Post by wilddog on Oct 15, 2010 14:30:51 GMT -5
Name: Raniad Norerbeit
Race: Elf
Age: 394
Occupation: Writer/gold hunter
Allegiance: well, to knowledge. But also to the elves/dragon riders
Appearance: Raniad is an elf, to say the least. His ears are pointed, has a high forehead, and a pale complexion. He stands six feet one, towering over humans. Because he is three hundred some years old, is hair tends to be on the white side. Not gray, but white. His face makes children smile and adults to trust him. With hints of wrinkles all over his cheeks, many people mistake him for being old. Course, he is, but he won’t admit it. Being a writer/librarian , he always has a distant look on his face. Like he isn’t always there with you. But, one look at his face will tell you he misses nothing. The slightest hint of anything is caught by him, recorded in his brain, and sometimes, written down in his book. The rest of his body is equally elven. He is thin, lithe, and strong, for a human. But, for an elf, he is isn’t the stuff heroes is made up. He can walk for days, but running is definitely out. He has a gentle touch, a voice not to loud not too soft. Every now and then, he finds a large ink blot on his nose. Since he loves moving from place to place, the human territory isn’t a no go zone for him. With his limited ability with magic, changing his face isn’t easy, but he gets by. He won’t bop between the two countries though, preferring to stay in one spot for a time. As a human, he is noticeably old, wrinkles, white hair, and a distinct limp on the right leg. The limp is nothing real, but it throws people off their guard. Raniad is quite active. Having done a bout in the army, he was used to the rigors of the world. When the situation demands it, he will sneak around buildings, tangle with soldiers, and leap from the roof onto unsuspecting people. But, he prefers diplomatic ways out of things
For clothing, he dresses practically. With long trench coat (deep pockets) a hood, long army pants, and large rucksack on his back. His coat is waterproof, and can withstand being wet. Plus, he stays warm with it on. His shoes are usually hiking boots, with steel toes. With those, he can kick like there is no tomorrow. He also has a handkerchief, gloves, and his belt knife. The knife is five inches long and he can wield it pretty well. Since the world is a tough place to live, he carries many throwing knives around his person. Seven, at the last count; two in his boots, two up his sleeves (tucked into a secret pouch) and three in his pack. These he can throw with deadly accuracy. When traveling to mine, he usually brings a cart. The smell of donkey is particularly annoying to him, but he brings one anyway. In the car are the pick, shovel, water skin, large pieces of cloth (for anything he needs to make), cooking supplies, and a sleeping roll. These are simple tools, being available everywhere he goes. What gold he finds, he usually bundles it up and takes it with him. The gold is either traded away for money, or used as bribes. Around his neck is a curious medallion. About three inches long and two inches wide, the pendulant is made from solid diamond. He found it while mining in the dwarves country. On the back end, the diamond is faceted to reflect the sun. But the front is flat and smooth and clear. Being hollow, one can look from the front and see the contents inside. One might wonder what sort of magical liquid is in the diamond. But, it is just water. He filled it through a small hole on the top. This helps him scry anytime and anywhere. For, Raniad is a great scyer. He has traveled, most, of the world and has seen sights. He gets into army barracks and outlaw headquarters so he can see the movements of soldiers.
