3. The Travels of a Living Machine

The Travels of a Living Machine


  • (( This is my first try at actually writting a story so please forgive me if it isn't that great 🙂 Its a work in progress with more to come in time. hope you enjoy if you actually are bored enough to read ))


  • Chapter 4

    The caravan arrived into the city towards mid afternoon. The blazing heat of Lathander’s light was baring down on him harder then it had in ages while farther north in the Nars. As the caravan traveled through he road along side, feeling the slight gait of his horse as he looked about. The city was large, especially by the sizes he’d seen of late, and the classes and separation was amazingly evident. At one moment he’d see disheveled commoners in nothing but rags and with hair caked in dust skittering about hoping to find a randomly dropped coin or perhaps an unaware noble. The next you’d see a finely groomed man in a garment worth more then the one before would have in his whole life. Behind him he’d be dragging along a slave or servant of some kind, typically carrying their purchases for the market, gods forbid a Thayan noble to have to bare his own load.

    As they rode on into the center of the bustling metropolis he made his rounds, nodding and saying his goodbyes and handing the kid a small bag of coins to help on his hopes of finding his uncle. He chuckled slightly to himself and those hearing it might’ve said it was a bitter chuckle, others that it may’ve been one of relief. In either way he shook his head, trying to think if such a random act of kindness was simply a weakening of his resolve, of his training, or his life as this tool and the infiltration of his new life into his work or was it possibly just part of the façade, of his character. He wasn’t sure, and after the small chuckle realized perhaps it was a question better left unanswered.

    Looking around a bit he tried to decide exactly what his best course of action. He needed to track down his charge for one. That was going to be the hard part, if the woman was even alive that was. Hells, would he even be able to recognize her? Yes, he thought, and realized how foolish of a question that was. His memory has slipped some since leaving his job but still it was finely honed. Even more then that, ever since the start of the trip he began to relax into the familiar feeling, letting all the years of living and training as this machine he was go back over him once more. The skills came creeping back, the memory, the eye for detail.

    Yes, he remembered her, though she would be a good bit older now. It had been over twenty years since he had saved that beautiful little girl as a favor for her father and mother, and now the little girl wishes to return the favor. But just the thought of that incident brought his mind back to his employer, if you could call it that. When he first saw her again after twenty years he was dumb struck. He always had joked she would grow up to be a beautiful stunning woman, and touched by Tymora, but he had never truly thought his path would pass with hers again. On the other hand, he knew, Lady Luck had an interesting sense of humor. He still couldn’t believe how taken he was by a woman he had known when she was but an infant, but yet he couldn’t help it. He mused a bit, realizing this must be the way elves feel when they may fall for a human lover.

    Shaking his head roughly, brining him back out of his mind and into reality. “This was not the time for musing on such pointless things” he scolded himself mentally. He bit his lip slightly, reprimanding himself for the lack of discipline, but in his heart he was glad. Perhaps he may not be the professional he once was, but he realized that perhaps he has became much more human that he used to be as well. Either way he looked up and around, trying to gauge the situation when the simplest of answers hit him. When one needed information there was only one place to go, no matter what city.

    Chapter 5

    He smiled broadly as he entered the inn, the Flaming Gullet, and over dramatically swept off his feathered hat to place it behind his back as he did an exaggerated bow to the first barmaid he saw. She gave a soft chuckle as his face was coming back up to bare with hers.

    But he was looking past her, for this was all part of the game. His cold ice eyes scanned the room quickly as he made the bow, spotting those in the tavern. Two at the bar. A rather large bartender, middle aged, looks a bit flabby but walks with a bit of a hardness to him hinting at a possible adventurering life early on. A noble off near the fire chatting it up with two ladies, numerous glasses of wine around the table, seems like it’ll be an interesting night for them. A couple average patrons seated about. Your typical adventuring tight hiding away in the dark shady corner as always. Not to many here, but it was still early day. He gave a smirk, realizing this would be a fine place to at least get some beginning information, as he rose. And as his body rose and those darting eyes finished their scan he made certain to bring them back to center, for the next part of the game was on.

    Coming back up his eyes locked on with the barmaids. Sixteen maybe, seventeen if she’s lucky. Decent figure on her but nothing stunning, save for her large brown doe eyes. He concentrated on those as he gave a dashing smile that sent a small blush to the simple woman.

