The flaming logs of the fireplace sent a warm glow through the Red Dragon Inn. It was a night like many others, and the establishment was crowded with comfort and murmur. The guests dined and laughed, drank and flirted, then drank some more. The bartender had only a moment every now and then to enjoy the fruit of his staff’s labour, for he himself was overly busy as well. He noted the working class, relaxing after a hard day’s work. He glanced at the thieves conspiring in the corners. He regarded the lovers in their evasion and attraction, and smiled. But he smiled most of all at the children gathered around an old rocking chair in front of the fire.

The chair was occupied by a story teller, Farreus the old. Farreus had been an adventurer throughout his life, or at least claimed so much. He had tales for young and old, but at this time in the young evening, his crowd consisted of children and young teenagers, who had enough of the converse of their parents and their parents’ friends. Farreus proved capable of weaving their dreams into words, and his words into fantasies again.

The old warrior had just finished stuffing his pipe. He had bought the thing long ago because he thought it fitted the image. Every story teller had to have a pipe to wave around; at least in his experience it had always been so. It usually took him a story or two before he actually lit the thing and brought it to his lips, where it parted immediately because the story he was telling took an unexpected turn. By the end of the evening he had taken only two pulls from it, before emptying it in the fire place. The bartender was the only one who realized this, and kept it a secret. It was one of the reasons he felt so entertained by the storyteller. You never knew what was real, and what wasn’t.

“Today I’m going to tell you the tale of the three armed ogre.”

The old man sat back slowly, shifting his weight so that the chair leaned back, but not so far where it would disconnect him from his audience.

“The day I turned eighteen, I knew that I had to go out into the world, and explore the lands that I had been dreaming ab… “

“Farreus. We want to hear about when you were a kid. Tell us the one where the strangers came to rescue your village,” one of the children interrupted. A few of the older, more respecting teens amongst them made shushing noises, but Farreus laughed.
“Haven’t I told you that story last week, young Madeiro? Are you so eager to hear it again that you’re willing to break and old man’s musings?”

The child who had spoken looked at the storyteller in confusion. “What?”
One of the teens that had shushed earlier bent towards the kid and eyed it with a parental sternness.
“He means that it’s rude to interrupt him.”

“No,” Farreus said quietly. “No, that is not what I mean. I mean that Madeiro is right to put in a request. It is one of my favourites as well, and I will gladly retell it.”

He sat forward and brought his head close to his audience.
“This story starts when I was just a young boy; just six years old. Still, I remember it well, for the events that happened changed the way I viewed the world…..”

---

The Chindari Plains had been tough and boring. Who had ever come with idea to cross them was unclear, but the adventurers had made it through, living of dried fruits and hunting dalpas, a far cousin of the deer. In deep summer, these plains could be a hell on Antaron, and the group had definitely had their share of blistering heat.

For the past few days, the land had shown geological change, and slowly the vast flatness of sand and grass had turned into a land of hills and curves, bushes and even the occasional tree. At this moment, they could taste the saltiness of the ocean in the wind. Dunes lined the path they were following north, which would ultimately bring them to Bayris if they followed it long enough.

They were a group of adventurers, a mixed bunch with different talents. They had lost a few companions to forks in the road, dangerous encounters and women in wondrous cities. It was a jest amongst them that these last two were actually not so different, but that’s another matter, for another time.
The ones that remained had formed the hard core of the group, and had become reasonably close. Close enough to trust one another, but whether the word friendship was in order remained a test that would last until the end of their adventuring days.

It was midday when they found an old monastery, where monks were tending to a very well-kept garden bearing hedges, chickens, dune flora and a stone sculpture of an opened book. Two of them looked up when the group passed, and one of them called out:

“Well met, travellers of the sandy paths. My name is brother Josop. The sun is hot today, and you look like you could use a drink. Care to trade some refreshments for a good story?”

(OOC: We're ready to start posting, people!)

Brother Perrin rose his head as Josop called out to the travellers. It was his turn to tend to the gardens with Brother Josop, and it was true that it was a hot day. But everyone had their duties to attend to, and Perrin was not one who would shirk his duties. However, Aiding others was always a duty more important than the gardens.

"Yes Brother Josop is correct, the sun is much too hot to be traveling too far. Come in, and we shall offer you drink. Please, permit us to aid you."