There is one more thing in his possession, and it is his most precious possession. A book. Or rather, The Book. The Book is Raniad’s life’s work. Everything he worked on for the past two hundred some years. The author, of course, is one Raniad Norerbeit, yours truly. On the outside, though, it doesn’t look spectacular. It doesn’t even have a title on it. Only two sea serpents, wrapped around a burning torch, with starts studding the background. This, of course, is pure for look, but is has come to be Raniad’s mark. The book is slightly larger then your average book, and is quite large. In the writer’s hands though, it looks like it is meant to be here. Raniad and the book, inseparable. Inside, is a book devoted to Alagasia. City maps, famous people, good inns, small animal feeding habits, anything, is written in this book. There is also a section devoted to potions, poisons, and other recopies. History is the only subject left out. This would be a great book, but Raniad wrote it in a peculiar short hand. Since he has an exceptional memory, the short hand reminds him rather then tells him. For instance, if the name King’s Dog followed by a name and lobster is mentioned, Raniad will remember the face of the owner, his name, the prices, and the fact the the lobster was terribly over priced and looked terrible. Being a elf, he doesn’t eat meat, therefore removing the need to hunt. Also in the book are stories, all written in shorthand, drawings done by him, even maps of popular buildings. This, of course, is his field guide to the world. He has plans for taking it and to write a book from it, but he hasn’t got around to it yet. Along the side of the book, are recopies, poems, songs, bird calls, and little notes he wrote. It isn’t part of the real book, but usually helpful. He also has a section devoted to people’s names. He can scry them whenever he pleases. Usually, they aren’t random people, but those that do good to him, or ill.
Personality: First and foremost, Raniad has an astounding memory. Part of it is due to the fact that he wrote the book himself. After spending two hundred years doing something, you tend to remember many facts. But, he also remembers events in his past. Being a librarian for some years, he always knows where books were, even in a library filled with books. Even with his great mind, though, forgetting things sometimes happens. When that happens, a good cup of cider and a pipe usually helps. The three words that anger him the most are, “I don’t remember” This coming from him or somebody else, is met with a frown and a loud grunt.
Other then his quick mind, Raniad is quite senile. He hates violence of any large kind, like war, but won’t hesitate in using his knives when threatened. He has an upright moral code, stating that stealing is wrong, murder, rape, slavery, or cheating also. Oddly, sticking ones head in other people’s business isn’t one of them. For, if it was, he would be the world’s biggest hypocrite. The Writer loves adventure, and often finds it in others. More then once, his curious nature has gotten the better of him. He isn’t one to complain freely, but, when the situation demands it (i.e a friend) he will complain into he is blue in the face. Mostly to annoy the other person. Raniad also has a very annoying mode of speech, wanting to turn everything into a question. “the weather is lovely, yes?” That sort of thing. Being also absent minded, a person speaking to him might feel him uninterested or bored. He is usually thinking about many things at once.
Being an elf, Raniad hates meat. Can’t stand even the smell. But bread, Raniad is a winner. He loves it. Every single city, he has traveled to sample the bread. He also loves cider. Hard or not, is doesn’t matter. He also loves the wilderness. The city is fine and all, but to be outside, is where Raniad is truly free. That is where he writes, fishes (which is where quite addicted to) and mining. He is often called a mountain man, for his love of the high hills. He can be gone up to a year in the hills, writing and fishing and digging. He doesn’t care for history. If a person has a record for being a criminal, Raniad will still trust him. Until he proves untrustworthy. Likewise, he isn’t interested in a deity or anything. Things are what they are and he is happy. He also values friendship above all else. He is also a little flirty. Many times, he acts like a little child, always ready for some excitement. When the night wears on, brawling is sometimes the funnest thing to do. After sampling many bars for years, Raniad has become quite a fighter (drunk to drunk only)
The Book, since it is his life, is very precious to him. If it were to be stolen, he would about crack. He is very possessive of it and will keep it close to him. He might let people read it, if they could understand his shorthand
History: Raniad was born close to the Blue Divide. His father died in the war quite early, so he has no recollection of him. Growing up, his mother was always impressed with him. He could speak at an early age, walk, and remember details even she couldn’t remember. As a youth, Raniad fell in love with knowledge. For hours, while him mother cooker, he would read book after book. He also, at a early age, found a girlfriend. Akeme was a cute elf who lived next door. For years, the two dated back and forth. Akeme was seriously looking at marriage, but Raniad thought he wasn’t ready. So, in the silence of night, he stole from home and joined the army. Naturally, the family was deeply distressed and, once they found out where he was, begged him to come home. But he said no. It was in the army he learned to use the sword and the knife. Then, while doing maneuvers one day, Raniad stumbled and fell off a small cliff. He wasn’t badly injured, in fact, in a few years, he was fine. But the incident proved that he wasn’t fit for a soldier.
