Mahou breathed deeply the smell of the meal before her. She smiled in pleasure as she began to pick off small bits of bread and other food stuffing them into her mouth. She took her time to chew each bite, letting the food play across her tongue so she could fully taste it. Mahou’s hazel eyes landed on the Kender as she took another bite. His eating habits where not too much unlike her own, and the spices her carried in the bad peeked her interest. Mahou was about to comment, when the Kender went into his speech of why he was here. Mahou smiled politely and listened laughing slightly at his comments of being turned into stone.

Mahou plucked a grape from the vine and inspected it before popping it into her mouth. “Stone ya say? I don’t think…” Again Mahou’s words where cut short as the Kender turned his attention elsewhere. Mahou perked her ears up from behind her horn as the music finally found her. She turned slightly the vine of grape being picked up from the bar top. Mahou smiled and popped another grape in her mouth as she watched the bard at his work. The meaning to the words he sung where not lost to her, and though she might not of agreed fully with what they meant, she respected his own feelings and interoperation of life.

As the song ended Mahou leaned back scanning the bar. Mahou offered a brief smile to the strangely dressed human that came to stand besides her waiting for his room. Turning around on her stool she went back to eating her food, glancing sidelong to the human beside her

“That was wonderful.” She breathed. Mahou turned her attention to the desert man. “Don’t ya think? Full of emotion and” Mahou paused. “Well insightful...” Mahou again paused popped some more food in her mouth. Taking the time to chew it well before opening her mouth to speak again. “ I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself… it seems a friendly enough place, might as well follow everyone’s lead. My names Mahou… and you are?” Mahou said offering her hand to the strange desert man.

"Hello, I'm Teros Razorsun." He takes her hand and gives it a small kiss. He had no idea what he was doing as it was not custom from where he came, but it seemed like the right thing to do from what he had seen. He pulls his head up, looking calm, figuring that the calmer and he looked, the more it seemed he might know what he was doing.

"No...I hated it! My goddess is no puppet master! She is my companion and my protector when I travel the lonely roads." His anger is evident as he gives an angery look at the bard.

"Do you have a god?" He says looking back at her. "Latvinia (sp?) is who I pay my respects to. She guarded my family for the longest time in the desert, and guarded me to get me to where I am now. But that is a diffrent story all together." As he finishes saying this he begin touching his scar, almost like he didn't mean to and was just doing it out of reflex. He stared at a candle flame until her answer.

August 1st/Saturday Evening
Aldoris/Northern Thollin
Brownleaf Inn

By now the evening had grown late, and the Brownleaf Inn was quite full. Most of the guests were well acquainted with one another, and from table to table, men and women chatted pleasantly and laughed loudly. For the most part dinner was over, and after meal mugs of ale sat, foaming at every table.

Three plates of food were laid before Derak, Elandor, and Mahuo at the bar table. It seemed that before his plate had even hit the counter, Derak had dug in, shoveling it into his mouth with big, callused hands, and downing it with golden ale, which he allowed to dribble down his chin and onto his once white, worn tunic. The kender and satyr made sure not to watch. Pleased with his guest’s gratefulness, John Barlibake had decided to begin a conversation aimed at the three. Whether they were too deeply indulged in their own conversation, or because of Deraks immediate, and rather endless response, they never got the opportunity to reply. Derak had answered a simple question with a rambling story. Starting with family history, and ending with pissing Gods. He was successful in rousing a few, hearty cackles from the farmers he elbowed on his left. John forced a lighthearted chuckle, and set about picking up the big mans silverware. With a burp and a grin, Derak tossed a few shillings to him, and made his way clumsily through the busy inn towards the door for a breath of fresh air, and a peep at the moon.
Standing on the old, cedar porch, the big man breathed deeply, savoring the cool breeze and the fresh flavor it carried. The village streets were barren, but the soft glow of candle and firelight drifted through the house windows. In the horizon, black peaks rose like shadows, blocking the silver-laced sky. Peaking over the mountains was the full moon, and when Derak drew his sword, its silver light danced off the blade and shimmered across his face. Derak took another deep breath.

It was good to be back in the land he knew. Even if he wasn’t back to his home village yet. Suddenly, the door behind him opened. Sheathing his sword, Derak shuffled aside to allow a family of farm folk by. “Have a g’night!” He called as they headed down the street towards their home. As the minutes passed, several other people left the inn, heading home as well, and Derak decided it must be getting late. Soon he would have to order a room and hit the sack. The inn should be almost empty by now, and he didn’t want to bother making such a nice innkeeper wait for him. As he was reaching for the iron doorknob, however, he heard approaching footsteps.
Turning, he was startled to see two figures already at the porch steps. One was a very big, imposing figure. Derak had always considered himself a big man, but the figure before him stood several inches higher, with shoulders just as broad. Pale hair glimmered in the starlight and fell over a thick, fur cloak. Over his shoulder, something metal flashed white in the moonlight. A sword. Beside him shuffled the bent form of what would seem to be an old man. He was wrapped and bundled tightly in a cloak, and the hood shadowed his face. Pouring from the shadows of the hood was a long, silver beard. He was leaning heavily on a long, twisted wooden staff. Derak couldn’t see anything distinctly evil about them, but he felt they were out of the ordinary. Of course, so was he, and when they reached the top step, he slid to the side. The big man nodded to him, and they went in. Standing alone once more on the porch, Derak rubbed his arms. The night was getting chill. Must be time to head in.


