So, Ch'dau's adapting easier to the "rustic life" than Ara, is what I'm hearing?

JK - I know Ara's doing her best and, given that Ella is something of a Kith doppleganger, I can understand avoidance... Anyhoo... most of what I've been writing lately is just fluff, by and large... I do foresee a scufflle between Sam and Simon in the near future though... Juuuuuuust sayin'... and that might lead to a different "perspective" of the townsfolk where Samuel's concerned. We'll see... really kind of depends on what others might post before I get to that point, tbh. I'm just kind of going "stream of consciousness: at this point.  

A short time later - The Ironforge Smithy

Arriving at Rakiim’s, Samuel found the Khord’s door still locked, which was fairly unusual. Typically, the old codger was up and about by this time, the door to the shop unlocked and open in anticipation of his apprentice's arrival. That was not the case this morning, though, and so, with an almost irritated sigh, the big Kazari skirted the building and made directly for the forge which sprouted between shop and storehouse. After stowing the few items he’d brought with him from home, Samuel stoked the banked embers from the previous day, and set about  piling on fresh wood from the stacks before giving the bellows some attention.

Once the fire was freshly kindled, the flames roaring and hissing against the brick, Samuel pulled the key to the storehouse from its pouch on the belt of his dak’tar and, after disengaging the lock, threw open the doors to the stockroom. Inside, he set light to the lanterns before gathering up the nails he’d promised Ella, pouring them into a small sack and tying them to his belt, before reaching up and retrieving the cloth wrapped rough from a higher shelf. Stalking back out to the fringes of the forge, the Kazari lay the bundle down, pulled loose the leather thongs that tied it shut, and pulled back the folds of dark fabric that had enshrouded it overnight. He smiled at the piece as it was revealed; his ears flicking and tail swinging, pleased at what he saw. Even in this raw state, the new blade’s vaguely curved shape shone with promise beneath the carbon that dusted it’s surface, and no small amount of pride shot through him as he examined the faint, yet, strong ripples that the marriage of metals had produced in the steel.

“This will be a fine blade, m’penzi,” he muttered to himself, taking up a brush to sweep away the excess carbonization, “worthy of your hand, Rrowl willing, and, Kezirir hold you, worthy of your heart, should you decide to accept it.”

He returned to the storeroom, then, retrieved the clay mold he had fashioned for this project and, setting the rough inside, slid it into the forge before setting foot to bellows once more. As he waited for the steel to yellow, he set about gathering the tools he might need and, in the process, turned eyes to the market square as it came to life. Shopkeepers wandered the cobbles, unfurling their stalls and setting out wares on their carts just as the doors were opened and windows unshuttered on more permanent fixtures. More than once, he raised a paw in answer to a “G’mornin’, Sam,’ and, just as often, he lifted his nose to the air to catch the scent of freshly baking bread or the earthy tang of newly uprooted vegetables as they drifted across the square. 

Soon enough, though, the smell of molten steel eclipsed the other odors of the market and, taking up the tongs, he extracted the glowing rough from the forge, placed it gingerly on the anvil, and gave it the attention of the hammer that it deserved; losing himself, for a while, in the crafting of the blade. Orange went to yellow, yellow went to gray, and, soon enough, gray powdered into ashy black. The steel required returning to the flame, then, and, as he carried it to the forge, the door to the shop opened at his back and Rakiim’s wife appeared behind it, a large earthen mug cradled between her stout hands.

“Gamut manun, Samuel,” Tuli Ironforge called as she plodded out toward the hearth and offered up the steamed mead to the Kazari, “I’m sorry that Rakiim wasn’t here to greet you, this morning.”

Turning from the forge’s door and eyeing the lady Khord as his foot stomped the bellows, the Kazari shook his head by way of dismissing the apology. “Quite alright, m’zee,” he chuffed, bending down to accept the mug from the woman, “as drunk as Rakkim got me, last night, I fully expected he would still be abed.”

“Pssssh,” Tuli grinned, “Rakiim was nowhere near as drunk as I’ve seen him before when he came home last night. Though, he did have some interesting things to say about taking me on your back as if you were a rug.”

Samuel rolled his turquoise eyes at that, nodded faintly, and sipped at the contents of the mug. “Hm,” he chuffed, swallowing the sweet, hot, concoction, “He did mention something about that, last night, if I recall. My apologies, Tuli,”

She shook her head, her graying auburn braids bouncing from her shoulders. “It took me the first fifty years of our marriage to learn to stop apologizing for something that would never change, Sam,” she laughed, “Don’t let it take you as long to learn that lesson. That old goat is never sorry for a thing he says. Reckon that’s one of the things I love about him if I were truthful about it.”