Her own coal-black warhorse was of the heavier breed, a true destrier. Bodd was as big an animal as she could find when she purchased him and he was well-trained. Although expensive, she considered the money well-spent and had added more for additional training before she took posession of him. He was one or two hands taller than the other mounts the group rode, and with Thumpa's own height added to the saddle, she simply towered over the others, a beacon of black leather on a massive black mountain. She had been increasingly uncomfortable for the past few hours. She was still sitting on sand from the last time she had tried to relieve herself in that sandy waste they had passed through. She was surprised and annoyed at being caught by a brief but strong gust of wind that whipped some sand along with it. It was beginning to feel like the saddle had begun to grow tiny glass shards in the seat.

It bothered Thumpa not a bit that she was not as "mugrakt", or tough, as her her orcish cousins. But she was still a bit tougher than most others near her size. Taller than most, heavier than most, too. And a bit stronger than some. And she was not afraid to capitalize on the reactions that some had to her obvious heritage. To her credit, she had also learned to recognize quickly when such an opportunity would not work to her advantage. What most people didn't know was that she did not usually act as most would expect her to act.

She was saved from certain death by one who put her own life at risk and raised Thumpa to be comfortable with who and what she was, with encouragement for whatever Thumpa attempted to do or learn. Couple that with her formative years being raised this way in the abode of a half-orc sorcerer who was intelligent (and powerful) in his own right, and one could almost understand her "almost civilized" way of thinking, speaking, and dressing.

She had associated herself with two other groups before she joined her current companions. Her separation from both of them was on good terms, and with the understanding that she was doing so to simplify their lives and her own. She expected the same thing to happen with this group -- eventually -- but she wasn't about to make the kistake of causing it to happen by worrying about it. When the time came, she would do what must be done.

She had noticed, with some relief, that the terrain that they were traveling through had been changing, more greenery and less of that thrice-blighted sand. When they noticed the walls of the monatery the approached, Thumpa had silently entertained the thought of seeking shelter from the heat making her leathers stick to her body. The hail and invitation from one of the monks working in a garden as they approached was nothing more that confirmation that she had the right idea. And the symbol in the garden of the monastery was one she knew. The symbol of Jusarin, called "Mokk'ar'arran" by her mentor. She was never certain whether that meant "Book Keeper" or "Knowledge Holder", and it didn't really make a difference. While her mentor was a follower of his ways, she was not. But she knew enough about some of the followers to know that they were an arrogant lot. She would have to watch her tongue here ...

"Awww, c'mon people!", she pleaded, "would it hurt to take a short break, with an invitation, even?. I could use a drink or four. Okay?"

Kay was happy. He was with a new group, a group he could help protect. A group of new friends. And they were all females. Kay sometimes wondered if they allowed him to join them because they needed a male to help protect them, or because they just knew he was good. It didn't really matter, but sometimes he wondered. And why did females choose such strange names? Kay already had problems remembering names unless he made assocations with things he could remember easily. And he had to keep repeating the associations until the names became automatic. But Kay eventually got there.

Ocyari -- mentally, he formed the letters O-C-R-E in his mind to help remember her name -- was a pretty syl but prone to be sneaky. He knew what she did, but didn't care, as long as she didn't steal from him or the rest of his new friends.

Thumpa -- the heartbeat sound -- was a big ol' half orc girl. But she was not like any half-orc Kay had ever met before. She was actually nice most of the time. She spoke like Kay did, not rough like most ot those like her. And she used magic. And she had a frog for a pet. And her horse was bigger than all the others, even Kay's.

The half-sylvari called Tah-moo-rill -- cow sound in the name -- could use a blade almost as well as Kay himself could, but could also make music. Kay liked listening to the music. And praciticing with Tah-moo-rill was fun, but Kay usually came out on top. Probably because he was stronger. And he used two blades at once, both of which were bigger than Tah-moo-rill's.

Isilimiri, she was all sylvari, but Kay didn't know where sh came from. Kay always fumbled with her name, but still usually came up with "Easily-Miri", which, he thought, was close enough. She was a holy person. Kay had a great respect for them. Holy people were why Kay was still around today. Kay had a high regard for anyone who could use magic like Thumpa could, but Holy people were near the top of the list of people to protect. At least for Kay they were.