Elandor and Mahuo ignored the loud man to there left (Derak). They were to busy enjoying each others company, and the food. Indeed it was tasty, and after long travel it really hit the spot. Altered with his own personal spices, Elandors food tasted even better! Savoring the warm, fresh bread, Mahuo chuckled at the kenders tale. He really was a talkative one! And either he was an incredible liar, or he had really seen some things in his day! Swallowing, she opened her mouth to comment, but stopped when she realized the kender had spun on his stool. His attention drawn to a bard dressed in black…


The man blessed with elven blood, and the dark skinned man, obviously from the deserts to the south where pleasantly surprised when the beautiful, blonde barmaid approached and spread a very fit meal before them. Vilyamar thanked her with a fitting amount of coins, but the eyes of both himself and the barmaid opened wide when Teros pulled out a handful of gold from a sack in his belt and handed it to her. Her soft, white hand closed over the coins, and she tried to thank him, but all that came out was a stutter. She was only a barmaid. Never in her life had she seen so much gold at one time. For her, 5 copper coins were enough to get by for nearly a week. 20 gold pieces, she wouldn’t have to work again for a while! After several stuttering attempts at a thanks, she scurried away, bringing her empty tray back to the kitchen. The two enjoyed their meal, and were nearly finished when they noticed the inn getting quiet, and all eyes where turning to a man dressed in black, with a lute in hand, as he made his way towards a staged corner of the inn.


The bard, of course was Damien LeBlaque. Entertainment had been politely requested and he didn’t have the heart to turn such friendly people down. So naturally, he accepted, but promising only one song. Standing up, he had scanned the inn and found that in one of the corners was a small, raised platform. It was obviously for entertainment purposes. Grabbing a chair, he set it in the center of the platform, and sat down. Before he began, his pale, gray eyes scanned the faces of his audience. The inn had grown quiet, and every eye was on him, waiting patiently for a song. Taking a breath of confidence, he set his long, pale fingers to the strings, tuned them, and began.
The song that followed was perhaps unexpected, and seemingly out of place in such a cheerful inn. But there was a power in it that could not be denied, and was felt by every soul. The melody of the lute was soft. If an instrument could cry, that would be what it would sound like. But the power that captivated them was not in the lute, but in the mans voice. His voice was more melodic than the instrument in his hand; and the words he sang seemed to flow up from his soul, across the room, and down, into the hearts of everyone that listened, hypnotized by such emotion. The song was sad, lonely, and dark. Its message would be most unwelcome in many a place, and even more a heart. When it ended, and the bard got up and headed back to his corner, no one spoke, or even twitched for that matter. The atmosphere had shifted, that was clear. Emotions had changed. Some, like the man with the turban laid out before him boiled with anger. The song was out of place, and, to them, downright offensive. Others welled with tears. They shared the pain of the lonely bard, and such a song filled them with memories. The half elf sat silent. His pale eyes were deep wells, reflecting a dark past. Others were filled with pity. How could someone be feel so alone and forsaken? How could someone feel so discarded, and be filled with such darkness? They longed to reach out to him, but didn’t move.
Finally, after a tense moment of silence, Barlibake began to clap. It was a slow, hesitant by steady clap that seemed to cut the thick air. Slowly, others began to clap as well, and the effect snowballed, faster and louder, until the inn was filled with applause. Even many who wore frowns forced themselves to clap. After all, the man had been requested to play a song, and he had. Its message they did not agree with, but its talent they could not deny. Damien sat, unmoving as people got up and began setting coins and compliments before him. The desert man did not get up, nor did he give anything more than a dark glare and a harsh word. Finally, after what might have either felt like an eternity or a flash, the compliments and income of money had ceased, and the people had returned to there tables, resuming old discussions. The pretty, blonde barmaid who had served the two travelers at the table next to Damien approached shyly. “That was very, very good.” She said, as she lay 5 gold pieces before him. (Overall: Damien gets 25c, 7s, 5g: Ill update your character sheet in the Q/A). “Infact, never in my time here have we had a bard with a voice like yours. The song was dark, but it touched me.” She smiled and added “I have never seen an elf, but I have heard tales of their voices. Surely yours rivals theirs! Might I have the name of he who has the most beautiful voice ever heard beneath this humble roof?” Before the bard had a chance to answer, a kender appeared beside the woman’s hip. His blonde topknot was bobbing in excitement, and his tiny glasses were misting up. Placing two silver coins on the table, he complimented the bard in a squeak, and asked for perhaps another song. The tale…..SOMEHOW reminded him of his mother. Should Damien throw a glance back up at the barmaid, he would see only polite curiosity in her bright green eyes. Having already pocketed the coins he had received for his entertainment, Damien did not touch the two silver coins laid by the kender, and had responded to his question with a “Maybe later”. The kender left the coins on the counter, and remained as he was, watching and listening to Damiens words. The bard introduced himself to the Barmaid, who thanked him and went to the back room. Sitting unmoving, deep in his thoughts, Damien took no heed of the kender who stood beside him.



