The Dark Flames – Book 6 - New Beginnings (no spam)

[Nippy]

Jargoth stroked his beard thoughtfully, still holding a grip on her arm.

"A personal assistant, eh? I suppose ye could be my slave girl for a time..." He broke into a wide grin and let her arm go.

"Ye're first job is to go get me another ale..." Jargoth stopped mid-sentance, and noticed the tavern had closed. "Talos damn the blasted opening hours..." He muttered softly.

"Fine, to bed with ye, I'm not sure what we'll be doing, but it'd be good to know what it is ye can do!"

[dragon wench]

Pagan suddenly lost her balance and staggered, landing ungracefully on the floor. She rolled her eyes, and muttered, "You wouldn't think I have a well-developed dexterity, looking at me in this garb."

Ria, giggled, "Well, consider it this way..... when you first put that stuff on you wove and tripped across the room just like Old Harry Nine Toes might have. Now you can make it from one end to the other with only a slight wobble!"

Pagan shot her a baleful glance. "That dwarf is really lucky to be still breathing... I nearly garrotted the little begger earlier!"

But then, the image of the drunken dwarf weaving across the tavern in a blue gown and high heels crossed her mind, and she burst into laughter. Ria, who had been thinking the same thing, began to snicker uncontrollably.

Finally, the two women resumed a semblance of calm, and both yawned as the late hour and evening's events caught up with them.

"I think I will need to turn in. Thank you very much for everything" Pagan said groggily.

Ria smiled and then nodded, "Yes, Miss Narny will have my hide if I try to sleep in tomorrow," and with that she scampered off down the hallway.

Pagan furrowed her brow, something at the back of her mind was bothering her.. but in her exhaustion, she failed to grasp the fleeting thought. Gingerly, she removed the shoes, gown and undergarments and collapsed upon the bed. Her last thought before falling asleep was an image of herself gutting a dwarf who was attired in feminine evening dress.....

Likely, it was fortunate that the night proved dreamless.

[Gwalchmai]

As Betty (if that really was her name) spoke, an image flowed unbidden into Gwally's mind:
http://www.users.globalnet.co.uk/%7E...ics/clara2.jpg

He shuddered and thought that if that was what Betty looked like in her half-elven form, then she was better off as a mule.

Finally, their conversation was at an end, and Gwally mulled the information on Betty's predicament over in his brain. Soon, he was distracted and fascinated by the way Betty's long, prehensile lips would curl around a long, fat carrot, manipulating it into her mouth, only to crunch it violently with her large gleaming white teeth.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Erm, what?" Gwally shook himself.

"What color do you like best?"

"Um, purple. No, green. No, wait. Brown. Or maybe a purplish-greenish-brown? Why do you ask?"

[Mysteria]

Ria padded back through the streets, yawning heartily every few feet. With horror, she thought that she'd have to get up so early next day, no, actually this morning. With that, she'd reached her favourite escape tree and scrambled up it. Oh, there was the patch of cloth she'd ripped out of her flower-patterned blouse. She picked the patch off the branch it was stuck on and pocketed it, thinking about how fortunate it was that herdark blue , almost black blouse blended so well into the night.

She swung herself over into her room and fiddled with the lock and the bar, but there was no way she could lock them agin. Ah, well, at least that meant that her escape route was open at least until her mistress looked at it again. With that, she undressed and slipped into her bed, curling up into a tight ball.

**********************************************

He stretched for a moment, lifting his nose. As it was still dark, no good hunging time, he re-rolled himself into a tight ball, his fur keeping him warm, especially with his pack mates lying right next to him.

[Scayde]

Through sleepy eyes, heavily lidded by the fog of good ale, Scayde surveyed her surroundings. It had been an eventful day. She was thankful for the quiet of the private pub. She would have typically opted for the more opportune environment of the public tavern, but had been disapointed to discover that there were no high stakes games going on this night. It seems the local gambler had been cleaned out earlier. Scayde fingered the small purse of gold tucked inside the folds of her skirt. Just as well, the ogres had left her a bit shaken, and her grandmother's bracelet would be no good until tomorrow. She looked around the room once more noticing Artemis and their other female companion had already retired for the evening. Hmm she mused to herself, a wicked grin shadowing her face. Noticing Gwally was nowhere to be found either, Scayde decided upon a bit of midnight sightseeing before bed.