Kay could remember a time when names and remembering were no trouble for him, he just couldn't remember when that time was. It was a source of major frustration to him, if he dwelled on it, so he usually tried not to. His new friends had kept him from getting mad at himself most of the time, so he was happy.

They had been riding through sand dunes and dryness for a long time, so when Kay finally saw some green leaves and plants, he felt better. And when they saw the guys working in a field near what Thumpa called a "monas-terry", the guys invited them in for a drink. Thumpa almost begged to stop and rest for a while. Like Kay thought, not the typical half-orc. But him and Thumpa were thinking alike, so he chimed in, too.

"Yeah. Let's take 'em up on the drink thing. I'm thirsty enough ta out-drink ol' Dappa, here. An' I ain't tired, but a rest would be nice for you g -- err, all of us." He had caught himself this time. The last time he had made the mistake of thinking the females were not up to his stamina or hardiness, they promptly proved him mistaken -- all of them at once. It had been emgarrassing and a bit painful, and he was not about to have it happen again.

“Well met, travelers of the sandy paths. My name is brother Josop. The sun is hot today, and you look like you could use a drink. Care to trade some refreshments for a good story?”

Tamuril dismounted off the tall, dappled, silvery-gray stallion. Moon Dancer was almost of equal height as Thumpa’s big black destrier, being a Light Warhorse, the difference was Thaump’s and Kay’s mounts would sink to their fetlocks in soft soil and sand while Moon Dancer lived up to his name and danced over it easily.

Tamuril smiled at the monk and turned on her Bardic charm.
“Good Day Brother Josop, I am Tamuril Taraloma. That is Ta-mer-r-ril,” she enunciates slowly rolling the r in her first name, the one is her last name was not rolled, “should you hear it pronounced differently by Kay,” she points to the lone male of their group.

“I am sure our mounts, would appreciate shade and water also. So if you can show us where to picket them, we will see to their needs first. They have carried us long and far from the lands east of the Chindari Plains. Then we will gladly share stories for shade and drink and a real chair to sit on.”

She stroked Moon Dancer’s beautiful head starting from his finely shaped, tipped ears, down his forehead, between his wide set eyes of bright blue-violet, then slipping into his dished face before coming to his wide flaring nostrils and ending at his velvety lips. She then grabbed the end of his long forelock and blew it into a mess. Dancer snorted and shook his head, tucking his nose in to get his forelock to fall just right. Tamuril laughed, she had laughed even as a tiny child with her Sylvari father when he would do the same thing. One did not usually think of animals having vanity, but Dancer was an exception, in many ways.

The sun was just approaching its height as their party, moved over another ridge of sand and saw the buildings to the west. Isilimiri turned her head to scan the distant structures. Her golden dappled palomino eleven mare danced lightly enough over the sands as she unarmored and Isilimiri herself wore mithril, which she herself ws thankful for at the current time, Thumpa’s black stallion bore the tough going and hefty weight of the stout half-orc woman and the hot sands as well as it could be expected. He was a huge beast. A break from the heat of the day would be appreciated. Tarmuril’s stallion moved well enough over the sands and the two humans’ mounts were not too bad off.

Isilimiri looked around at the current traveling companions. They had been traveling together for at bit though there had been changes overtime. Companions lost in battles, to dangerous missions, others to a change of directions, or a desire to do something else. Isilimiri's life path was set, she serve her Deity. WHent where she was needed or where she was guided, or sometimes just where the road lead. not that a road lead them to this place across the sandy dunes. Kay was their only male currently.

Sometimes Isilimiri wondered how he felt in the midst of mostly women adventurers. Fighter pure and simple, well not so simple he was quite skilled. Ocyari’ skills were many, quick with her hands, her knives, and capable in many other areas, Tamuril was a fighter and bard her skills made the long nights camping in the wilds and days on the road much easier with her storytelling and songs.


Pulling up the hood of her light white cloak over her silver hair Isilimir1 hoped to shield herself against the scorching rays of the midday sun. She turned to the others who had also spotted the distant buildings.

“I wouldn’t mind heading that direction to see if we can rest during the hottest part of the day.” Isilimiri suggested not so much for herself she would appreciation a chance to dismount her horse.