Vilyamar and Teros were both struck with emotion after the song of the bard, though the two’s emotions were quite different. Deciding it was time to get a room, Vilyamar got up, leaving the desert man to his brooding. The innkeeper was on the far side of the bar as the satyr, so Vilyamar didn’t get a chance to exchange a word or two with her. Barlibake listened politely to the order of a room, before cupping his hands to his pudgy face and shouting “GARM!….GARRRM!..Where is that blast-AH, there you are Garm. Go prepare a room for this stranger. Warm the bed and light a fire! A long journey needs comfortable rest, I always say. Now be off!” The pale, wispy haired gnome was off in a flash, to a doorway in the far wall and down a hall. Turning back to Vilyamar, Barlibake patted his shoulder and said. “There, you’ll have a comfortable bed, and cheery fire in no time. Till then, have a seat.” He waves to an empty stool as several farmers get up, having had their share of ale for the night, and start for the door.
Teros Razorsun sat brooding at the insult to his goddess for several minutes, before deciding it was time to get a room for himself. Standing up and stretching, he strides to the bar, where the innkeeper was busy clearing mugs. Glancing to his left, he spots Vilyamar sitting at the far end of the table. The warrior approached the table and innmaster, and was greeted by the strange satyr woman. Trying to be polite, he did what seemed normal in these lands, introducing himself and delicately kissed her smooth hand. She may have had horns and goat legs, her human qualities where quite attractive…Strange. He returned her compliment of the song, with a harsh comment of his own, before the innkeeper asked what he wanted. His request for a room was answered in the same way Vilyamars was, so Teros took a seat beside the Satyr. (Elandor’s old seat)


Almost as suddenly as it became full, the inn had suddenly emptied. Most of the guests were villagers having a meal, an ale, and a bit of a word with one another. Having had their share, they had headed home, leaving 5 strange travelers (you…for those that are dense) and the inn personnel. Barlibake went around, asking each if they wanted rooms as well, and received positive answers. Garm was just returning from the hall, with several keys in his small, dark hands, when the heavy oak front door swung open. All eyes turned to the doorway where two figures stood. A very big man, standing several inches taller than the 6’1 bard was on the left. His jaw was square, pale eyes keen. Thick, blonde hair hung past his broad shoulders, which were wrapped in a heavy, gray fur cloak. On his back gleamed a massive, black handled, two handed sword. Two his left, looking very small and frail in his powerful presence, was a bent old man. He was wrapped and fully and completely in a worn, brown cloak that was too big for him. When the door opened he was hooded, but had now thrown it back, revealing long, white hair, bushy eyebrows, a crooked noes and a wry smile. A thick, white beard swept from his chin, flowing down nearly to his waist. In his old, twisted fingers was an even more twisted, ancient looking, wooden staff. He leaned heavily on it as he scanned the Inn. His deep, dark blue eyes fell on the Innkeeper, and he smiled. Barlibake returned the smile with a greeting of his own. “Well well! If its not the old wanderer himself! Hobbles, as we call ye. Hehehe. Come in, Come in, out of dark and into the friendly firelight. What brings ye and this…fella back to Aldoris.” As he spoke, his eyes remained fixed in awe at the big warrior.
Closing the door, the two went to the center of the room, but didn’t sit. Both hesitated as they scanned each and every one of the travelers, before “Hobbles” as he was called decided to speak. “Good ol’ John Barlibake.” He started in a voice cracked and old, but deep, rich, and very much unfitting for such a bent, frail old man. “Its been ages since I’ve stepped foot in this inn, and still it looks as homely and comfortable as ever!” Barlibake blushed, but was unable to respond, because the old man went on. “Im afraid I don’t come to stay, however. No longer than perhaps one night. I come seeking aid.” As he says this, his eyes stray from the innkeeper and dart from one traveler to the next. He opens his mouth to speak again, but the door swings open once more, and the big man with a loud voice and terrible eating habits shuffles in, feeling quite uncomfortable at the prodding he was receiving from every eye. He felt almost as if he had staggered into a secret meeting. In fact, he opened his mouth to say “Im just..Don’t mind me” But didn’t get a chance, because the old man in the center of the room waved him in and said “Don’t be shy, you can listen as well. I’ve only said that I’m seeking help, from those willing to give it.” Then, raising his voice for all to hear, he says. “There is a forest to the North of here. A rather deep forest, filled with bird and branch and hem, that stretch for miles round, folk around here call it Valinon Forest.. As anyone who knows me would say, I’m a collector. That is why I don’t like to stay in one town for long. There might be something elsewhere that catches my eye! Anyway, there are tales of a certain tree that grows in the midst of the Valinon Forest. Planted by Inenhalla herself, so I’ve heard. I want a leaf, just a simple leaf that grows from the bows of that tree. I would go myself and pluck the leaf, but I am old, and can only walk the highways that lead from town to town. I used to love adventure, you know, I would have taken such an opportunity in a heartbeat years ago. But as it is, I need young folk to do me favors. You see, the reason I want you to fetch me the leave of this tree, is because I have many mystical questions. Ones I cannot tell you. Your quest would grant me answers.” Pausing, the old man glances around the room, hope welling in his eyes. “Would I receive such help? In return, I will share the answers and the questions that I have with you"

Teros turned quickly to the man, listening carefully to his story. Both examining the men and listening to their story was hard enough, but the story had words and places that he had never heard of before. Knowing that the man needed help, and that fit his duties, he immediatly stepped forward.

"It is my duty, under my goddess, and in the memory my parents, that I accept your offer. My talents and duties will support anyone else here who wishes to come with me." he finishes looking around the room.

Without waiting for answer he picks up his turban and wraps it around his head in a few seconds. Quickly throwing on his supplies, he moves back to the center of the inn.

Though rooms were available, the innkeeper had to send his gnomish employee to heat and prepare the room for occupancy. Taking the pro-offered seat at the bar, which was previously occupied by one of the farmers, Vilyamar took a quick glance about the room and noticed that the only people remaining were the 4 other travellers.

Himself, the curious kender, the cheerful satyr, the mournful bard and the dark-skinned man from the desert were all around the inn when two men entered the room. The one was large and quite foreboding of wariness and danger. He was well over the height of the bard who was over 6 feet high and looked to be built as though he was thrice the muscle as the monk. The other man was quite small and frail in comparison. He was older and human, and also well known in the town, or at least by the innkeeper.