    “I must say that it is a pleasure to have you as the first lady I meet since coming to this fare city. I couldn’t ask for a more beautiful lady to greet on arriving. Though all this travel has made my throat rather parched and my stomach a bit empty if you can understand madam. You wouldn’t happen to know where in this fine establishment I may be able to find a serving maid would you?” A simple bit of flattery, over the top and rather corny but strangely that seemed to work if you just needed a small bit of kindness. So many people in the world don’t get any kind of flattery, honest or fake, campy or normal, and so they take what they can get. He knew how such a common bar wench would take such language and words, knew it was all just part of the game, part of the lie. Yet for him, there was no feeling of guilt for giving the woman a false hope or perhaps lieing to her. From the moment he entered the bar, from the time he began this game, he was no longer himself. He was once more the machine, the tool, the one he was trained to be.

    She smiled back to him, the blush rising largely. “Well..um..sir. I thank you for the kind words though I’m not much of anything special you know. I’m actually the serving maid in this bard to be fully truthful I am, so no need to be using such formal speech as madam for someone like myself sir. Though if you’d like I could get you that drink and meal. Rick in the back makes a great roast chicken and we got some wonderful taters in today. You go sit over there, I’ll get you a drink in half a moment and the meal soon enough.” The whole time her voice was slightly fluttery, not quite sure what to say or react.

    All this he’d seen before, he knew well. The hope in the eyes and the rise in the voice, the acts of kindness that will surely get her in trouble later for giving away such free food and drink, and the pain in her eyes later in the evening when she hopes he’ll stay and of course he can’t. All this he knew, and he pushed aside. Problems like that were normal, simple. He was taught that the pains of a day, a week, a month don’t matter. All pain will be gotten over, save for death, so hurt those you must to further your goals for they will forget it in no time.

    He nodded his thanks, flashing another brilliant smile as he threw a few more simple compliments her way sending her skipping off to the back to procure his free roasted chicken and potatoes. He settled down into a seat towards the middle. Best seat in the house he always thought. He never did understand why so many adventurous types always wanted the dark shady corner. Calls all the attention to you and people naturally gravitate away. No, the middle is the best. The center of the bar, of the talk, of the action. A fine tuned ear can pick up each conversation, hear every rumor and tiding of afar that is spoken, and channel all in. Though in reality he had a few hours before his job picked up. Taverns are a nocturnal thing, and it was not till Selune’s orb rose in the air that the game would begin once more. Till then he sat back waiting for his meal and conjuring a small rose under the table. The severing wench would be useful later tonight. Just a tool of a tool.

    Chapter 6

    The candles and torches in the tavern lit up as the darkness of night started to drift in, as well as the numerous amount of patrons. He watched them all come in over his goblet of elven wine, the ice eyes studying each face. A few adventurer’s, some merchants or such, many commoners and a few typical tavern ruffians. He motioned the bar wench, molly, over. He gave a her hand a soft touch and motioned her down.

    “Molly, I need you to do a favor for me. Its nothing to dangerous, but it could help greatly.” He whispered softly, gently biting along the rim of her ear just to assure her cooperation.

    “Of cour…mm…yes what would you need Zander. I’ll help, even if it was dangerous I’ll help.”

    “I know you would, but wouldn’t want to take the chance of getting such a charming lass like yourself hurt. Listen, I’m here looking for a friend. Problem is I think he may’ve gotten himself tied up in some problems with the Red Wizards in Thay or maybe some out abroad. Think you could just keep an open ear to the patrons tonight, let me know if you hear anything about such a thing.” Still keeping his voice low, eyes moving around at times, his tongue playing along her lobe. Not to much, needing to keep her attention, but playing her perfectly as he’s done so many times before. Machines do not know of guilt, or using others, they simply do as is needed.

    “Yes, I can do that. You hear all kinds of things when you serve people round here you do. No one takes much notice to a simple girl like me.” She said, slightly blushing and looking away at his touches.

    “Nonsense, they’re just to blind to realize what’s near them, but at least that will work to our advantage tonight. Now you should get going, there are a good bit of thirsty patrons about.” He gave her that same dashing smile, the whites of his teeth showing as she moved off back to her work.

    The smile faded quickly, not completely but to a simple level. He kept his hat positioned nicely on his head but sat with his legs up on the table relaxed, giving him a slightly regal yet common look between the clothes and the position. His ears opened, listening, simply letting himself fall fully into the dance of the tavern.