Placing her tankard on the table, she adjusted the silver dagger in its scabbard and quietly slipped out into the night.

[VoodooDali]

"No reason, Gwally...Purple-green-brown, huh?"

Betty tucked her legs under herself and settled into the new bed of hay. It had been a long day, and her right hoof hurt for no apparent reason. Although Gwally showed an inability to commit - to a favorite color that is, she was relieved to hear that "green" was one of his top three. If she ever got her old body back, it would be nice to know he would not necessarily be appalled by her green skin. The webbed hands and feet would be another story though...

"Oh well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," she thought. If she weren't so tired, she'd be jealous that she couldn't go into the tavern too.

"I sure hope he finds someone who knows the whereabouts of the Famous Mr. Ed."

Just as Betty was drifting off to sleep, she felt prickles on her hide. She raised her head and saw that a little orange cat was making a bed of her stomach. She looked into his impassive golden eyes. "What gives?" she thought at him.

"Hope you don't mind," he thought back. "I own this really annoying halfling - for the life of me, I don't know why I picked him out....He insists on calling me 'Tiddles' and won't keep his grubby little hands off of me. I had to get out of there for some peace and quiet!"

"Not a problem," she murmurred. Tiddles began to purr and soon was beaming irresistable sleep waves at her, until she drifted down into a deep sleep...

[Chanak]

Zan leaned heavily against the mossy trunk of the ancient oak, his shaggy head throbbing with skull-splitting agony. Emerging from a weeks-long drunken rampage was always a journey of self-discovery and enlightenment for the half-orc mercenary...and this particular jaunt was no exception. Rubbing his aching temples with one bandaged hand, Zan shielded his bloodshot eyes from the mid-morning sun with the other. Above, a squirrel barked...and the rays of jovial summer sunlight, descending through the leafy forest canopy high above like a gentle rain, served his bruised and battered bulk with an effective, if rather rude, wake up call.

Zan hated mornings. If morning had a face, then he would surely smash it.

Memories continued to swirl in his mind...and, like a seasoned pilgrim making his way to the summit of a remote mountain shrine, he pondered how much farther he had to go before he reached journey's end. How much damage had he done?

Someone indeed paid in the tavern that night. Zan. Unlike the ogres of the countryside, the good townsfolk sported a militia that was well-armed, organized, and didn't take kindly to those who disturbed the peace. In Zan's case, they responded in great numbers, converging upon the roaring mercenary in a throng bristling with spears, glittering swords, and...a mage.

This was too much for Zan to take. Adding insult to injury, the mage was a skinny little fellow too small for his breeches, which he kept pulling up under his drab robe as he fumbled for something in his belt pouch. Bah. Wielding a table leg in one fist and a disoriented dwarf in the other, Zan rushed the armored wall...and was promptly frozen in place, unable to move. That was that.

Unable to turn his head, Zan could only listen to the Innkeep rant and rave over what was left of his establishment. In particular, the large wall mirror from Waterdeep, which his uncle Zirbaldo (the gods rest his copper-pinching soul) had mounted especially as a tavern-warming gift fifteen summers ago, now lie in disarray upon the floor. Worse, however, was the drunken man that lie partly through the wall that the mirror once graced...Minanda's flour sacks lie ruined upon the other side of that wall, yes...along with three casks of aged Cormyrian brandy. What was to become of his livelihood? Gods, was the town safe anymore from the ravages of oversized hooligans such as this one? Why, if the guard hadn't taken their time in responding, his store of....

A gruff voice to Zan's left bellowed for silence. "Paine, record and assess the damage, down to the last copper. Yeh, every last one. But mind you, lookit everything ol' Mealymouth (heh heh) whines about to be sure it's good and busted. No need to line his greasy pockets with more than he bloody well deserves! If this lout doesn't have the coin on 'im to cover it, you knows where it will come from..."

A chorus of harsh laughter drowned out a mewling protest...followed by a variety of murmuring, which Zan couldn't discern by virtue of the rushing of blood roaring in his ears. Try as he might, he couldn't move a muscle. Not even a finger.

"Awright," barked the gruff voice again. "Might as well send this one to bed, seein' as he's bigger than an ox and likely to be free of Paine's zibble zabble soon. Do it, you misbegotten sons of near-sighted sheep herders, and make it quick." An uneasy silence followed the ponderous drawl of gruff-voice...

"Well, get to it, before I put a torch up your butts! He's as helpless as a newborn! Do it before I..."