He recieved a warm welcome, though the monk keep a wary eye upon both the newcomers. The large man appeared to be nothing but a bodyguard but still, one must suspect everyone until he knows better. The older man started to proclaim his interest in hiring a troupe of travellers to complete a quest for which he was willing to pay for when the ruder man who had been busily shoving food into his jaws a while earlier. He, too, was welcomed to join in the quest which was later described.

Hmmm, a leaf from a tree? This is not a strange request for a mage of some kind but this man does not appear to be magical in any sort of manner. Then again stranger things have happened. Who knows this bout of knowledge that has been offered does seem intruiging and could actually mean something to me, and besides now I'm curious, thought the monk.

Getting up from the stool on which he was sitting, the monk moved to the center of the room where stood Teros, the desert knight.

"I, too, shall aid you in this endeavour, sir, as you have played an intruiging card which I myself wish to dearly know the meaning," said Vilyamar. "I am in your service...Hobbles"

((OOC, sorry if this is a bit short, I’m sick, and night quill kills my brain cells…))

The entrance of the “old” man and his warrior had caught Mahou’s attention right away. Mahou turned, her mouth half filled with the last bits of her meal, she swallowed hard and let her bright brown eyes flow over the old man’s figure. Mahou’s ears twitched slightly at the tale the man wove. His voice was a bit off for his stature, but when he began to speak of her goddess, Inenhalla, her interests in him grew. But Mahou bit her tongue as Teros, the desert man spoke his acceptance of this task in the name of his own goddess. Mahou wasn’t quit sure what his goddess or his parents had to do with this all, but she smiled to see he was a willing helpful man.

It seems a simple enough task, and surely of some interest. This man… though, I wonder what he wants with a leaf… a leaf from a tree planted by Inenhalla…this is most interesting indeed.

Another man offered his skills. Mahou hadn’t the pleasure of speaking to this man yet, but he seemed to be someone of interest, surely someone with the enchanted blood of elves flowing through their veins, would have some life story to tell. Mahou looked around, she would have liked to be the first to jump at this situation, to seek out something of her own goddess’s hand. But she wasn’t taken back by the fact she wasn’t. How honorable that someone else would jump at the opportunity to help another. Mahou finally stood up and took a few soft steps towards the elderly man. Offering a smile and a slight bow of her horned head, she spoke. Mahou’s eyes where the only thing to lift, shadowed by the thick locks of Auburn hair as they glanced up to the man called Hobbles.

“Your reasoning is surely not something I need to know good sir. You offer me a chance to seek out something of my Goddess, and surely in doing so, it shall bring me closer to her. I humbly accept this task and gladly offer my skills to you…” Mahou lifted her head finally using her slender sun kissed hand to tuck her silky hair behind her horns and ears.

Derak stood at the doorway feeling as if his presence was unwanted, until the old man gestured that he come in. He quitely shut the door behind him and shuffled off to the side to listen on what the old man had to say. The old mans words on ageing hit a soft spot on Derak. For he often worried on what it would be like being old and disabled. And it was an inevitable cause, the man standing in front of him was proof. However, the old mans offer was kind but not Derak's veiw of exactly his line of work. He wasn't about to go traveling threw the woods looking for a leaf. A man of his skill and talent would be overkill for a job such as this particular one. However, one thing Derak has always had is respect for his elders even though he hated the look of their defenselessness and weakness. So before prying into the old man's words he decided to be all ers and listen to any further comments the old man might remark upon.

Derak stood at the doorway feeling as if his presence was unwanted, until the old man gestured that he come in. He quitely shut the door behind him and shuffled off to the side to listen on what the old man had to say. The old mans words on ageing hit a soft spot on Derak. For he often worried on what it would be like being old and disabled. And it was an inevitable cause, the man standing in front of him was proof. However, the old mans offer was kind but not Derak's veiw of exactly his line of work. He wasn't about to go traveling threw the woods looking for a leaf. A man of his skill and talent would be overkill for a job such as this particular one. However, one thing Derak has always had is respect for his elders even though he hated the look of their defenselessness and weakness. So before prying into the old man's words he decided to be all ers and listen to any further comments the old man might remark upon.

As his sincere request for another song is ignored completely Elandor stares at the bard for some time. Could it be that this good man didn't hear his question? Should he ask it again?
Just to make sure nobody else took them the kender picked up the silver coins again from the table where they were lying shiningly. The tinkling sound they made when he put them in his pocket was accompanied by the sound of the opening door to the commonroom. The two men that got in looked very interesting to the kender. One reminded him of the warrior in the adventuring group he participated in, and the thought of tricking this heavy-muscled man into a game of hide and seek passed Elandor's mind for a second. Seeing the old and fragile man in the shadow of this warrior was even more interesting.
"Hmmm," Elandor thought, "it is obvious that this man is very old. We all know that wisdom comes with age, so this beard must be very wise. Maybe he knows how to trick the bard into singing another song."
Convinced now that this man would surely help him on his quest for another song he took a step towards Hobbles. He stopped suddenly as the man began to speak, for the words struck his soul to the core.
This man was a collector!
Imagine the splendors that could be found in his pockets. Picture the wonderful treasure that would surely inhabit his pouches. For Elandor, this was like having the essence of life within reach!
Without another hesitation Elandor walked towards the old wanderer and tucked at the man's cloak, glancing at his face with glee in his eyes, while the others exclaimed their aid in Hobbler's quest.