The Kazari snorted. “Oh, go ahead and lie,” he chuckled, “and tell me what an sh’mol’a he can be. I might have an easier time believing it.”

The sturdy little Khord woman reached up a hand and scritched the fur on his belly as she chuckled. “Lie to you, Sam,” she snickered, “I thought you were more honorable than that?”

“I suppose,” the kazari shrugged as he set the mug aside, “where is the old coot, anyway?”

“Left early for The Lakeshore,” Tuli returned, “Got something on his mind or someone new has come to town, I suppose.” She nodded toward the forge, “Still working on that blade for Sara?”

“I am,” he answered, “another bout or two of hammering and I believe it will be ready for better.”

“She doesn’t strike me as the type to wield steel,” the little dwarven woman shrugged faintly, “seems perfectly happy with Mhera’s plant an’ potions, to be honest.”

Samuel returned the shrug. “You might be surprised, little mother,” he chuffed, “The seasons turn on people just as they do on the world.”

“I suppose,” Tuli grinned faintly. “I’m going to the fish market. Have you had breakfast?”

“I have had tea.”

“Pfffft! That’s hardly enough to get you through the day,” she snorted, “Shall I bring you something back?”

“I do not hate fish,” the kazari grinned, “Thank you, Tuli.”

“Of course, dear boy,” the Khord woman winked, patting his belly again, “I’ll leave the shop open.” She nodded to the forge then and sniffed the air pointedly, “Smells as if that’s ready, she said, drawing her shawl about her broad shoulders, “I’ll be back before you’re done with the hammering.” 

“Holfikk,” Samuel chuffed as Tuli turned for the market, “And, should you come across your husband, tell him I am here, yes?”

“Of course, dear,” Tuli cooed as she stomped off across the square, “though, I’m sure he knows. You’ve not been late since he took you on. You’ll get paid. No worries.”

...Ch'dau is more than ready to get back out there, himself. Ara, perhaps not so much but we're working on that.

True enough, Ch'dau is happy with "settling down" with Ara, but thoughts of Kithran often trouble his thoughts and he does miss fighting soooooo... Yeah, don't expect us to say No when the time comes.

P.S. The whole point of "Ella, the little neighbor girl" is to serve as a reminder to Ch'dau that Kith is still out there... aside from the blue eyes and the marginal age difference, the fact that she reminds the cat-beast of Kith is going to be a bit of a "plot point" going forward. Shhhhhhhhh!!!!

...he's growing into quite the tough little booger, too, from what I see on FB!

Like I expected anything else from you and the Mrs.  The blonde hair threw me for a bit, tbh, but he's every bit as adoreable as the rest! Happy belated birthday, little man!

Love,

Uncle Eol

*facelick* 

11th Bre Tola; 453 E.R. - Shortly after dawn

Somewhat reluctantly, Samuel closed the door of the cottage behind him, padded past the herb garden and, after securing the gate at the end of the walk, trudged up the narrow lane that led from the small house to Meadowbrook’s main road. As he made the intersection, the soft scrape and shuffle of the turning of earth caught his ear and he turned his eyes in the direction of the sound.

As if she had actually felt the Kazari’s gaze fall on here, the young, dark-haired half-Syl looked up from the furrow she had been turning and blinked once at the cat-man before offering something of an apprehensive smile. “Oh,” she said, brushing one had on her apron before lifting it in a quick wave, “Quel amrun, Samuel.”

“Good morning, Ella,” he nodded in return, “A bit late to be planting is it not?”

“Huh?” Her blue eyes blinked, skipping between the Kazari, the harrowed ground at her feet, and the reed-woven basket that sat nearby. “Oh… No,” she answered, “Just laying in some radishes, turnips, and onions. They tend to do well in colder weather, you know…”

“I did not.”

“…Yeah. Thought to put some garlic in, as well, but squirrels got into the bulbs and the ones that they left were naught but mush…”

Samuel’s nose wrinkled as he nodded to the ramshackle shed that squatted beyond the little garden; “Perhaps some attention should be given to that,” he suggested, “The way the boards are hanging from the walls, I am surprised that it is only squirrels that get in.”

Ella glanced at the shed, heaved a sigh and, her eyes returning to Samuel, offered an almost dejected smile along with her shrug. “I’ve asked Simon to see to that more than once,” she said, “but he’s off to the lake before sun-up and at The Lakeshore until well past sun-down. I can’t even get him to stop by the smithy for nails between pulling in his nets and pouring beer down his neck.”

“Hm,” Samuel grunted, assessing the shed for a moment. “If you like,” he offered, his eyes going back to Ella, “I can bring a pound or two back for you this evening… or perhaps give them to Simon, should I see him at the tavern.”