He returned home the next week and rejoined him mother. Akeme has now grown up and moved out of the city. Sad, Raniad fell to the only thing he knew, books. After seeing him read for hours, the mother recommended a job at the library. He held that job for sometime, but it was again not suited for him. He would be endlessly bored and would often run away to fish. But he loved books, and even dabbled in writing some. However, his mother died one day and Raniad threw away the plans for a book. What he wanted was to do something. Packing up his belonging once again, he set out for the mines. He came friends with the elves and started to dig. Lo and behold, under the earth, he struck a solid gem in the caves. It was blueish and ovalish, and quite large. Overjoyed, the dwarves promised him that they would sculpt the rock into anything he wanted. This was a tough question for him, so he kept the rock and left, promising to be back. While traveling, Raniad suddenly had an idea. What about a book and was more of a guide to the world? Such a book could help ambassadors, soldiers, and the common elf (and man). With this, The Book came into existence.
At first, nobody wanted to write it. Such a book would consume the person’s life, and no elf wanted to be bogged down in it. Finally, one writer promised to teach Raniad how to write. What was apparent from the start was the fact that he was no ordinary writer. Yes, he never written a book before, but Raniad had what it took. Course, his teacher thought the book to be a bad idea also. Finally, Raniad set out on his own. With book, writing style, and shorthand down pat, he could now step into the real world. Packing his belonging for the last time, he set out. Stopping at Ilia Feon, he started to write. What came immediately apparent was that he didn’t need to write a whole lot. His mind could fill in the gaps. Also, he found the beauty of scrying. Then, after nine months, he finally had a use for the diamond. Racing back to the dwarves, he begged them to make it. But they had already forgotten about him, at least, all but one. That one was a fellow miner who was with Raniad when he discovered the gem. Delighted to see him again, the two began working on the jewel. When it was completed, the elf set out once again, this time traveling into human territory. For two hundred years, he walked along the are, cataloging and writing.
Role Playing example: I finished the excellent meal and loudly congratulated the cook. In part, that sounded like a burp mixed with “Very good meal, is it not” The other customers looked at me, disapprovingly, and then focused their attention back on the food. “Well, we were all thinking it” I muttered to the cook standing next to me. Allen Grang, the owner and chef of the inn, whole heartily agreed. Even he was impressed with his meals. The bread was particularly good. Jotting down a quick note, I motioned Allen to take a seat. We were friends for a while, about the time I spent here in Teirm. Even though I spent most of my time digging, I still went here. Allen smiled at me and walked into the bar, returning a while later with two cups of cider. Bless his heart. “Thanks Allen. Now why don’t you sit and tell me, how did your interview with your soon to be wife go?” Allen smiled sheepishly and answered. “Well old man, it didn’t go as planned”
Interrupting him, I exclaimed, “What?! A woman caught your tongue?”
Laughing, Allen playfully swatted me, “No, you old wind bag. Merely, her parents didn’t like me. Thought I was too old for her. What do you think, Raniad?”
“I think you are older then dirt, yes”
“No, the girl was only five years younger then me, but it doesn’t matter, they refused to marry us. Now, I guess I am still single”
Mockingly, I raised my glass in a toast. Laughing again, Allen raised his and then proceeded to drain the contents. His inn, called the King’s Footstool, was quite busy tonight. A family ate at one end, and at the other, a large man snored. The bar was packed also, with men talking and occasionally shouting. Dogs ran here and there, often followed by a train of children. Outside, the night became nearer and nearer. Glancing at Allen, I asked, “So, what’s next for you?”