It took a little longer to get to those distant buildings. The shimmering sands distorted the distance but the small party of companions finally reach there. Isilimiri dismounted using the shade of her mount against the merciless sun.

It was midday when they found an old monastery, where monks were tending to a very well-kept garden bearing hedges, chickens, dune flora and a stone sculpture of an opened book. Two of them looked up when the group passed, and one of them called out:

“Well met, travellers of the sandy paths. My name is brother Josop. The sun is hot today, and you look like you could use a drink. Care to trade some refreshments for a good story?”
Isilimiri stepped forward from the shadow of her mount.

“We will be honored to accept you kind invitation, the chance to rest out mounts and ourselves is much appreciated,” accepts Isilimiri. She lifts her backpack off her mount and proceeded forward to follow the good monk. Leading her mare behind her.

"Please call me Miri it, is easier to say." she adds after Kay mispronounce her name yet again. "You too, Kay, just Miri is fine."

Isilimiri did have one thing she hoped to find here at this monastery, if they had a cleric here. She wanted to trade a one of her spells for Create food and water. In the forest of her own home and in most areas she had traveled through she never needed such a spell. However, these plains and sandy dunes had made the lack of that spell much more pressing. She will have to wait though, with patience before she asked that favor now was the time for courteousness.

Brother Josop led them around the building first, where a wooden roof protruded from the stone walls of the monastery. Under it stood two horses near a hay-container. There was plenty of room in the shade next to the two occupants, and the monk welcomed them to bring their horses closer.

When they steadied their mounts they noticed a monk sitting in the shade as well, next to the horses. On his lap lay an opened book, in which he scribbled a few words every now and then. The rest of his time was spent by staring at the sun and the dunes, and listening to the waves of the ocean that could faintly be distinguished in the wind.

“This is brother Mandino. His is the very important task of recording the passing of time, and the changes it brings. If you haven’t guessed yet, we are a monastery dedicated to Jusarin, the God of Knowledge. We’re librarians of history, collectors of stories. Knowledge comes in unexpected packages sometimes, and much can be learned from everyday experiences. Even the slightest of modification in the world around us has a reason. We record those reasons, penning down the facts. But come, I will bring you inside, where it is cool. You look like you’re all in need of some refreshments.”

He guided the group through the main entrance; a wooden, heavily decorated double door. Behind it lay a small square garden surrounded by a walkway. Lining the walkway were doors, mostly closed, but through some of the opened ones they perceived small, simple rooms where monks sat in prayer or labour behind desks.

Josop took them into a library, where several wide chairs were centred around a low square table. He asked them to sit down, and told he would be back with refreshments. The library was filled with books, scrolls and curiosa from different cultures. The high windows were mostly stained glass, and portrayed holy men with long parchments, goose-feather pens and maps. In the time it took the monk to return, they had gathered that the monastery was old, but not ancient. At the most, it had been built two centuries ago.

When Brother Josop returned, it was in the company of an old man in the simple brown dress of the monks, but with a white cape covering his back. Josop put down the wooden tray with mugs he was carrying and handed each of them what looked like a light coloured beer. The old man was staring at them gently as they all received their refreshments. When the last mug was handed out, he nodded friendly.

“Welcome to our monastery, travellers. My name is father Jusarin. I was named after our Lord as is a tradition in this house, the day I became the abbot here. I have heard that you are willing to trade a story for our home brew. I hope both will be of excellence. Brother Perrin here will record your tale, I trust you don’t have a problem with that?”

He indicated the other monk that had been standing around. Then he looked at the adventurers in expectation.

[slight backpost]
The sun isn't as nice as Ocyari remembers it. Too warm, too bright, ugh, it certainly makes travel by day much less pleasant. Well, at least the day is still traversable; it's just difficult. Along the beaten path, the monastery seems to spring out of the ground, being the only building in the vicinity that one can see.

“Well met, travellers of the sandy paths. My name is brother Josop. The sun is hot today, and you look like you could use a drink. Care to trade some refreshments for a good story?”
Ocyari had been a little lost in thought, and so is the slowest to respond, but when she has a chance to, she decides against it. It was agreed that it would be good to get out of the sun anyway. Ocyari shows a little bit of apprehension within the monastery, but it was a warm invitation, so she is sure there's nothing to worry about. Still, she can't help but be a little uneasy, fidgeting slightly.