"Mister, you're a collector? Me too! Let's see what you have in your pouches!"
Before the old man could reply Elandor started rummaging through his own leather containers.
"I have ... a ring made of copper, a oddly shaped stone ... the wing of a black raven ... an old piece of dried roasted meat *LICK* that still has some taste on it ... a wooden toothpick... oh, and a new fork that I borrowed from the innkeeper here. A lot of exciting stuff to add to your collection I should think!"
His head popped once more to look up into the face of the wanderer, eager for some anticipation, his hands still holding one of his pouches open so that the man could look at the contents.

Completely ignoring the looks and reactions of the people in the common room who listened to his haunting song, Damien took a seat away from the others, preferring to be on his own rather than in the crowd. The applause he got was meaningless to him, but the coins he had received were welcome, despite the fact he gave neither thanks nor a look in appreciation to those who gave them to him. However, the pretty barmaid who stepped up to him, complimenting his voice, turned his gaze up to her.

He tried to keep his face expressionless, but took in her appearance with carefully guided eyes. Quite a looker. He thought as he returned his gaze forwards, for the first time realizing the kender who had stepped up and requested another song. “Maybe later…” Damien muttered quietly, and shut his eyes momentarily, as though trying to remember something. “My name is Damien LeBlaque, if you must know it.”

With a few rapid movements of his slender arm underneath his black shirt and cloak, Damien picked up all of the coins set before him, and placed them into an inside pocket of his cloak. Sighing, he shook his head slightly, letting a few black strands of hair fall into his face, accompanied by a pair of the crimson ones that were mixed in with the mess of raven.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a huge man carrying a tremendously large sword on his back stepped inside, accompanied by a small, frail looking man who was apparently named Hobbles, or so the innkeeper stated when he entered. The man bearing the sword was taller than even Damien was, and he himself was rather tall. The man made him feel insignificant, and as such, he stayed sitting down.

“Hobbles…” Damien said in almost a whisper, scanning his memory for a man of this name. Hobbles claimed to have once been an adventurer in his earlier years, and made a request of those seated in the common room, a task to pluck a leaf from the bough of a certain tree in the midst of the Valinon forest. Planted by Inenhalla herself? Damien thought, trying his best to bring to the surface of his tormented mind any knowledge of such a tree.

While remaining silent, save for random mutterings under his breath as he tried to recall something of either Hobbles or the tree he sought, Damien watched as the desert man, the satyr, the kender, the man who had made a great spectacle in his eating, and the half-elf bearing the strange flail-like weapon agreed to this task.

Clearing his throat, Damien placed a hand on his rapier hilt, hidden underneath his cloak which flowed out around him in the seat, and began to speak softly, yet loud enough for Hobbles to hear him.

“Adventure is the wine of legend and tales. You have my assistance.” He said simply, and leaned his elbows on the tabletop, waiting for them to describe the path they must take to complete this assigned task. It had best be worth my time.

August 8
Aldoris Countryside
Western Wold
Having finished speaking, the old man stood, leaning heavily on the twisted, wooden staff, eyeing each member closely. A brief silence set in as his words were digested. He did not shift, or show any signs of impatience. He simply stood, one hand grasping the staff with fingers, twisted like tree roots. The other gently stroking his long beard. None, not even Damien or Mahuo could recall tales of Inenhalla planting a tree within the Valinon forest. However, Damien was able to plunder dusty memories of stories about the Valinon forest. He could vaguely recall that it was a deep forest, and that deep within it grew the legendary Velias, or Everreach trees. These trees were told to make up the mythical elven forests to the far northeast, and rumor had it their trunks supported cities, and their boughs formed highways. Whether or not the tales were true, or if he even had the story that they grew in the Valinon forest correct, he was not sure.

Within the next minute or so, almost everyone had volunteered, for one reason or another. The old man had stood, nodding the whole time as if he had expected such replies. After the services were offered, the old man leaned forward, peering almost cautiously into the kenders bag, before patting him on the head, and saying “If you are also a collector, this is a chance you certainly do not want to miss.” Winking, he made his way to a table and sat in a chair. The big man remained near the door.

Glancing at Teros, who, having wrapped his turban, and slung on his gear, stood in the middle of the inn, Hobbles smiled, and gestured for him to sit. “There is no rush, lad. You deserve at least a nights rest before setting out. I trust you’ve encountered enough difficulties on your days journey.” He paused, allowing the desert man to take a seat, before continuing in that rich, deep voice of his. “I take it you all want to know the details. Who wouldn’t? I shall give them to you. First of all, I can assure you, it will be well worth your time.” As he said this, his deep blue eyes shot at Damien from beneath tufts of snowy eyebrows. Then, glancing at the chunky man who had followed him in (Derak) he said “You havent volunteered, friend. Don’t fret, there is no blame to you, though it woes me to think of the amazing feast you will receive. All in your name.” At this, the mans greasy eyebrow lifted, and even the others shifted. Hobbles chuckled, and leaned forward, tapping his staff on the polished wood floor. “Don’t look surprised! I told you it would be worth your time. In fact, you cannot grasp how much your time is worth! Now, let me get on with the details, before I grow drowsy. If that happens you sha’nt get half of a straight story from me! Now, as I was saying. You are to go to the Valinon forest, which is only a couple days journey north of here, and pluck a leaf from the bough of Inenhalla’s Tree. ‘How,’ you ask ‘Are we to know which tree it is? A forest is filled with unique trees!’ To that I agree, but you must trust me, you will know this tree. You WILL. Another question you might have is ‘Well, if this forest is so near, why havent others sought out this tree?’ That answer is simple. Very few know about it, and fewer travel beneath those boughs. NO the forest is not cursed. You need not worry about that. ‘How,’ You ask, ‘are we to find one tree in such a vast forest?’ The answer, is have faith.” The old man chuckled again, and took a sip of an ale that had been set before him. He looked up again with eyes as bright as the stars. “Now I had mentioned something about “questions” that needed answering. Did I not? Im afraid I cannot share those questions with you-yet. In due time, I will have my answers, and they shall be shared with you, along with my questions! Don’t worry about that, however, until your quest is complete. Now, I am growing weary, and I wish for sleep, so I will conclude this for you, as I’m sure you are just as tired. You must set out first thing tomorrow. There is a village road that runs north. Follow it, and it will eventually take you to the heavy boughs of Valinon. The road leads a ways into the forest, but eventually dies out. Once there, you may do as you wish. Now, I must be to bed.” He grunted, pushing himself up, and leaning back on his staff. Turning to Derak, he adds “You have the night to sleep on your decision. Come tomorrow you shall be awakened, and from there you can decide what to do.”