    Two tables away a couple was arguing. The woman had saw her lover kissing another woman on the street. He was telling her it was a misunderstanding, “it was just my, um, sister honey, you’re over reacting.” The woman wasn’t buying it, asking him why exactly he was sticking his tongue down his sisters throat. Interesting sister…

    Off in the corner the shady adventurer had now been joined by three other shady adventurers. Surprise surprise, they all had dark cloaks pulled up and were talking quietly. They were talking of a cave not to far, maybe a tendays away. Rumored to be the lair of a young red dragon, a pet of a local wizard. Of course they talked of stumbling in there after its gold and having the reputation of being dragon slayers, the pinnacle of adventurer’s. That shady corner would be filled by three other hapless, “mysterious”, black cloaked travelers in a few tenday, once a dragon got a nice meal to sleep on.

    A few tables away a few merchants talked low. If not for his highly trained ears of a bard he probably wouldn’t have heard their conversation. It was rumored a Zulkir was coming into the capital soon. Had some business he had to take care of. One of the merchants was hoping to possibly convince him to take his son to become a Red Wizard, the other was telling the man he may was well call forth a demon and barter his sons soul with it. Tuff words for a man in Thay, might have to keep a tab on that brown haired stocky dwarven merchant, could come in handy later.

    All the time he simply sat, sipping quietly on the wine and listening. Enjoying the dance, feeling the exhilleration of once more playing this part, of doing the one thing that he truly feels comfortable doing. How easy it is to simply fall into the role set out for you. To be nothing more then what you’re told to be. No aspirations more then the goals set out for you. To do what you must, when you must, and move onto the next. No thinking, no pain, no hurt or emotions, just the job and the goals. However even as he realized how easy it was to slip back into it his heart beat against it, telling him to not fall back to fa-

    “Zander, I have something interesting for you.” The words interrupting his thoughts, breaking him away from them as she bent near him. A smile was on her face and she even managed to take the chance of a small kiss to his cheek. “It seems that one of the Zulkir’s may be coming to town. I’ve heard a few people talking about it. The head one they say of conjuration or transmutagen or some such thing. Never been good with all that magic talk and such, but that’s a Red Wizard term isn’t it?”

    A thin smirk crossed his face. So the rumors of the Zulkir coming to town was right. He may be able to spin this into something good perhaps. Even if he can not find out information from the person perhaps slipping word of a renegade one to the Zulkir might at least cause a bit of mischief and problems for Maligor. Either way, that was secondary right now. He filed it away to the back of his head and patted Molly’s hand, giving her a soft kiss on the neck then to the lips. “That is indeed a Red Wizard term, thank you Molly. You might’ve just helped me a lot by letting me know that.”

    She gave a big grin, her cheeks going rosey as she bent down low, moving right near his ear. “There’s something else I would like to tell you, but I think perhaps it would be better said privately up in my room later tonight. I’m in room six.”

    He gave her a smile and a nod, then simply set her on her way with a small movement of his hand along the curve of her backside. She went off with a smile, the heat rising in her body in anticipation. Sadly for Molly he would only be returning to the Flaming Gullet once more during his time in Thay, and the room he would be visiting would be four down from hers.

    Chapter 7

    He was leaning back in his chair, enjoying the music of a bard that had recently arrived and the aroma of the tavern. He had what information he needed and continued to file away what he heard but was slowly letting the game end for the night, and simply relaxing. It was then that he heard a bit of commotion to his back left a bit. His head turned, eyes moving first. There he saw a small elven child from what the ears seemed, barely over seven human years old probably, arm deep in the pouch of one of the loud tavern brutes. The elf was tiny, her face and clothes covered with mud and grime, the tatters of her outfit barely covered her young body. Her black hair rolled down her black like the feathers of a raven, but in his blue eyes…no longer the cold eyes of the machine, not at the sight of this scene, but instead the cool eyes of a suicidal bard…all he saw was red hair on the elf.

    The brutes hands were on the girl, grabbing and swinging her about. He was out of his chair now moving. He saw the thug grab her, yelling at her and motioning for his buddies. The saber was free from the scabbard and He was still moving forward. He watched the large man start to shove the girl under the table, laughing with his friends, demanding a bit of compensation as he was pulling a bit of the front of his pants down as a joke. That was when the brute felt the cold steel of a saber lift up his chin and pull him onto his tip toes, the razor edge of it against his adam’s apple as his two buddies looked over in suprirse as how fast the swashbuckler moved.