[Now at the last update]

"A story hmm?" Ocyari murmurs, pondering for a moment, before smiling, "How about I share the tale of a 10-year old cookie thief?"

Ocyari's smile isn't wide, or showing any teeth, but more of a polite smile.

"Well, I won't pretend to be a good storyteller, but please don't hold that against me." Ocyari adds.

"As you might have guessed, I am referring to myself when I was ten years old. I grew up in an orphanage, and was fairly known as an adept cookie thief. However, one day, the orphanage was accused of a crime. I can't quite remember what it was exactly, however, many of the orphans who had left the orphanage because they were of age returned to help clear the orphanage's name. I was there when the main group of them came together, and left to pursue their investigations. Eventually, another one came later after the others, and so, I decided to follow him, because I felt I should help out too. When we caught up to the others, they had just finished an encounter with a hostile seacat, which left one of them unconscious for an unexplainable reason. Of course, me being quite hyperactive and young at the time, had little idea what had happened, and rushed over to see for myself."

Ocyari smiles mischievously, "It took a little bit of persuasion for the group to let me accompany them, since I was only 10 after all. Anyway, we dined at the inn nearby, which also held one of the people that could give us a lead. Unbeknownst to us, she did give us a good lead, but it wasn't readily apparent, and so we missed it. Day gave way to night, but there was still time for one last stop: the core of the thief's guild. Oh, that's right..." Ocyari blinks, remembering, "The orphanage was framed for the stealing of an item, I think it was a statue. Anyway, back to the story. In exchange for information relevant to our plight, we were given the task of a delivery. Of what, I'm not sure, but I wouldn't assume anything; assumptions lead to many false perceptions. Unfortunately, by then it was quite late, and so it was decided we'd rest for the night."

Ocyari giggles, "I even fell asleep as we were heading back to the orphanage. That was embarrassing, but I did wake up with the others in the morning, so I suppose it worked out alright."

Ocyari continues her tale, explaining how the information received from the thieves' guild led to the finding of a greater plot than a simple framing: the forgery and placement of some papers in the city's archives. Still, the statue was the thing most urgent, as the group was on a timeline to return it. By the time the whole mess was sorted out, a couple of weeks had passed, although it only took perhaps an hour to tell of the whole adventure.

"I suppose that's that." Ocyari concludes, perhaps a little lamely, "I could tell more, but I presume everyone's getting a little tired of hearing only my voice, right?" She asks playfully.

[I know I cut out from actually telling the rest of the adventure, but that's because it wasn't actually finished... ]

Thumpa takes advantage of the lull in Ocyari's accounting.

"Now, me, I don't think my own life is all that interesting. I have done nothing that has affected my world or those around me to any great extent. Not yet, anyway. But I hope to. Doesn't everyone, at some point?"

"But how I became what and who I am is interesting, I think. And my friends, here, are no less a part of what will be my life than those who brought me to this point. And so, my story will include them, as well. Names that are not names are used because the names I have are in the orcish language and, as such, are a little difficult to pronounce. You'll see what I mean ... "

"She Who Birthed Me didn't want me, and I never knew her. Probably never will. The Unwanted One who found and raised me did so at the expense of her own safety. I never knew her reason, but it is enough that it is because of the Unwanted One that i am here. She encouraged me to do whatever I wished, praising the failures as well as the successes, for in both lay the learning of life's lessons. By working a menial task for one who knew of the hardships I would face, she provided me with a safe and stable place to learn, to grow, and to become whatever I pleased."

"All this was done in the abode of one K'aptinn-morg-genn, a sorcerer of mediocre repute, but with ability that was greater than most knew. Some would call him a "cousin" by race, for we both shared one side of our heritage. Racially, at least. His forsight, and my own interest, converged when I was just entering my adult years, and he became my mentor. He also encouraged my unique approaches to solutions. His major wisdom was in making it known that he would provide guidance but not guidelines. And so he allowed me to take the path I would choose for myself."

"That path led me to associate myself with others who shared my ideas and goals, to a certain extent. My heritage led to separatiing myself from friends more than once, for their good and my own, and to simplify their lives as well as my own. It has become a pattern in my life that offers me new experiences with new people. This allows me to learn more of what I need to become more adept at my own skill, that of magic. Increasing my skill by challenging myself to find more spells is my particular passion."