With that, he hobbled back to the door, where he exchanged quiet words with the big man for a moment, before nodding and turning to the others. “I am sorry for my rudeness. I should have introduced him earlier. This is Borvyne. He is a friend of mine from the far north. He will not be staying tonight, as he has urgent business of his own that needs tending.” The big mans ice pale eyes flashed across the others, before he gave a formal bow, and, with a swing of the door, left into the night.

(OOC: Sorry, the rest will be somewhat rushed, because its late and I’m tired, but this must be in.)

The others, even those who had not ordered rooms, where escorted down a candle lit hallway to individual rooms. Each was cozy, consisting of two beds, a cheerfully glowing fireplace, a polished table, and a lamp. Hobbles could be seen entering a prepared room of his own, before doors were shut, and privacy endowed.

Not one of the adventurers wasted time before sleeping. Each was too tired from the days events, to even care, for that matter, and within minutes, each had drifted softly into a world of peace and dreams.

Though the golden rays of the sun poured brilliantly through the windows, gleaming on the polished wooden mantelpiece, and into the eyes of the recently awakened adventurers, it seemed the night had been too short. Any dreams one had could not be remembered, and infact, it felt they had only just set their heads to the pillow when, on the wooded doors to their rooms, there came a knocking, and the tired voice of the innkeeper, urging an early rise. As the doors were unlocked, Garm and Barlibake brought in troughs of water, for morning refreshing, and each was able to wash his/her face and hair, before heading to the common room, where they were pleased to see fresh bread, fruit, and eggs awaited them. How they hadn’t already smelled the aroma, they did not know.

Hobbles was nowhere to be seen, and John replied to inquiries by saying that Hobbles had already asked that he not be woke up, as he was old, and old men needed their rest. This at least was enough to settle any suspicions. Amongst the adventurers sat Derak, who declared he was in need of some recognition and a good feast. The adventurers finished their meal, thanked and paid the innkeeper, and stepped out of the inn.

The day was warm and pleasant. The sun shone brightly in the clean, azure sky, and a soft breeze swept across their faces. Already the streets where filling with merchants and farmers. Donkeys, Oxen and horses lugged carts or riders down the streets. Booths were being set up, and common folk loitered on the corners. The air was filled with the voices of men, women, children, hoof claps, and hammer tangs. Aldoris was awake. Quickly, the adventurers introduced themselves to those they had not done so already with, before setting off.

It didn’t take long before they had left the village behind, and found themselves on a wide, stone roadway, crossing farm dotted fields. The land rolled about them in green hills, lined with deep groves of swaying trees. Birds chirped in the weeds and branches, and butterflies danced and fluttered, while a soft breeze drifted across the grass in gentle, green waves. In the distance, the dark green haze of forests stretched.

The landscape didn’t change much, as they kept to the road. At around noon they had halted for lunch beneath the boughs of a grove of tall, wise looking oaks before continuing. They had kept this pace until late afternoon.

They had come to a river. Its singing water flowed like golden fire beneath the low hanging sun to their left. Before them, casting its long shadow across the reeds, was an arching, stone bridge. Standing, hands on his hips before the bridge, was a man. A rather dirty, grungy looking man with an untrimmed beard, and long, greasy black hair. His pants were tight, soiled and torn, but his shirt, which was oversized, was a brilliant red silk, tunic, laced in gold. He was not a big man, standing at average height and build, and he smiled, a dirty, toothless smile, but it was obvious he was not friendly.

“Na who we got her?” He mused loudly, clicking his tongue, in a sarcastic gawk. “Strange group in need of crossing ar her bridge! Ye her that boyz?” As he said this, 7 others of similar grunge approached from under the bridge, bearing swords that burned like orange fire in the setting sun. A big, bald man tossed a sword to the obvious leader who had blocked their path. Catching and whirling it in an arch of fire, the leader smiled his ugly smile at the group again. “Ye see, gurlies. We own this her bridge, and we only accep’ certain tolls fer crossing.” Looking the group over a minute, he sneared, and his eyes fell on the satyr. With a soft chuckle, he continued “I think ye carry money, and if not, tis aight. Give us what ye got, and the goat girl.” He chuckled again and added “It’s a lonely life, and I settled fer both goat, an’ girl, but never both in one.” This got a riot of laughter from the others. The leader pointed his sword at Mahuo and said, “Come on, gurly goat. Yull like what we gots fer ya.”