“Well, I don’t know, I might try that redhead again. She was interested in me, but frankly, she snores quite loudly.”
“No, you dolt, is that the only thing you think of? I mean what are you going to do next?”
“I know perfectly well what you mean, but I will play you little game. I really have no plans for the future. The inn is doing great, I have two sons, and a warm place to sleep, albeit all by myself”
“Come now, surely not every woman will spit in your face. Give it time. As for me, I am turning in” At that moment, a curious fellow walked in. He was grim-faced, with the scar just crowing the effect. It looked like a dagger mark, running from left eye to the tip of the chin. Why did all scars seem to be that way? The man wore a black coat, well, the outside was black, the inside was red. He had a ring on one finger, a sword strapped to his side, and in his grip, a young lad. With tear streaked face, the boy tried to run away, but to no avail. Allen stood and confronted the newcomers.
“Why are you here? What do you want, Grey?” Grey, a name for the book. Silently, so not to attract attention, I quickly wrote the name down. The man looked cold and detached, but when he spoke, it was like pure honey. “Why, nothing at all, my good man. I am only looking for a buyer of this fine specimen.” At this, the boy started to cry. I instantly hated that man Grey. Digging around in my pack, I closed my fist over a gold nugget. Perfect, no child should go though this. The best I can do it give him his freedom.
“You boy, can you work. Speak up boy, I might need some help in the mines, yes? Can’t talk? Good. I can’t bear a talking kid. You, mister with the scar, how much?” I said, though clenched teeth and a rough voice. (cider does marvels to the throat. I could never speak that roughly before, without it cracking) The child looked at me with horror in his eyes, until he saw me wink. Grey didn’t see that though and he sold me the child. Sitting the lad down, I wisperred to him, “Its all right. Why don’t you eat and tell me where you family is” He calmed down and ate with that intensity little boys have. Allen gave me a weird look, then went to get the boy more to eat. All in all, it was a pretty successful day. I mined a little, found some gold, and bought a boy with a wooden nugget.
Words: 3,000
Comment: Bit long
Race: Elf
Age: 394
Occupation: Writer/gold hunter
Allegiance: well, to knowledge. But also to the elves/dragon riders
Appearance: Raniad is an elf, to say the least. His ears are pointed, has a high forehead, and a pale complexion. He stands six feet one, towering over humans. Because he is three hundred some years old, is hair tends to be on the white side. Not gray, but white. His face makes children smile and adults to trust him. With hints of wrinkles all over his cheeks, many people mistake him for being old. Course, he is, but he won’t admit it. Being a writer/librarian , he always has a distant look on his face. Like he isn’t always there with you. But, one look at his face will tell you he misses nothing. The slightest hint of anything is caught by him, recorded in his brain, and sometimes, written down in his book. The rest of his body is equally elven. He is thin, lithe, and strong, for a human. But, for an elf, he is isn’t the stuff heroes is made up. He can walk for days, but running is definitely out. He has a gentle touch, a voice not to loud not too soft. Every now and then, he finds a large ink blot on his nose. Since he loves moving from place to place, the human territory isn’t a no go zone for him. With his limited ability with magic, changing his face isn’t easy, but he gets by. He won’t bop between the two countries though, preferring to stay in one spot for a time. As a human, he is noticeably old, wrinkles, white hair, and a distinct limp on the right leg. The limp is nothing real, but it throws people off their guard. Raniad is quite active. Having done a bout in the army, he was used to the rigors of the world. When the situation demands it, he will sneak around buildings, tangle with soldiers, and leap from the roof onto unsuspecting people. But, he prefers diplomatic ways out of things