"Now, Kay, here is as unique as I am, but in his own way. Never have I seen one so adept at using swords such as he uses, and using two at once, if necessary. His strength of body is greater than many I have seen. He doesn't joke much, but that doesn't make him any less likable. As far as I can tell, his passion is his friends. I am proud to be one of them."

"Ocyari is limber, adaptable, and gifted in her own way. Her skills with the stealthy arts are nearly amazing to one such as I, who can be as clumsy as an ox in a jewelry store, if you know what I mean. Like me, Ocyari's passion seems to be to find a challenge to overcome, whether a personal challenge or a challenge of skill."

"Miri's passion is her faith. Again, this is my own guess, and if's from observation. Her own skill in battle is unquestionable, and her healing skills and abilities only prove to increase her worth, to this group or to any she choses to associate herself with."

"Tamuril, is one who has many and varied skills. I could be wrong here, but I think that her passion is not to increase her skills, but to improve the ones she already has. And those are considerable. Once we are through with this discussion, I would like to ask her to display her skill with an instrument of her choice. Out of all of us, she and Ocyari have skills that can bring immediate recompense, in one form or another."

"I am not really certain who joined who. Did I join them, or did they join me? To me it doesn't matter. A person could associate themselves with companions that are far, far worse than my present associates. I will not insult them by offering any of them a vote of mediocrity. I will tell you that I believe all to be far above average. I do not use the words "extreme" or "superior" except to describe those who have, or will, defeat me -- or us."

Thumpa leans back and smiles. "Only Master Genn has ever gotten that much out of me in one sitting. I have no idea why I spouted so much for so long ... " Still smiling, she trails off, her eyes lowering to focus on her drink. Her face takes on a quizzical look, but she says nothing more.

Kay had not taken a seat like the others, but had remained standing. He had been leaning against the wall, and now shrugged himself upright and spoke, somewhat hesitantly.

" Ummm, I was with some other friends before these ladies said I could join them. There were nine of us before. We ran across a guy who was bossing a bunch of other guys around to beat up on us so he could use magic on us. This bad-guy-boss-man killed a lot of my friends and hurt me and two of my other friends pretty bad. My two good buddies finally made the bad-guy run away, and they carried me out and to a temple to get healed. When I got healed, the people at the temple said I couldn't stay any more. My buddies had left some money for me to pay the holy people, so I paid them and took the rest of the money and left. My buddies who carried me were Markalian Redcoat and Skratch Juniper. When they left me at the temple, they said they were going after the bad guy. I wonder if they ever got him. I'd like to see them again to find out how they made out. "

"Anyway, the money lasted for a while. I still have some of it, and some jewels from my friends. But I knew I would run out if I didn't find a job to get more money to buy stuff I needed. I met these ladies and asked it they needed someone to protect them. They didn't laugh at me like some did, they talked about it and said yes."

He pauses here, and his face forms a dark scowl that quickly disappears, but not without what seems to be conscious thought, as if forcefully repressing an unpleasant memory.

"I remember that I used to be able to understand stuff and remember stuff better than I do now. I don't know why I could then and I can't now, but I just remember it. I try not to think about it much because the more I think about it, the madder I get. I'm alive because my friends helped me. I am supposed to help my friends the same way. If I can do that, it makes me happy."

Brother Perrin was having a slightly difficult time keeping this up. These people didn't know how to take breaks to make sure that everything had been properly recorded. But still, he was keeping up, with only a few small mistakes.

The story of Ocyari, as recorded by Brother Perrin
By the gods she spoke fast... this was going to be hard...

...The story of the ten year old cookie thief.

As you might have guessed, I am referring to myself when I was ten years old. I grew up in an orphanage, and was fairly known as an adept cookie. However, one day, the orphanage was a crime...

...When we caught up to the others, they had just finished an encounter with a hostile sea, which left one of them conscious for an explainable reason. Of course, me being quiet, hyperactive and young at the time, had little idea what had happened, and rushed over to see myself...
Grr... he thought to himself as he tried to keep up. She talked too fast... she obviously hadn't changed from being hyperactive... but quiet? Wait, maybe he had that wrong... too late, she was done, and the next one was starting already. This was a hard job...