Not surprisingly, it took the assembled guard some time to reduce Zan to unconsciousness. As his vision began to become crowded with bright little motes of flashing lights dancing around hither and thither, a small, rather insiginifigant thought echoed in his befuddled mind...

I am Rak.

Damn...

[Gwalchmai]

Gwally tried the door of the inn, only to find it locked. His stomach rumbling, he walked around to the guest’s entrance. He found the parlor deserted, but was happy to find a few stale sandwiches remaining on a plate. He washed them down with a swig of sweet wine, and then ventured upstairs. Walking down the hall in the dark, he heard a door open. Light from the room within bathed the form of Bimbo #2, silhouetting her small frame. Her blond curls were disheveled, and she clutched a dressing gown at her neck. She shut the door and hurried down the hall to her room, disappearing within.

Gwally was unsurprised to see her leaving Artemis’ room. There was often a parade of women (and sometimes young men) going through the great bard’s door.

Gwally hesitated in the darkness. Artemis would be alone now, presumably, and probably not yet asleep as he prepared for bed. Who better to ask about the Famous Mr. Ed? Despite his pomposity, Gwally’s master was in fact a great bard, whose knowledge of lore and history was quite extensive. But the thought of having to ask Artemis for a favor didn’t sit well.

With a sigh, he rapped lightly on the door. “Have you come back for more, my Dear?” the bard asked while opening the door. “Oh, it’s only you. What do you want, boy?” Artemis’ face appeared through the crack in the door, frowning intently at Gwally. The bard held a small jar in one hand, but hadn’t yet opened it.

“Sir,” Gwally began, clearing his throat, “I wondered if I might ask you to tap into your mighty storehouse of Bardic knowledge and help answer a bit of a conundrum of mine?”

Artemis’ frown deepened, “Perhaps if you could keep the sarcasm out of your voice, boy, you might be more adept at manipulating people to your advantage. I have no time for this.” He made to close the door.

“No! Please, Sir, no sarcasm was intended. You were the one who first told me of the Famous Mr. Ed, and now I need to know what else you know of him. Please! I ask this as an apprentice who wishes to learn at the feet of the Master!”

Artemis was suspicious. “What do you need to know of the Master of Polymorphing and why?”

“Where can Mr. Ed be found?”

“I ask again; Why do you need to know this?”

Gwally suddenly realized the absurdity of his questions. “Um, I need to know, just in case I, er, ever meet a talking. . . . mule?”

“Sometimes your stupidity astounds even me, boy, and I have come to expect it of you! Mules cannot talk!” Artemis snorted derisively. “You know that a mule’s vocal morphology is incapable of making the sounds necessary for language. Even polymorphed humans cannot speak while in most animal forms! Yes, I know that some very skilled Druids can speak while shape changed in animal form, but that is a rare feat indeed!” The bard’s eyes narrowed. “What is your real reason, boy?”

“Um, well, I uh, think that I might need to know someday. . . .”

“Apparently you have lost what few brains you had to begin with.” Artemis smiled wickedly. “Very well. I shall tell you. But I shall also tell you what you will be doing to earn the information. Tomorrow night, we will end the show with a performance of Tymora’s Step-Daughter Nellie and you shall be playing the part of Mrs. Biddlewink.”

Gwally shuddered and gulped deeply. “Okay. . . .”

Artemis grinned. “Then you may know that the Famous Mr. Ed lives as a recluse in the forest east of the Crystal Mesa. Coincidentally, not far from where we are now.”

With that, the door closed, leaving Gwally once more in the dark.

[Bloodstalker]

BS exited the tavern, leaving behind the large man and the sarcastic woman to figure out their own problems. It just wasn't likely he was gonna be able to get any money out of those two at the moment, and regardless of the scene playoing out between them, the truth was, at this point, if it didn't involve cash, BS was not paying much attention.

About 20 feet down the street, he was again reminded of the importance of money when he was hauled of to the side by a big, mean looking man.

Jerek. God, he hated Jerek. The man was phenomenally preoccupied with his own importance, the fact that he was simply hired muscle notwithstanding. And, he was taller that BS was. That only added to his irritation.

Still, it was unlikely he would be able to fight out of this.He would have to rely on his wit. Thannkfully, he was convinced he was among the greatest dealers in the land. Well, he could lie real good at any rate.