For clothing, he dresses practically. With long trench coat (deep pockets) a hood, long army pants, and large rucksack on his back. His coat is waterproof, and can withstand being wet. Plus, he stays warm with it on. His shoes are usually hiking boots, with steel toes. With those, he can kick like there is no tomorrow. He also has a handkerchief, gloves, and his belt knife. The knife is five inches long and he can wield it pretty well. Since the world is a tough place to live, he carries many throwing knives around his person. Seven, at the last count; two in his boots, two up his sleeves (tucked into a secret pouch) and three in his pack. These he can throw with deadly accuracy. When traveling to mine, he usually brings a cart. The smell of donkey is particularly annoying to him, but he brings one anyway. In the car are the pick, shovel, water skin, large pieces of cloth (for anything he needs to make), cooking supplies, and a sleeping roll. These are simple tools, being available everywhere he goes. What gold he finds, he usually bundles it up and takes it with him. The gold is either traded away for money, or used as bribes. Around his neck is a curious medallion. About three inches long and two inches wide, the pendulant is made from solid diamond. He found it while mining in the dwarves country. On the back end, the diamond is faceted to reflect the sun. But the front is flat and smooth and clear. Being hollow, one can look from the front and see the contents inside. One might wonder what sort of magical liquid is in the diamond. But, it is just water. He filled it through a small hole on the top. This helps him scry anytime and anywhere. For, Raniad is a great scyer. He has traveled, most, of the world and has seen sights. He gets into army barracks and outlaw headquarters so he can see the movements of soldiers.
There is one more thing in his possession, and it is his most precious possession. A book. Or rather, The Book. The Book is Raniad’s life’s work. Everything he worked on for the past two hundred some years. The author, of course, is one Raniad Norerbeit, yours truly. On the outside, though, it doesn’t look spectacular. It doesn’t even have a title on it. Only two sea serpents, wrapped around a burning torch, with starts studding the background. This, of course, is pure for look, but is has come to be Raniad’s mark. The book is slightly larger then your average book, and is quite large. In the writer’s hands though, it looks like it is meant to be here. Raniad and the book, inseparable. Inside, is a book devoted to Alagasia. City maps, famous people, good inns, small animal feeding habits, anything, is written in this book. There is also a section devoted to potions, poisons, and other recopies. History is the only subject left out. This would be a great book, but Raniad wrote it in a peculiar short hand. Since he has an exceptional memory, the short hand reminds him rather then tells him. For instance, if the name King’s Dog followed by a name and lobster is mentioned, Raniad will remember the face of the owner, his name, the prices, and the fact the the lobster was terribly over priced and looked terrible. Being a elf, he doesn’t eat meat, therefore removing the need to hunt. Also in the book are stories, all written in shorthand, drawings done by him, even maps of popular buildings. This, of course, is his field guide to the world. He has plans for taking it and to write a book from it, but he hasn’t got around to it yet. Along the side of the book, are recopies, poems, songs, bird calls, and little notes he wrote. It isn’t part of the real book, but usually helpful. He also has a section devoted to people’s names. He can scry them whenever he pleases. Usually, they aren’t random people, but those that do good to him, or ill.
Personality: First and foremost, Raniad has an astounding memory. Part of it is due to the fact that he wrote the book himself. After spending two hundred years doing something, you tend to remember many facts. But, he also remembers events in his past. Being a librarian for some years, he always knows where books were, even in a library filled with books. Even with his great mind, though, forgetting things sometimes happens. When that happens, a good cup of cider and a pipe usually helps. The three words that anger him the most are, “I don’t remember” This coming from him or somebody else, is met with a frown and a loud grunt.
Other then his quick mind, Raniad is quite senile. He hates violence of any large kind, like war, but won’t hesitate in using his knives when threatened. He has an upright moral code, stating that stealing is wrong, murder, rape, slavery, or cheating also. Oddly, sticking ones head in other people’s business isn’t one of them. For, if it was, he would be the world’s biggest hypocrite. The Writer loves adventure, and often finds it in others. More then once, his curious nature has gotten the better of him. He isn’t one to complain freely, but, when the situation demands it (i.e a friend) he will complain into he is blue in the face. Mostly to annoy the other person. Raniad also has a very annoying mode of speech, wanting to turn everything into a question. “the weather is lovely, yes?” That sort of thing. Being also absent minded, a person speaking to him might feel him uninterested or bored. He is usually thinking about many things at once.