    “Buddy this ain’t your business, get you damned sword off my throat.”

    “You’re not in the right place to be making demands friend. Let go of the gi-“ His ears perked, sound of metal from the sheath from behind. He flicked his wrist, releasing the tight press against the throat and bring the saber up to slam flat blade against the first Brutes nose. He spun his body, bringing the saber around and down, swatting away the dagger thrust that was coming from behind. While in the spin his left hand slipped down, pulling forth the dirk and while coming up from his sheath the fine blade skipped against the inside of the dagger wielders arm, slicing a tendon causing him to cry in pain as the dagger fell out of his hand.

    He knew he couldn’t kill these fools, would only get him in hot water. He needed to find a way to escape. He quickly looked to the little elf, motioning her to run while they were concentrating on him. He caught the brutes friend on the right, a short stocky man with a mace, out of the corner of his eye. The dirk went up, parrying the mace away as he lunged forward, slamming the hilt of the saber into the ridge of his nose, sending the stocky man tumbling back to the ground. He ducked then, spinning on his feet as the first brute came on once more. The thug swung wildly and over the ducking dualist and then felt a sting as the sabers flat smacked against his ass followed by an elbow to the back of his head as the swashbuckler rose. He saw the thugs other friend come now, sweeping low with a blade. Khopesh. Must be a Mulhurandi. No time to think though, He flipped back then causing the sweep to miss and landing on the table. Looking up he found his escape. Leaping up he grabbed onto the wooden chanaller above the table. The four thugs came on but not before he put himself into motion. Swinging his bodies weight he set the thing in motion, sending it closer to the banister allowing him to flip up and grab a hold, climbing up to the second floor. The four thugs were on the move though, heading up the stairs after him. He looked right, saw the doors on his side, and busted in. The hardness of the oak wood stung his shoulder as he connected but it buckled under the strike and he ran in.

    The thugs barreled up the stairs and ran for the door, blood lust in their eyes. The original one in the lead as they made it through the open portal. Their eyes scanned the room but there was no sight of their pray. From a corner a man spoke up. Draped in red robes from head to toe with a dark hued skin, they realized the folly of running in here.

    “Could you tell me why I have numerous twits bursting into my room when I’m trying to rest! First the one goes bursting in and leaping out of my window and now you four bafoons come in here full of blood and sweat and befouling my room with your stench. Leave before I roast the hides of all four of you!”

    The four back off at this, the sight of the red wizard and the threat of the magic taking some of their bravado out. They headed back down, figuring their pray was long gone. The first one muttered, having missed out on the chance for some fun with a young whore and the killing of some pansy assed noble in his mind. Its to bad the four of them were a bit more intelligent. They would’ve realized there were no glass shards on the ground near the window, that it wasn’t even opened. They also would’ve realized no red wizard would lower himself to stay in such a sleezy bar as this.

    The Red Robed man lowered the cowl of his robe, revealing a dull grey headband. He concentrated and the red robes shifted to the blue and gold, leather and cloth outfit and cape, and the headband to the wilding flamboyant feathered hat. He gave a small smirk as he tied a rope into the window and headed down. No, harming those four in this persona wasn’t good, nothing but problems would come from that…

    Chapter 8

    Later that night a beautiful woman entered the bar. She came in to find those same four thugs sitting at a table, nicely drunk with numerous flagons of ale all around. The large one had his bravado back from the liquid courage and was talking how he would’ve “killed that noble pansy dead” if he hadn’t ran in terror like he did. He then began talking about how he’d have to hunt down that elven child and get his repayment still. The woman walked up with a smile looking down.

    “Elven child. I would think a large strong man like yourself would want a woman that had a bit more…experience…to her” She gave a wry smile, seductive as she traced a hand down along her body.

    The drunken thugs eyes lit up a bit and he smirked, nodding in agreement. The woman chatted with him for a short time, though much time was not needed before they headed up to the rooms, room 102 to be exact. The thugs friends were having a good time, joking as his friend went up. That was until shortly after the door closed they heard a scream that would wake the dead from their rest, high pitched and full of agony.