[Scayde]

The night was sultry, the stars languid in the inky black sky. As she walked along, Scayde slipped in and out of the shadows, carefully testing the windows and doors of the shops along the way. Passing an alley behind the modest Tanner's Shop, her attention was drawn to hushed, urgent voices carried on the midnight breeze. Intrigued, she crept towards the source for a closer look.

”Look tell Jerek, I’ve got his money, all of it. But it wouldn’t do you any good to muscle me now. Truth is, by tomorrow night, I’ll have twice, no, three times this much, and half the winnings can go in his pocket, but if you guys are intent on roughing me up......well......let‘s just say, he‘ll be more upset with you than he is with me.”

As she peered into the alley, Scayde saw two men in confrontation. One, a huge brute of a man, had pinned the other against a wall by a firm grip on his shoulders.The larger man's brow was knitted in consternation, the words he was hearing obviously having some kind of effect upon him.

"That sounds a lot like what you said last time Bloodstalker, and all our patience has gotten Jerek so far is an empty pocket, and you owing more money.”

"I know, I know, but here is the deal, you heard about the show tomorrow night. There will be a tavern full of newcomers, fresh meat, easy pickin’s. What say this...Tell Jerek, you never saw me, tell him I slipped out. By tomorrow this time, it will be 3000 gold crowns instead of the 1000 I have now. How about...How much does Jerek pay you anyway?. Well, never mind. I’ll give Jerek his 1000, plus 300, and you my friend will be 100 crowns richer.” Bloodstalker smiled at the brute, knowing he had piqued the man's interest.

The big man eased his grip and stood studying Bloodstalker. "No, I’ll tell you the deal. I’ll let you go, one more time, but it is going to cost you 500 crowns, not 100. I am tired of doing all the work, and getting none of the action."

"Fair enough, 500." The anger in his eyes flashed wickedly in the gloom of the alley. Surprisingly, this lent credence to the promise because the brute released his grip on Bloodstalker’s shoulder.

Scayde watched from the shadows as 1000 crowns stode past clenching and unclenching his fists.

Slipping through the shadows, Scayde silently trailed Bloodstalker through the darkened streets. He was heading to the livery...and, by the appearance of his staggering gait, would soon be deep in slumber. Such an easy mark. "Not a bad evening at all." Scayde mused to herself. As Bloodstalker staggered through the door, she heard him mutter several expletives to himself. It seems that fortune was not being so kind to her mark, however.

The back window to the loft had been left open; easy in, easy out. Carefully she climbed through the convenient entryway, silently dropping to the straw floor within. Hiding behind a haystack, she watched as Bloodstalker tossed his coat across a bale of hay, collapsing heavily onto it as he exhaled long, and loudly. It wasn't long before the gambler was soundly asleep...in a matter of a few seconds, the stable began to reverberate with the sonorous breathing of her drunken mark.

After a minute or two of enduring his laborious snoring, Scayde crept up along side the gambler...and prompty plumbed the pockets of his clothing. First the coat...then the vest...then, as she reached across to search his trouser pocket, she gingerly stepped forward for balance...and found that she had landed squarely upon the tail of a sleeping cat!!!

Screaming aloud, Scayde leapt into the air, joining the yowling cat as both landed squarely upon the rather startled Bloodstalker.

"What in the nine hells!" the gambler exclaimed, grabbing the would-be thief and casting her upon the floor.

With an "oof" Scayde hit the matted straw, glad that it was so hospitable considering the circumstances. Getting her wits about herself she attempted to flee, but the gambler prevented her escape by clamping an iron grip upon her wrist.

Scayde struggled in vain against her captor, tugging with all of her might against his implacable grip. "Let go of me you...you...oooooh!!!" She was fiery, noted the gambler wryly.

Bloodstalker helped the woman to her feet, but did not loosen his grip. "Well, looks like I've caught me a thief. Mind telling me what you were after?"

Scayde's face flushed red in the dim light. It flushed even hotter when she realized that the drunken mark had a hold on the purse about her waist as well. With a snap of his wrist, he liberated it into his possession.

Bloodstalker relaxed somewhat, smiling wanly. "I heard you trailing me since the alley, you know. I hate to tell you, Hon, but I ain't got no 1000 crowns, if that's what you're after."

Scayde was furious. "If you knew I was there, and knew I was after your gold, why didn't you stop me?"