The story of Thumpa, as recorded by Brother Perrin
Oh her accent! It was incredibly hard to understand her, and Perrin knew that this was going to go wrong... but he needed to just be polite and do his best.

She Who Burned Me didn't want me, and I never knew her. Probably never will. The Unwanted One who found and raised me did so at the expanse of her own safely. I never knew reason, but it is enough that it is because of the Unwanted One that i am. She encouraged me to whatever I wish, praising the failures as the successes, for in boats lay the learning of life's lessons. By working a meanie task for one who knew of the hardships I would face, she provided me with a sake and stable place to learn, to grow, and to become whatever I plead..."
Oh no. This was going worse than he thought. He never noticed how fast people spoke until this... the elder monks were going to kill him for this... And before he knew it, the next person was speaking. Hurry, get a new piece of paper out...

The story of Kay, as recorded by Brother Perrin
Finally someone without a strong accent, and who didn't talk a league a minute. However, the thoughts of not accurately recording the other two had gotten to him as he wrote this... here we go again...

I was with some other friends before these ladies said I join them. There were nine of us before. We ran across a guy who was boss bunch of other guys around to beat on us so he could use magic. This bad-guy-boss-man killed a lot of friends and hurt me and two my other friends pretty bad. My two good buddies finally mad the bad-guy run away, and they carried me out and to temple to get healed. When I healed, the people at the temple said I couldn't any more. My buddies had left some money for me to pay the holy people, so I paid them and took the rest of the money left. My buddies who carried me were Markan Redcoat and Skratch Juner. When they left me the temple, they said they were going after bad guy. I wonder if they ever got him. I'd like to see them again to find out they made out...
Definitely not his best job. Grateful for the short lapse in between people speaking. Looking over his work, it was all he could do to keep from sighing out loud. This made no sense!!! Oh well. He could only try harder for the next few people who were ready to speak.

"Okay, who's next to tell their fine tale? When you speak, I shall commence writing."

The abbot had been very quiet during the storytelling. He nodded his head every now and then, but mostly just gazed with intense brown eyes at whoever was speaking.
When Kay was done with his story, the abbot leaned back in his chair and opened his mouth to speak. He paused, seemed to think about something, but apparently dismissed the thought and looked at brother Perrin instead.

“Here, brother, let me see what you have written down.”
He took the paper from the young monk and started reading. After a few sentences he glanced at the writer in astonishment before reading on. His frowning brow and flaring nostrils betrayed his annoyance, and when he was done he rolled up the parchment with the collected stories and gave it to brother Josop.

“Brother Josop, please try to re-novel this disaster. I’m sure you’ve memorized the stories to the detail.”
He looked at Perrin. “You have much to learn, brother. But I shouldn’t be too hard on you yet. You need some proper schooling, that’s all.”

He eyed the group of adventurers for a moment, then returned his attention to Perrin. A soft smile spread across his dry lips.

“I know what would be the perfect lesson for one as young and eager as you are.” He turned back to the group, and addressed them as a whole: “Would you object in taking brother Perrin along with you? I’m sure a group such as yours is graced by The Magister with the many tales and plot-hooks of life. Our brother would learn a great deal by recording your travels and adventures. And we in turn might learn a great deal from him when he comes back. What do you say?”

"I, too have a story," puts in Tamuril, "but it is in musical form and fairly long. I will sing it to you. I also have a written copy of the words and the music that you can copy. I have not yet memorized it as it relates to a momentous event that has happened just recently in the Sylvari Kingdoms.

When father Jusarin asked if the group would accept brother Perrin as a member, Thumpa didn't hesitate with her own reply. She stomps her feet three times, rapidly, and claps her hands once.

"A moment, Tamuril, before you start your tale. Father Jusarin, I think your suggestion is not a bad one. Surprising, but not bad. There is safety in numbers, or increased numbers, for both him and for us.. What I'm saying is yes, I think we should let him go with us. "

Hearing Thumpa's willingness to include brother Perrin in the group, Kay nods his head, smiling broadly. "I think that would be a good idea, too. But I gotta ask, Perrin. Other than writing down stories, do you have other things you can do? Like fight, or cook, or some other skil that would be useful for the rest of us?