    They watched the woman move out of the room, a thin smirk on her face as she headed down the steps. The didn’t notice the twin daggers at her side, one of which dripping with blood. They didn’t hear the cries of their friend still upstairs. All they were aware of was the cold dead blue eyes regarding them from the ladies face, almost as if in warning, before she moved out of the bar.

    They later discovered when they went to check on their friend that there would be one less brutish male able to add to the gene pool.


  • In the end you are what you are, no matter how much you wish to change it. I’ve began to realize this. The key of course is not to fight what you are but to guide it. To take the brutal truth, no matter what it may be, and guide it to what you wish it to be. For the longest time I’ve tried to just deny what I am. To lose it all and start anew. I now realize that such an effort is pointless, but blending who I was and who I tried to become is the only true way to grow.

    Chapter 1

    He stood out in the foothills, staring into the side of the cliff, tatters of kobolds bodies strewn behind him in a whirl of death. He came out here not as himself, but simply as the construct, the man he was crafted to be. He tore through those kobolds as if he was a whirling dervish of steel and fury to come now to the face of this cliff he thought he’d never have to revisit.

    He pulled the small hatchet he had brought with him and struck into the cliff face, slowly working the dirt away. After a foot of digging he came to what he searched for. He slipped his gloved fingers in, grasping the sides of the oak box, and withdrew it from the hole. Looking down at the fine workmanship, the elvish script flowing across the top. He brought it to his mouth, blowing gently as the dust from the hillside floated off the box. Whispering a quite elven word the clasp of the box clicked allowing its opening.

    He held the box in front of his face, looking down into it, into his past. Slowly he let go a breath, not realizing he had been holding it since he had spoken the word. Steadying himself, his cold blue eyes staring into it, he reminded himself that thinking was not needed, simply do the job and do it well as he was always taught. He reached in removing the old objects of his craft.

    His hands took the plain gray headband from the box first, wrapping it around his head then pulling the fine golden hair from under it once fitted. Next he withdrew two small blades, daggers. Twirling them at first he closed his eyes as the two daggers slowly shifted to two scimitars as they were twirled, then two short swords, and finally a saber and dirk. Finally he produced a simple silver band, the interior of it lined with the elven word “Secret”, and slipped it onto his finger.

    Slipping the two blades into sheaths on his sides he concentrated, his armor shifting to a completely new set of clothes. The flamboyant cape and clothes of a traveling swashbuckler; golden and blue the lose clothes flowed over his body, brought together at time by straps of leather while the cape wafted behind him slightly by the wind. Removing his finely made rapier from his hip he slid it into the extradimensional box and then pulled forth the equally magical dagger. Taking it to his hair he cut it short, the blonde strands falling to the ground until all that was left was a simple short, spiked, cropped cut. Speaking a slight word of magic he ran his hand over the hair, it taking on a dark black tone to it in contrast to the original blonde. Moving his hand to his chin now he slides two fingers from under the nose and then down around his chin, forming a thin dark gotee. Smirking slightly at the reflection of the change in the water he concentrated on the headband as it shifted itself to a large rimmed hat, a fine feather of what looked to be a phoenix protruding from it. Nodding at the sight, realizing that all was set, he looked up to the horizon with a sigh but a determined look.

    Chapter 2

    Travel was slow at first. It had been nearly a decade since he last rightfully took to the road. True, he traveled the pass of the Nars often hundreds of times, but that is not true traveling. That doesn’t compare to traversing countries, let alone the cold lands of the Rashemen. His old worn boots were once more kicking up the dust of the road as he made his way out of the lands of the barbaric nars and through the tundra’s of Rashemi lands. Slowly the view of the Rawlinswood and the walls of peltarch faded and were replaced by the sight of Lake Ashane, the Lake of Tears, and later the bustling metropolis of Mulptan. With a slight nod of respect when first seeing the lake for all the men that died on its shore he continued his way to the city.

    Arriving into Mulptan he found himself wading through legions of tents and traders before he even got to the main part of the city. People from all over the east were in this city, breathing life into it as trades were being made and offers being thrown out there. Every way he looked he saw something new shining in the light, smelt a different spice wafting along the ear, or heard the sounds of some exotic instrument from Kara-tur.

    His mind was working as he walked in, not registering the many people coming up speaking to him, simply letting his training take over. His mind concentrated on what he needed as his mouth moved. People would close and a warm smile would creep onto the face, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, and simple greetings of “hello” and “just looking” being spoken. All the time the gears in his head working, thinking. He knew he didn’t have long to get to Thay and find what he needed, and the Rashemen land was not the greatest for quick single travel.

