The cost of my quest isn,t as easy as asked as many have found out along the way. Its no rumor that the cost is merely the ear of an elf or the snout of a barbarian. Without those in hand be prepared to taste my ax

>.< "That is good to know, we all need freinds in times such as these. Just know I am not one to be crossed either. " she returns to her journal.
"Boromir, a glass of wine please"

Takes the knives and nods her head in acceptance. She ponders the little ones zest for killing.....she could prove useful.

Sorcha's wolf looks at the elf that does not speak. He lifts his head and whines.....

<walks over to you> friend my i offer you some min hand axes every useful for thwoign them at a fow. <shows you some throwing axes> these are the finest axes i made my self tipped with poison on the blade they work wonders just don't hurt your self with them i don't have a cure yet.

[leaves a white apple next to you're journal. Walks back to his bar while taking a bite out of one of the many apples he has in his bag.]

He grabs his crafted staff and pushes down while quickly giving it a twist. It let's out a long howl. A large grey wolf comes running in through the open door and stops by his side. He reaches down and scratches his head. He nodes his head at Drol as he walks up to the bar. He slides him some herbs and smiles.

[looks at the herbs summons a demon and has the demon take the herbs away.]

"There was nothing wrong with them" he writes "I was just returning the favor for the apple." He takes some herbs and puts them in some hot water and begins to drink some.

i know i just want to make sure they're put away with my other goods. i only carry apple and ether with me.

He nodes and smiles and takes another sip of drink. He begins writing "So what's up with the small one? Why is she always focused on killing?"

[takes out a pad and snaps his fingers for a ink well filled with red ink and a phoenix feather. pricks you with the feather and then dips it into the ink well. he does this so no one else can be able to read the message.]
see as a dark elvin if you choose to be an assassin they tend to make you go a little crazy from the age of 3 they make you kill. when i was a lad i saw the assassins train her making her kill stray dogs and cats as she grew up they they put her skills to the test they threw her into a dungeon filling with killers and criminals. all that was herd was laughing and don't run don't run. but it wasn't the people it was her that was saying it. the assassins have a strict creed of how to train their people. at first she use to cry when she killed then laugh while killing but over time she learned how to control it to show no emotion. they say assassins have no soul but i'm with her to try to bring her soul back to make her normal once again.

He smiles "do they also teach that all others are weak? Well, give her these" he writes then slides him some roots, herbs, and a few different flowers."I've noticed her knives are with poison. Tell her to mix these into paste, it will neutralize the toxins."

lol no my friend all elvin think like that it's just the old way of thinking.
[has his demon take the items to her.]

'_' hum ok items.<mixing the items and makes remidy>

*Tiage enters the Inn, black cloak covering her head to toe. She takes a seat in the darkest corner. She watches the others.*

Anh'rak strolls in and takes a seat at the bar.

*watches the new comer. She has never seen this man before.*

*falls asleep at the table...again*

Dark Descending

The only thing moving in the vastness of the high edged mountains is a dark figure that rides on a snarling dire wolf. The area is a barren place, dead of trees; the wind whispers among the rocks, as the sudden roar of a dragon flies high above causing a avalanche at a nearby mountain. The beast struggles to reach an immense snow covered black wall. Sharp edged engraved symbols adorn the cave, which is partially camouflaged by a thinly sheeted waterfall.

The black wrapped figure cowls against the chill winds urging his beast to press forward through the freezing snow storm. It only scowls and retaliates before falling on its stomach exhaling its last breath.

Without concern he gets off it and walks inside the cave unaffected by the brief icy water dripping down his hood. Inside the cave, he continues to follow the tunnel that rapidly descends deeper into the mountain. Hollows of blue glowing stalagmite lay in the shadows where the rock walls meet boulder strewn floors adding to the difficulties to move ahead. Eventually he stops at an ancient statue that blocks his way. It suddenly moves raising its scimitars towards its newcomer.

“Sanaaalikonum,” whispers the dark figure as the stone guardians lowers its weapons and moves to the side. The mysterious figure walks pass the guardian quickly before it blocks the caves entrance once again.

The dark figure descends deeper into the cave as his thoughts trouble him. His recent actions had contributed to a major shift in the lands, which will begin a mass war between surface dwellers and the underworld. He knows that the time has come where only the strongest will survive the turmoil’s of destruction and death. It will not be long when life as one knows it will be changed dramatically in favor for an ancient civilization that has waited patiently to dominate the surface.

There will be a time when life will end to all those who have despised his race, yet although his actions give him an unusual guilty conscience. He knows that his race is violent and aggressive by nature, yet he feels oddly different then his people’s natural characteristics.

Why does he feel guilty of his actions?

Why does he rather seek for a peaceful resolution between the surface dwellers and his race?

Why does he get disgusted with the world he grew up in and the creatures that live in it?

He shakes his head from such weak thoughts and continues to descend deeper down a tunnel. He knows his attitude must change quickly to survive the evil dwellings of his world as he finally reaches a new opening.

His mind shifts as he smells the foul stench of the first underworld victims. He slowly unsheathes his glowing scimitar entering a den of hobgoblins gathered together to feast on the remains of a once elderly weak hobgoblin. It is a traditional practice of their kind to remind themselves to never tolerate the weak.

With disgust the dark figure dashes quickly at the vile creatures slashing their necks. He watches as they hold their throats shocked at the sudden attack gurgling and drowning in their blood. They eventually slump over as the dark figure then turns and descends deeper down the tunnel.

He walks past them unconcerned. There will be at least another dozen of these weak creatures to slaughter before he makes it back to his home. Hopefully one will be closer to his home so he can feed it to his pet basilisk. His journey has been interesting as he sheathes his weapon and moves rapidly.

He knows his master awaits him wanting to know how successful his adventure has been. The time will be soon when his race will once again roam the surface lands like they did thousands of years ago.





In the meantime a man with a half battered shield and bruised face walks into the Green Dragon's Tavern. He sits at the bar. "Some of your hardest drink today," he gruffly mentions as Boromir pours a potent dwarven mead.

The day had been rough for the old warrior and never did he think he would be fighting a dark elf. And right when he had him, he dissappeared. He shakes his head as he takes the mead and downs it in one shot. "Another," he says to the barkeep who shakes his head and pours another.

He has a feeling he will encounter this dark elf again, and when he does it will be the end of him for trying to mingle with his miners at the mines of Ishikar.