart, it doesn't mean I'm not listening. I think I understand why you don't want me doing this. It doesn't make me want it any less, though, even if I truly do wish to do as you would like.

"I think you know, I will be miserable for the rest of my life if I don't at least try this. I am willing to make concessions to you even though I don't really need to, because I think you might be right. But I might be right, too- and there's no real harm in finding out, is there? If I stink, it might show up right away. It might even be nothing like I imagine, and be quite boring. What do you say about letting me try it, anyhow?"

"If I learn what she has to teach, I'll never have to worry about money."

There... not quite a lie.  It doesn't quite answer the question either, at least not quite as he'd phrased it.  But hopefully it's close enough that he won't notice the subtle difference.

She smiles at him.  Briefly.  No sense overdoing things.  "She can teach me other things too.  I mean... have you ever left Karick's Bend?  She knows about other places, and I'll learn about them too, as well as learning the trade."

As always Alia felt warm and safe in her parent's embrace, but somehow this felt different. It dawned on her that usually her parents were the ones that knew things that she didn't. Now it was the reverse and it made her feel sad for a moment.

She shrugged at her father's comment. "I don't know. Yet. As soon as I find out, I'll let you know."

Mother's comments were much more interesting. "What kind of stories did grandmother tell? Did she talk to an elementalist?"

Magic !  Peck hadn't considered what Kira had shown him to be such, and Marden's warning sends shivers down his spine.  Though too, he realises that this might be perhaps the first time his father has addressed him ... not as an equal, exactly, but as a grown man.

"I don't think it's magic," the young Smith thinks carefully, not on his words, but on what he has seen this day.  "Perhaps a ... different way of looking at things.  Not replacing hard work and honest sweat," the day's efforts had certinaly been more far more difficult even than ordinary hard toil, "but complementing the craft that you have shown me, even as your father showed you."

"I'm not interested in learning shortcuts from Kira ... but I think she knows secrets to the making that our forefathers had forgotten."

Opluriko glanced after the elf, wishing she also could just disappear for the night.

But that was not to be. Most questions she tried to answer at face value. "The strangers are... well, strange, really. And have interesting stories. Perhaps they might buy some horses, but I'm not sure. I don't see why they'd kill us while we sleep - what would they gain from that which they could not gain with some simple trade? I didn't try tickling any. And yes, the T'skrang has magic that I saw - it will be interesting to see more of them all." She ignored the question about getting married, really, what point was there to answering it? And rushed Jayme over to the stable area and began untacking her, trying to avoid as many people as possible and using the horse as a sort of shield to ignore half of the additional questions.

Lorgan's frown deepens again.  "If you're wrong, then no, there's no harm in finding out.  If you're right, however, and it's not boring, but rather, every bit as exciting as you hope, right up until you...lose your hand, or kill someone, or Passions forbid die, then I daresay there is a fair bit of harm in it."

"It is indeed my job to steer you, and this I absolutely forbid.  Pick anything else and I promise you my full support, but that - that," he jabs a finger again at the axe, "Is out of the question."

--------------------------

Jander takes another bite of his stew.  "Snmph..." he begins, swallows, and then starts over.  "Sounds a bit dodgy," he says, in a warning tone.  "You've always had a good head on you, and I'll trust your instincts, but you'll be wary, right?  We don't know these people.  Anybody who's promising you'll never need to worry again...may just be out to make sure they don't."

--------------------------

Tyellyria closes her eyes.  "Elementalists, Nature's Guide," she says, quoting the old poem.  "Yes, your Grandmother was good friends with one, as I remember.  An Orc...I've forgotten her Name, but I'm sure I'd know it if I heard it.  I remember she said that of all the old magicians, the Elementalists were the most important, at least, when the Scourge came.  It was they who made the Kaers possible - their magics that hollowed the vast caverns, gathered True Elements with which to build doors even the ancient Horrors couldn't break, scribed the Wardings... and then to keep the food growing, the water pure, the air safe."