(OOC I have you in no marching order, your in a cluster. There are 8 men total. The “leader” is in the middle, the others stand side by side behind him, swords brandished. Now...without furthur adue.....I go to sleep....zzzzzz)

Mahou rolled over in her bed; the sound of knocking hadn’t so much awaken her, as did the soft nudges Gemi gave to her shoulders in alert that someone was coming close to her door. Mahou’s soft brown eyes fluttered open a smile crossing her lips as Gemi grunted and nuzzled her shoulder. Pulling herself off the soft feather bed Mahou pulls her shirt over her head and opening the door for a morning greeting. Biding her good mornings to the servant she closed the door and gathered her things.

Mahou, pulled the chain shirt from her bag, and replaced her simple peasants shirt with the light armor. After a brief struggle with Gemi to place him back in his bag, Mahou gathered her other gear and head down stairs. Being the first down the steps Mahou wasted no time taking a seat and enjoying the meal provided for her. The foods of this town where not to much unlike that which Mahou would have picked for herself in the wild, but they where completely enjoyed none the less. As the others began to file down and fill their bellies with the assortment of foods provided for a hearty breakfast, Mahou offered a warm morning and questioned them as to if they slept well.

Introductions where made and brief chitchat was passed as the meal progressed. After all ate their share, Mahou was glade to set of out of the civilized world of man and back into Inenhalla’s wonderful creation. Mahou paused as soon as they had passed a good distance from the town and kneeled down pouring Gemi out from her bag.

“Stick close Gemi” She said in a light voice giving Gemi a nudge as he hesitated looking around at all the strange folk Mahou traveled with. Mahou glanced around at everyone before her hazel eyes landed back on her animal friend. “Don’t be such a worry wart, their good men... They’ll be traveling with us a bit.” Mahou had a habit of speaking to Gemi as if he was a real person, she held no believe that an animal was just an animal, and she being more humanlike where superior to that simple mind of a beast. Gemi offered a soft grunt of distaste, which Mahou merely shook her head to and stood back up.

The morning moved on, and Mahou took in every moment of the sunlight. She really couldn’t understand why so many human’s liked to hide themselves away in little boxes all day long. The sun was warm and refreshing giving Mahou a since of life. Even Gemi seemed to scurry along brightly, keeping his clear of the others of course, his walking path taking him directly under Mahou’s hoofed feet on more occasions then one, which several times caused her to almost trip over the tinny beast.

The sound of the river came wafting down the road and Mahou’s almond eyes glanced up to see the bridge before them and the gruffly looking man who guarded the bridges mouth. Mahou slowed in her steps putting herself behind several of her companions. She wasn’t much of a fighter, and this man did not look to be that good of a man. Gemi hissed and grunted scurrying off into the thick of brush around the edge of the road, Mahou’s eyes glanced up to see what had caused the creature to start in such a way. Her eyes widened as the sight of seven other men joined the “guard” in front of the bridge.

“I think ye carry money, and if not, tis aight. Give us what ye got, and the goat girl.” The man said his eyes scanning over Mahou’s form. Mahou felt the eyes of the other men upon her and felt slightly disgusted at their gawking. Mahou shrugged her shoulder a move that send her long locks of auburn hair forward and let her Bow slide down her arm and into her hand. She didn’t how ever load it, merely held it at her side. The bow string brushed lightly acros the wirey fur that graced her hips and most of her leg. Tossing her head back to free her face of hair Mahou took another step back away from the group of bandits.

“Bite your tongue human, I have standards for what I’ll mate with.” She said, her eyes looking over the bandits once more, her face still twisted in disgust. “No one owns the river, and no one owns the forest, and no one shall own me. For that much I will not pay to pass over what Inenhalla has given us all freely.”

Mahou said with great confidence. Her eyes would look around at her own group and wait to see their response to all this. She held her head high letting the sunlight catch the curves of her onyx colored horns. Mahou watched everyone around her her hooves dug into the dirt road under her as readied herself to quickly draw an arrow from the quiver at her back and defend herself if need be.

Teros moved over slowly in the bed. His body at first was tired and felt weak, but after a few moments of taking in the sun comming in from the window, he felt much better. "Thank you for your warm blessing." he says quickly to the goddess. After stretching for a while he moved up to his leather armor, placing it on himself along with his light clothing. His turban followed shortly along with all his equipment. Then, after giving the room a quick glance over he nodded to himself and left the room.

The food was a large lifter for energy. Having light conversation with the others and learning a few minor things about them was also a nice little minor thing.

It was finally time to get a move on. The town was awakening, filling with life. Making light coversation with others was once again insuing, but mostly Teros just absorbed the sun, taking it in. It wasn't half as powerful as it was in his homeland, but if one stood in a good position, you could get a nice feel for it.

Finally a bridge and a small river where in sight. A strange man with bad dressed was on the bridge, already sensing trouble, he lightly put a hand on his sword.

“I think ye carry money, and if not, tis aight. Give us what ye got, and the goat girl." Before he could do anything, Mahou steped in. She drew her bow and spoke to the disgusting men.“Bite your tongue human, I have standards for what I’ll mate with.” She said, her eyes looking over the bandits once more, her face still twisted in disgust.

“No one owns the river, and no one owns the forest, and no one shall own me. For that much I will not pay to pass over what Inenhalla has given us all freely.”


With this she looked around at the rest of the group. Teros gave a nod to her. Then drawing his sword he steped up in front of her, although a little over so that an arrow could easily hit them if it was needed.

"You are fools if you believe that we would let you run off with one of our companions. You are the type of filth that needs to be destroyed from the world!" His gaze showed no emotion, and his face showed the same. His sword was pointed to the ground, the tip of it touching.

Looking slightly over his shoulder he spoke softly to those behind him. "We can't allow this filth carry on like this! We need to make sure that they don't hurt other people in the future!" His voice was strong and his face remained emotionless.