Bloodstalker laughed aloud. "Now why would I do that? I can't say I mind women trying to sneak into my bed. Besides, your skirt was jingling." Amused, the gambler loosened his grip.

Scayde, jerking her wrist free at last, scowled at the grinning man. "And just what do you intend to do with my gold?", she demanded. The tall man laughed, and responded in a lazy drawl, "What were you planning on doing with mine?" Grinning, he seemed rather pleased with the ironic turn of events. Settling back on the hay bale comfortably, he watched Scayde fume for a time before speaking again.

"Tell you what. How 'bout I let you earn it back?"

Stepping back Scayde steeled herself, pondering the implications. Swallowing hard, she managed a coy smile, and asked in her most provocative voice, "And how would I do that?"

Roaring with laughter, Bloodstalker winked at Scayde. "Not like you're thinking, hon. No, what I had in mind is this...tomorrow, I would like for you to help me out in a little card game in the tavern. Nothing much, really, just a look over a shoulder here, and a little peek there. Let me know what you see, and the gold is yours again."

Scayde looked at the gambler quizically for a moment, trying to figure out just what the lanky man was up to. Her better judgement told her to take the offer for now, however, so she seized the moment. "Okay...deal. Tomorrow, during your game, I will dance in the pub near your table...but I want an extra 100 crowns for the trouble. This is risky business."

Shaking his head, Bloodstalker attributed it all to his foul run of luck lately. "You too? Oh well, why the hell not?"

Scayde, turning to leave, stopped as she heard the gambler chuckling softly. She seethed, "Are you always such a charming bastard?"

Betty, Gwally's mule, brayed hysterically in a stall nearby.

"He has been for as long as I've known him." Betty hee hawwed with delight, startling both Scayde and Bloodstalker.

Looking at Scayde, Bloodstaker gaped in wonder. "Damn, I gotta stop drinking this cheap booze. I thought I heard that mule say she knows me." Running his fingers through his hair, the gambler shook his head several times.

Betty brayed again. "Better than you know yourself, old friend. You ever find that set of silver boot knives you owe me?"

Bloodstalker blanched white. Stepping towards the mule, he blurted out, "Betty? Is that you? When did you become an ass?"

At that Betty snorted in reply, "Bloodstalker...when are you going to stop being one?"

[Yshania]

Closing the door, Artemis immediately forgot about the junior bard and opened the lid of his little pot, eager to prepare his ablution. “Hmmm…” he sniffed at the pot, convinced it was not his usual fragrance, then raised it to the light in order to read the label. Before smelling it, he had expected it would have read “Musk Oil” but was surprised to see that the travelling alchemist thought he knew the bard well enough to provide an alternative; Balm Of Botox. Hmmm…that sounded more like a relaxing moisturiser than a haftershave, and he could not recall whether Botox was the one with the little white flowers, or yellow flowers. Oh well, he still had a little of his old left over and he quite fancied a face mask. He imagined how his skin would glow with health the next night, not like now; he looked in the mirror and tried to lift his tired looking features by placing a palm on each cheek and pulling his flesh back towards his hairline. This travelling was really starting to take its toll, after tomorrow he would insist on a parasol. And perhaps a carriage too, he thought, making his way to the deep bubble bath to relax his aching frame. Happily cleansed of the day’s grime, Artemis wrapped himself in a huge fluffy towel and sat before his mirror to apply his mask. The tingling sensation made his skin feel initially vibrant, then increasingly relaxed. It felt wonderful indeed! He contemplated leaving it on all night, but then wondered at the possibility of it rubbing off onto his pillow, and then his hair. The bard decided not to, and after wiping off the balm, he snuggled down in the huge bed to sleep.

[dragon wench]

Somewhere from the morning mists a rooster crowed. Golden slivers of sunlight eased through the slats in her shutters. Pagan stirred, and mumbled sleepily; all her instincts cried for more rest but buried within the lowest reaches of her brain an insistent voice commanded that she clear her fogged mind and struggle from the warm covers enfolding her still inert form.

Grumbling Pagan rubbed her eyes and decided to obey her inner voice. The smell of bacon and coffee had drifted upwards; stretching, she tumbled out of bed and made her way into the washing facilities just down the hall. Judging by the melodious sounds emerging from behind the door somebody was singing while enjoying their morning ablutions. Suddenly the door swung open and the waft of a sickly-sweet scent assaulted her senses... A golden-haired figure strode past her, entirely oblivious of everything around him.... Pgan wrinkled her nose and gagged.... Most women would not be caught dead wearing a perfume like that.. let alone a man... She shuddered....