    His thoughts were quickly taken from him though when he felt a slight tug on a pouch at his side. Without thinking, in a smooth practiced motion, his left hand slipped down pulling for the dirk in and under grip and spun around, catching the wood be thief across the neck as he turned to leave with the heavy money pouch. Looking down he saw a kid that could barely be over the young age of 10 at the tip of his dirk. With a slight sigh he placed a hand on the shoulder of the kid, spinning him quickly as he removed and sheathed the dirk, though not before slicing the string he was holding it by. His hands then switched as it fell, the hand that sheathed the dirk shooting up catching the fleeing child’s wrist as the hand darting from his shoulder grasped his pouch.

    “What in all the nine hells were you thinking of trying boy. You look barely over a decade and you’re trying to pick the pocket of an armed man. Not to smart, specially in a land like this.”

    The child looked up, seeing those cold studying blue eyes boring into him for the first time, and what thought of fleeing he had melted away as he knew he was firmly cut. Giving a small sigh he looked down, shame splashing across his face.

    “Sorry mista, I…I didn’t mean to try to be taken your gold if you ken. I just be needin to get a ride is all. Me fatha just passed away and I have no other family here, my motha been gone for years now. I was gonna get a ride to thay with one of them caravans, that was all. I got a few uncles and such down there I was hopin maybe I could stay with. Honest mista, wasn’t trying to just take it for me own selfish reasons. Honest.”

    Sighing he looked over the kid, listening to the woods and realizing that while he wavered from his fear it was mostly correct. He looked up and across the way and realized that his thinking at the least was done. Tymora acts in funny ways, sometimes by a spin of a coin and others by a street rat trying to take one of those very coin.

    “Alright kid, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get you to Thay and your uncle and you swear to me that I’m the last man you try to pull the sly one over on. The next one you try might not be so kind and that blade wouldn’t have stopped at your throat. If you ken.” Slipping into the kids accent for the last phrase as he put a hand on the him to turn him and head over to the caravan.

    Chapter 3

    The caravan owner was friendly enough. He was leading a small caravan of goods, weapons, scrimshaw, pottery and such, down to Thay. After a small conversation and a sharing of a good ale the head of the caravan offered to let him come along for ten gold a peace and an agreement to help guard it. He simply smiled and agreed to the mans offer, counting himself lucky to get by so cheaply.

    They set out the next morning. He made sure the kid, who he found out was named Justin, got himself a good safe spot in the middle wagon of the five in the caravan. With a bit of talking and persuasion he managed to get himself a horse to ride along side of it. He smiled as the wind blew through his now short hair, forgetting how that feeling had felt. He took a deep smell of the air as the days wore on, his mind shifting back to his home, to his love for a moment. Shaking his head he scolded himself silently. That life was not Zander. That was a different life, a different person then now. Now is only the job, only the promise he made and the land before him.

    The travel was uneventful. Each night the caravan would make camp, letting blaze a large bonfire. Food would be roasted on it and drinks would be had. The first few nights he simply sat back, smiling at the people around and raising his drink up in toast when offered. The whole time that smile crossed his face though the cyan eyes spoken a message completely different. They looked at each man in that caravan, watched them. Saw their habits, their skills. What they ate, who they talked to. His ears listened to every bit of conversation, every rumor and story spoken. He knew none of it would likely matter, not for what he was heading to do, but that didn’t matter. The likelihood of it being useful was slim to none, but that really didn’t matter. All that mattered right then was the training. Hear everything, see everything. Put on a smile and a show but all the while get all the information as you could because for every hundred things of useless information you might pick up you might find that one small gem that could be valuable, and that one was always indispensable.

    As the nights wore he became a bit more friendly, more active. Talking with the workers of the caravan he found out all they carried, all the people they work for and typically sell to. As he had known, the Thayans and Rashemen aren’t on the best of terms. It seems the caravan was going to hook back west then come in from Thesk to head into Eltabbar, the capital of the land. The whole time he just smiled and nodded, offering up polite chat at times and a story here or there at others, all the while forming in his head what was going to be needed. Eltabbar was the capital after all and would be the best place to start his search for his long ago employer’s missing wife, and for any clues to the red menace now threatening his other self’s homeland.