Being an elf, Raniad hates meat. Can’t stand even the smell. But bread, Raniad is a winner. He loves it. Every single city, he has traveled to sample the bread. He also loves cider. Hard or not, is doesn’t matter. He also loves the wilderness. The city is fine and all, but to be outside, is where Raniad is truly free. That is where he writes, fishes (which is where quite addicted to) and mining. He is often called a mountain man, for his love of the high hills. He can be gone up to a year in the hills, writing and fishing and digging. He doesn’t care for history. If a person has a record for being a criminal, Raniad will still trust him. Until he proves untrustworthy. Likewise, he isn’t interested in a deity or anything. Things are what they are and he is happy. He also values friendship above all else. He is also a little flirty. Many times, he acts like a little child, always ready for some excitement. When the night wears on, brawling is sometimes the funnest thing to do. After sampling many bars for years, Raniad has become quite a fighter (drunk to drunk only)
The Book, since it is his life, is very precious to him. If it were to be stolen, he would about crack. He is very possessive of it and will keep it close to him. He might let people read it, if they could understand his shorthand
History: Raniad was born close to the Blue Divide. His father died in the war quite early, so he has no recollection of him. Growing up, his mother was always impressed with him. He could speak at an early age, walk, and remember details even she couldn’t remember. As a youth, Raniad fell in love with knowledge. For hours, while him mother cooker, he would read book after book. He also, at a early age, found a girlfriend. Akeme was a cute elf who lived next door. For years, the two dated back and forth. Akeme was seriously looking at marriage, but Raniad thought he wasn’t ready. So, in the silence of night, he stole from home and joined the army. Naturally, the family was deeply distressed and, once they found out where he was, begged him to come home. But he said no. It was in the army he learned to use the sword and the knife. Then, while doing maneuvers one day, Raniad stumbled and fell off a small cliff. He wasn’t badly injured, in fact, in a few years, he was fine. But the incident proved that he wasn’t fit for a soldier.
He returned home the next week and rejoined him mother. Akeme has now grown up and moved out of the city. Sad, Raniad fell to the only thing he knew, books. After seeing him read for hours, the mother recommended a job at the library. He held that job for sometime, but it was again not suited for him. He would be endlessly bored and would often run away to fish. But he loved books, and even dabbled in writing some. However, his mother died one day and Raniad threw away the plans for a book. What he wanted was to do something. Packing up his belonging once again, he set out for the mines. He came friends with the elves and started to dig. Lo and behold, under the earth, he struck a solid gem in the caves. It was blueish and ovalish, and quite large. Overjoyed, the dwarves promised him that they would sculpt the rock into anything he wanted. This was a tough question for him, so he kept the rock and left, promising to be back. While traveling, Raniad suddenly had an idea. What about a book and was more of a guide to the world? Such a book could help ambassadors, soldiers, and the common elf (and man). With this, The Book came into existence.
At first, nobody wanted to write it. Such a book would consume the person’s life, and no elf wanted to be bogged down in it. Finally, one writer promised to teach Raniad how to write. What was apparent from the start was the fact that he was no ordinary writer. Yes, he never written a book before, but Raniad had what it took. Course, his teacher thought the book to be a bad idea also. Finally, Raniad set out on his own. With book, writing style, and shorthand down pat, he could now step into the real world. Packing his belonging for the last time, he set out. Stopping at Ilia Feon, he started to write. What came immediately apparent was that he didn’t need to write a whole lot. His mind could fill in the gaps. Also, he found the beauty of scrying. Then, after nine months, he finally had a use for the diamond. Racing back to the dwarves, he begged them to make it. But they had already forgotten about him, at least, all but one. That one was a fellow miner who was with Raniad when he discovered the gem. Delighted to see him again, the two began working on the jewel. When it was completed, the elf set out once again, this time traveling into human territory. For two hundred years, he walked along the are, cataloging and writing.