Quickly she washed herself, pulled a brush through her tangled hair, and followed the smell of breakfast downstairs.

[Yshania]

The moon hung stark against the starless sky. Yshania, unknowing of the reason behind the dread she felt, reached the top of the highest hill and, lying flat on her belly, trained all of her senses towards the distant commotion. At first glance the land below seemed untouched, but she could hear it screaming its agony! and she felt helpless and so small. The grinding of rock, and the splattering of crumbling earth accompanied the wretched sounds of the wailing trees and howling woodland creatures. She wanted to run, to turn and run as fast and as far as she was able, but she was held fast by fear…and a need to understand. She wanted to call the name of her ranger mentor, to have him come and reassure her everything would be fine, but her vocal chords were paralysed, and her thoughts ran thick like syrup as she tried to recall his name…he too was lost to her? Who else had she lost?

As the pitch reached a crescendo, a large rent began to tear the forest and the dale apart, spewing forth a shadow that quickly began to devour the surrounding landscape, moving like a cancer towards the hills, towards where she lay. Scrambling to her feet, Yshania turned to run, but wild vines suddenly began to wrap themselves around her legs, and arms, and slowly pulled her screaming form to the ground. Almost as if she may be in some way responsible for the death of the land, the forest was going to take her too. She tried to scream again, but hoards of scurrying insects swarmed into her mouth, she began to choke…to lose consciousness….her struggles lessened…


She sat up bolt right in her bed, her face clammy and her heart beating a wild tattoo. Much of the content of her dream was immediately lost to her, all but the lingering feeling of panic…of foreboding. The smell of breakfast wafted up the stairs encouraging her to dress quickly and head down to the kitchen.

"Good morning! You’re up early!" she smiled at Marianne as she scraped a stool across the flagstone floor and sat to the table.

"Good morning yourself!" Marianne responded in kind, placing a plate of eggs and fresh baked bread before her "there is much still to be done this day! Besides, his Lordship wants to eat early, he has "important matters" he needs to attend to" Marianne rolled her eyes skywards before winking at the younger woman. Yshania knew that Marianne secretly loved to fuss and smiled back. She tore a piece from the warm loaf and watched Marianne, waiting to see if there would be any extra chores for her. The older woman hummed as she busied herself preparing breakfast for their guests but said nothing to Yshania. Licking her fingers clean of butter, Yshania rose and helped herself to a mug of cocoa from the steaming pan.

"Will there be anything I can do?" she asked "I thought to make myself scarce of the breakfast table before they all come down"

Marianne dropped her voice "Well the man himself is to take breakfast in his room" she said "mayhap you could take it up to him, then nip down to the market for a few provisions for me?"

"Of course!" Yshania smiled, grateful for the chance to meet the poet. She returned to her seat and finished up her food, then sat watching eddies of steam rise from her mug whilst she waited to take the bard his breakfast.

"There you go lass,” Marianne said finally, turning and handing her a tray of warm bread, eggs, grilled ham and cocoa. Yshania took the tray and nervously began to climb the stairs towards Artemis Lashtongue’s suite, smiling to herself. Her employers had not previously considered these two rooms with an adjoining door a suite. Well not until a "suite" had been demanded by the bard anyway. Tapping lightly on the door she waited, and after what seemed like an age the door opened a crack, the shadowed halls revealing nothing of the man’s features. The tray was then snatched from her grasp. She remained where she was, listening as the tray was placed on the drawers inside the room, not quite sure why she should wait, she just stood there until a long pale hand appeared out of the gloom and arrogantly waved her away. The door closed firmly in her face.

"Well good morning to you too!" she muttered dejectedly under her breath, then scowling she turned on her heel and headed back to the kitchen to pick up the shopping list from Marianne. With that and a few coins in her pocket she headed out to the stables to tend her mare before heading off to market. As the yard door closed behind her, she heard the shared greetings of those that were now to sit to breakfast.