Aedalo chuckles a little, patting Alia's head.  "A noble calling, to be sure.  But the hour does grow late," he points out.

--------------------------

"Hmm."  Marden leans back a little, thoughtfully.  "There's risks in mixed learning," he warns.  "But there's gains, too.  I trust there'll be no problem with my observing, too, but if you want to see how she works, I've no objections," he decides.

--------------------------

Opluriko's fellow T'skrang do back off as she sets about stabling Jayme. Some with reluctance, and one with a called, "Well, try tickling one tomorrow!", but all with a general acceptance that this is a job that deserves her attention.  A few do wait outside for a while, but through the simple technique of taking her time, Opluriko manages to out-wait them, and soon, she has as much privacy as ever exists in the Ranch.  Where, in fairness, privacy itself is a concept... perhaps not quite foreign, but from the other side of the river.

"I see," he says, a bit sad. "I have tried my best. I do not suppose there is any way to talk you into some sort of compromise." He looks hopeful, but gives it up quickly. He shrugs. "At least it was cleaned, sharpened, and oiled. It could probably sit another 80 years in the basement." He heads off to his room.

'Out of the question.' 'Absolutely forbid.' The axe probably could last another 80 years without being touched. Now, he had to figure out how to smuggle it for real. Maybe a nice switch... He'd make a case for it or a bag or something, and put it in the basement with something very axe-shaped in it. That should work... After all, it wasn't his fault his father insisted on giving him orders that were beyond him to enforce. If he actually did find this his calling- he would probably not be inheriting anything anyhow. The worst his father could do would be to disinherit him, which is the probable extension of his choice in the first place. He'd need to think on it a bit more... It was a big choice, after all.

Opluriko is glad that most of her fellows back off a bit. S/he doesn't mind some questions, but didn't enjoy the feeling of drowning in them. S/he patted Jayme again, then made her way to her hammock for the night.

Peck smiles. "I'd be most glad if you would," he tells his adopted father with no little relief.  "I find what Kira tries to show me difficult to understand ... no doubt you'll make more sense of it."

Of all the times to start taking an interest in what I'm doing, he has to pick now.

"I talked to her.  She spoke of things that I'd know more about." Yona reassures her father, "And showed me some of them too.  Some of it's stuff like I've only heard in stories, but she can do it, and she can teach me to do it.  I saw enough to believe she can teach me."

Finally she takes a mouthful of the stew, and winces as she burns her tongue.

"I have a lot to learn though, so I might not be around much."

Mace'Aurek lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling and imagining clouds, and slowly falls asleep...

Kerric most decidedly doesn't stomp up the stairs, because he is Being the Mature One.  His father waits until he's halfway up before growling, "Good, because that's exactly what it's going to do."  Kerric may or may not slam the door to his room, but alas, he has no music to turn up super-loud, so he's forced to seethe quietly.  His mind continues offering convincing arguments and more reasons he's right for at least half an hour before sleep finally overwhelms him.

Opluriko finally finds a bit of peace, curled up in her hammock.

Quendalaa is faced with a barrage of questions very much like the ones Opluriko got from the T'skrang, but after enjoying the limelight for a while, she, too, pleads exhaustion and curls up on her feather bed. (They're not uncommon for Windlings, because they don't need a lot of feathers.)

Peck settles down calmly, having reached a decent balance with Marden.  Somewhere between approval and worry on Marden's side, somewhere between truth and secrecy on Peck's, but both feeling comfortably closer to the right side of things.

When Yona goes to bed, she worries that she's left things a little farther on the lying-to-her-father end of the scale - but farming isn't the life Jander ever really wanted for his daughter.  If she has a way out of it, he's sure he'll manage.

Tyellyria and Alia don't actually ignore Aedalo, but neither do they immediately retire.  Tyellyria keeps talking, in slow, gentle tones, of what she remembers.  After a little while, she looks down to find their daughter asleep between her parents, and together, they gently carry Alstroemeria inside and lay her to bed.  She stirs slightly from the movement, but doesn't wake.