Role Playing example: I finished the excellent meal and loudly congratulated the cook. In part, that sounded like a burp mixed with “Very good meal, is it not” The other customers looked at me, disapprovingly, and then focused their attention back on the food. “Well, we were all thinking it” I muttered to the cook standing next to me. Allen Grang, the owner and chef of the inn, whole heartily agreed. Even he was impressed with his meals. The bread was particularly good. Jotting down a quick note, I motioned Allen to take a seat. We were friends for a while, about the time I spent here in Teirm. Even though I spent most of my time digging, I still went here. Allen smiled at me and walked into the bar, returning a while later with two cups of cider. Bless his heart. “Thanks Allen. Now why don’t you sit and tell me, how did your interview with your soon to be wife go?” Allen smiled sheepishly and answered. “Well old man, it didn’t go as planned”
Interrupting him, I exclaimed, “What?! A woman caught your tongue?”
Laughing, Allen playfully swatted me, “No, you old wind bag. Merely, her parents didn’t like me. Thought I was too old for her. What do you think, Raniad?”
“I think you are older then dirt, yes”
“No, the girl was only five years younger then me, but it doesn’t matter, they refused to marry us. Now, I guess I am still single”
Mockingly, I raised my glass in a toast. Laughing again, Allen raised his and then proceeded to drain the contents. His inn, called the King’s Footstool, was quite busy tonight. A family ate at one end, and at the other, a large man snored. The bar was packed also, with men talking and occasionally shouting. Dogs ran here and there, often followed by a train of children. Outside, the night became nearer and nearer. Glancing at Allen, I asked, “So, what’s next for you?”
“Well, I don’t know, I might try that redhead again. She was interested in me, but frankly, she snores quite loudly.”
“No, you dolt, is that the only thing you think of? I mean what are you going to do next?”
“I know perfectly well what you mean, but I will play you little game. I really have no plans for the future. The inn is doing great, I have two sons, and a warm place to sleep, albeit all by myself”
“Come now, surely not every woman will spit in your face. Give it time. As for me, I am turning in” At that moment, a curious fellow walked in. He was grim-faced, with the scar just crowing the effect. It looked like a dagger mark, running from left eye to the tip of the chin. Why did all scars seem to be that way? The man wore a black coat, well, the outside was black, the inside was red. He had a ring on one finger, a sword strapped to his side, and in his grip, a young lad. With tear streaked face, the boy tried to run away, but to no avail. Allen stood and confronted the newcomers.
“Why are you here? What do you want, Grey?” Grey, a name for the book. Silently, so not to attract attention, I quickly wrote the name down. The man looked cold and detached, but when he spoke, it was like pure honey. “Why, nothing at all, my good man. I am only looking for a buyer of this fine specimen.” At this, the boy started to cry. I instantly hated that man Grey. Digging around in my pack, I closed my fist over a gold nugget. Perfect, no child should go though this. The best I can do it give him his freedom.
“You boy, can you work. Speak up boy, I might need some help in the mines, yes? Can’t talk? Good. I can’t bear a talking kid. You, mister with the scar, how much?” I said, though clenched teeth and a rough voice. (cider does marvels to the throat. I could never speak that roughly before, without it cracking) The child looked at me with horror in his eyes, until he saw me wink. Grey didn’t see that though and he sold me the child. Sitting the lad down, I wisperred to him, “Its all right. Why don’t you eat and tell me where you family is” He calmed down and ate with that intensity little boys have. Allen gave me a weird look, then went to get the boy more to eat. All in all, it was a pretty successful day. I mined a little, found some gold, and bought a boy with a wooden nugget.
Words: 3,000
Comment: Bit long