Startled by the knock on his door Elandor lazily opened one heavy eyelid and aimed a dirty look at the door. He didn't like to be rudely awakened, and he always considered being awakened without his permission to be rude. So, when the footsteps and knocks on other doors faded he turned around in his warm sheets and got ready to fall asleep again.
Unfortunately the small dose of consciousness was enough to get the kender's senses started. And once a kender's senses have been activated they refuse to stop working just like that. The sound of the other people getting up entered Elandor's ears like an unwelcome insect, bugging him, daring him to check out who they were. The soft dashing of the water inside the trough that was brought in was calling him, inviting him to splash his head into the cold liquid. A ray of light shone on his closed eyelids, prodding the membrane, telling him to share the beautiful environment with it. The smell of the wooden floor krept up his nose and sent sensations through his brain, "walk me... feel me!" it stated.
Elandor grabbed the pillow with two hands and smashed it over his head to stop the sensations, but seconds later he already found that his hands were no longer grasping the pillow but reaching for his boots. One minute later he stood in the hallway, heading for the commonroom to share a breakfast with the rest of the visitors.

His pouches stuffed with fruit and what had been left of the bread he had been given Elandor strolled along with the group, humming to himself, enjoying the environment. Several times he would be enjoying the environment too much and lost contact with the group while trying to dive into a rabbit-hole or chasing Gemi, Mahou's companion. But the little kender always found his way back to the rest of the party before they would take an unexpected turn. So when the group arrived at the river Elandor ran ahead towards the water, a small distance away from the bridge. He kneeled by the water and brushed his hand through the soft running stream. It was cold and clear, a refreshment after the long walk and the peaceful glittering of the sun's reflection calmed the kender's wild heart a little. He sat there enjoying the feeling for a while untill he heard a voice.
The voice belonged to a man with a very interesting choice of clothing. He stated that they should give all their belongings to him, and Mahou along with them. Elandor remembered the nice chat he'd had with the Satyr woman and was far from willing to lose her as a member of the party. The kender splattered some water into his face to think clearly. He heard the others state that Mahou was not to be treated as some sort of property and he felt a strong urge to go over to them and add his agreement, plus make a comment about the way this wicked man was dressed.

Instead of following his instincts this time a thought crept up Elandor's mind. It came slowly up his spine and grew stronger towards his core, where it evolved into detail.
Elandor used his knowledge of shadows and detail to hide as well as possible, making his way towards the bridge taking cover behind larger rocks and moving slowly and silently. He drew his hoopak steadily as he crawled closer, all the while scanning the environment for a way to sneak behind this man and his fellow brutes, to deal some kind of surprise attack when it would come to a fight.

The old man explained much yet very little to the group who had almost all volunteered their name to be put upon the list of adventurers on this trek. All but the sloopy man had joined at this time and they were all tired, but they all stayed alert enough to hear Hobbles describe the quest.

With very little answered the innkeeper led them all to their respective rooms, Hobbles going into one of his own, and soon the doors were shut, privatcy engaged. Vilyamar closed the door and did not bother taking off anything but his nunchaku which he laid beside his head in his hand. Thankful for a real pillow this night, the monk was soon dead to the world and in deep sleep.

Morning came all too soon for the monk, as he was awakened by fresh sunlight streaming in through a window. He pushed himself up, got off the bed, rubbed his eyes and stretched. Then, while patting down the wrinkles in his clothing, he turned suddenly startled by the innkeeper who was bringing some notification of breakfast.

"Whoa, there young fella," The innkeep cautioned holding out his hands when Vil turned suddenly and went instinctivly into fighting stance. "Tis only I, and have only come to warn ya to breakfast, afore its all gone."

"Sorry,...Truly I am sorry, sir, wasn't expecting you at all," Muttered the monk as he picked up his nunchaku and moved beyond the innkeep and out to the common room.

In the common room, Vil found most of the travellers there all ready and was startled that he had actually slept so much later. He sat down and ate with few words except simple greetings to those who acknowledged him. He noticed that Hobbles was not there, but payed it little attention. He understood the human aging as well as any and knew that they required more rest as they grew older.

They all finished up, said their thanks and paid the innkeeper and left the inn. Soon they had left the town behind altogether and were well on their way to the forest of Valinon. They walked on and on, stopping once for lunch beneath some ancient oaks. Peace held out until late afternoon.

The group had been walking and were somewhat weary but could still go on for quite a ways. Unfortunately when they encountered a stream that they were to cross, it turned out that bandits were holding the bridge. The uncouth thugs made their demands very clear. There were only eight of them and who knows how intelligent they really were. Though all were armed, it seemed to the monk that they could take this band.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the kender moving subtley trying to get his weapons into position for an attack. He was also moving off into the shadows where the monk at least hoped that the bandits would be too involved with them to notice the kender on his way around to their backside.

The satyr was becoming very angry with the thugs, their intentions of what they were going to do with her obvious to everyone. She said some things that the monk did not pay much attention to, as did Teros who drew his sword and moved just in front of her. Seeing a fight as inevitable, Vil drew his nunchaku and spoke the monosyllable command rune, as he said it the runes flared to life, red and blue light glowing from them. Spinning it once or twice in his hands to once again get the feel for the weapon, he tensed his leg muscles, preparing to spring off to the side once the battle began.

(I'm assuming he's on the right hand side of Mahou and Teros is standing just in front of her and to her left.) He was planning on taking out the bandit closest to him on the right hand side and then get the next one beside him. Hopefully the others four attack the other side and the kender can get the one right beside the leader on Vil's half. Thats how I see the battle. Mahou can take the leader