"All I can say is that I hope his manners improve once he sees the copper in his cap" Yshania muttered to her horse as she heaved a bale of hay into her pen and filled a bucket with fresh water from the small well. Climbing into the pen beside the mare, Yshania proceeded to brush down the mare's flank as the horse tossed her head and nickered a response. "Ah well, ne’er mind, Gypsy" the woman smiled, pausing to accept the nudge from her horse’s velvet muzzle "I hope your own stable guests are easier to share time with" She glanced at the mule in the corner stall, the mule just eyed her despondently. The three stallions had been stabled apart and she could hear them skittering in an adjoining stable, no doubt wondering when their breakfast would be served. Yshania paused to wonder how the band of junior minstrels had covered such a distance, before concluding that perhaps they had come on foot - she would not be surprised. Feeling sorry for the hungry looking mule, Yshania grabbed a second bale an placed it inside her stall. For a moment she regarded the baleful mule before reaching out her hand to touch her muzzle. With a snort and an arrogant scuffle the mule turned her back on the woman.

"Hmm..seems I am having that effect today. Oh well. I will be back in a while, Gypsy" she smiled to her mare "then maybe we can head out to Ogre Falls once my chores are done?"

As she climbed out of the stall, a pleasant voice from the doorway said "Top of the morning to you! Did I hear mention of a trip to the Falls?"

[Gwalchmai]

The sounds of early morning commerce wafted through Gwally’s window, soothing the young bard’s sleep. It wasn’t until some infernal child began beating two pots together in a loud arrhythmic pattern that he awoke. Despite the ungodly hour, Gwally chose to rise and make the most of his day before he had to begin preparations for the evening’s performance.

Dodging merchant wagons, he ran across the road to the stables. On the way, he inadvertently stepped in a great squelchy gob of horse manure. Oddly, this made him think fondly of Betty. His dreams had been fraught with images of how he imagined her to look in her normal form – a winsome half-elf with fine features and a pleasing form. He was determined to locate the Famous Mr. Ed.

Arriving at the stables, he was startled to see a winsome young half-elf proffering a hand to Betty the Mule. The woman had a fine-featured face and a pleasing form. Gwally’s confusion was acute. He quickly replaced his surprised expression with a smile when she turned and looked at him.

“Top of the morning to you!” Gwally said, sweeping his feathered cap from his head and executing an elaborate bow, “Did I hear mention of a trip to the Falls?"

The woman smiled (or was that a smirk?) and said, “I know not what you heard, good sir, but I am indeed planning a trip to the Falls.”

“Ah, yes. I hear Ogre Falls are most lovely, and that there might be a set of very relaxing hot springs in the vicinity as well?”

“Indeed, though it has been a long time since I have visited,” she said, then added under her breath, “It has been a long time since I’ve had a day off!”

“Alas, I regret to inform you that there are Ogres about in the woods between here and the falls. I, myself, narrowly escaped harm at the hands of a band of Ogre Brigands yesterday! Perhaps you should reconsider your travel plans?”

[Yshania]

She smiled through the formal introductions, grinning as the bard held his cap on his chest and bowed theatrically – his arm sweeping slowly out to the side. She immediately warmed to this man though she was not sure she could ever pronounce his name, she wondered where it was from.

“Just call me Gwally” the bard smiled as he placed his cap back atop his head "And I hope you don't mind if I call you Shanie?" he was privately amused at Yshania's attempt to say his name.

“No problem! That's kind of nice! Well met, Gwally” Yshania responded with a grin, somewhat relieved. Though shortening names so soon after meeting did seem a little personal. Oh well, he looked a good sort “I know not what you heard, good sir, but I am indeed planning a trip to the Falls. But first I have some errands to run”

With a dejected sigh Gwalchmai told Yshania of his aborted trip to the Falls the day before and how they had been set upon by ogres

“There have been no sightings so close to the village for generations” Yshania informed him “but of late they seem to have come down from the mountains more frequently I hear say. Now they are not such a rare sighting, but they are yet to make a direct attack on the Ford, and indeed the Falls. What draws them back is subject to much speculation. ”

“You do not fear the path to Ogre Falls?”

“No” she smiled “but that is not to say I am foolish enough to be flippant about the risks. Mayhap I will avoid the Falls this day, though I will head out. Would you like to join me?”

“Well I have been given the day free of my chores” Gwalchmai said “I would be happy to help you in yours, if you were to allow me to accompany you, I am seeking counsel of a revered man, maybe your knowledge of the area might be a help?”

“Ok, deal! Though I sense you might need to borrow a steed, your mule does not look in any mood to carry a load this day”

Yshania glanced at the mule who kicked out at her stall in response.

"She will come with us" the bard informed Yshania softly "it is for her we go"