“Would you?” The half-Syl’s smile brightened and her pale blue eyes sparkled as she abandoned the hoe and stepped closer to where the Kazari stood on the other side of her fence. “That would be wonderful,” she said, her hand dipping into the pocket of her apron and drawing out a rather light-looking purse, “How much for two pounds?”

Samuel shook his shaggy head and waved away her offer of payment. “Keep your coin, Ella,” he rumbled, “I shall collect payment from Simon, later, yes?”

Another blink of her large sky-colored eyes and another broadening of her smile followed. “Thank you, Samuel,” Ella beamed, re-pocketing her purse, “That’s very kind of you.”

“Hm,” he nodded, his ears flicking faintly before he moved to step back onto the road, “Welcome. And if Simon does not get to mending the thing before long, let me know. I will help.”

The young woman’s astonished expression only grew more so. “I… I’ll do that,” she said, staring at the cat-man’s back as he strode away, “Thank you… again…”

Detached and disagreeable, my foot, Ellaloth Cromelon reflected on her husband’s initial description of the odd creature who had recently become their neighbor, He seems bloody-well friendly enough to me. Maybe if you actually spoke to him, Simon, instead of just eyeing him over the rim of your mug, you’d know better… With a soft smile, a sigh, and a shake of her head, she returned to her gardening.

So, as this has been progressing, I've ended up creating a pretty decent handful of Meadowbrook's population. Figured I'd throw a post up, here, just to keep track of them:

• Brif – A tall, thin human. Early to mid-20s. Part of the town’s militia and frequent gate guard. Wears piece-meal armor and carries a broad bladed spear.


• Osric – Another human member of the militia/gate guard. Frequently partnered with Brif. Shorter and stockier than his counterpart. Carries a sturdy cudgel and wears a mail-shirt that could use some attention.


• Rakiim Ironforge – Meadowbrook’s blacksmith. A curmudgeonly old Khord, perhaps 200 or so years of age, with sooty-gray hair and a beard done up in long plaits. A nasty scar streaks from forehead to cheek over his left eye which is milky and cloudy (presumably caused by the same injury that left the scar). His right eye is a deep green. Drinks heavily but it doesn’t seem to affect him much.


• Simon and Ellaloth “Ella” Cromleon – The Cromleons are Samuel and Sara’s ‘neighbors.’ Simon is a human of about 30 years old with a shaved head and brown eyes; a fisherman by trade (though he has designs on becoming the mayor), and a frequent patron of The Lakeshore Tavern. Ella is a young half-Syl, perhaps in her early to mid 20s, with dark, straight hair and glittering pale blue eyes. She often works for a couple of the larger farms in town but, also, tends her own small gardens when time permits.


• Mhera - An elderly Cidal woman with wispy white hair. The town's apothecary and Sara's current 'mentor'. ((Reralae: Feel free to feed me more details on this one, if/when you see fit... Just took these few details from your last post. ))


• Tuli Ironforge - Rakiim's wife. Not quite as old as Rakiim but still on the elderly side. She has gray-shot auburn hair and dark eyes. Very fond of Samuel, often brings him breakfast from the fish market if he hasn't eaten before coming to work.


• Orangeblossom "Blossom" Nobottle - A barmaid at the Lakeshore Tavern. She has curly, chestnut colored hair, large green eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She's a friendly little thing, some might even say "sweet," but she can give as good as she gets if need be.

Also, if anyone else has ideas for citizens of Meadowbrook and would like them added to this list, feel free to edit them in (if you have the permissions to do so) or shoot me a PM and I'll happily add them for you.

11th Bre Tola; 453 E.R. - Before Sunrise

Samuel sat on the simple wooden stoop outside the door of their cottage, a cup of one of Sara’s herbal concoctions cooling beside him as he rasped a whetstone along the edge of a falcata that he had not brought to bare on anything other than shadow in quite a while. Every now and again, the Kazari would look up from his honing of the blade’s edge, glance in the direction of the yellow halo that the rising of K’hra’s Right Eye continued to paint over the distant peaks of the Chakrans, and steal a sip of the anise flavored tea from the clay mug before falling back into the peaceful rhythm of stone on steel. 

The staccato scraping of steel was countered by a soft, contented purr that rumbled in the cat-man’s chest. The memories of carrying his wife to bed and the state in which they had left the blankets still fresh in his mind, there was no way he could have stopped the sound even if he’d wanted to. The bits and pieces that had led to him coming home in more of a drunken state than he had intended, though, and the uncharacteristic outburst of emotion that had followed, still weighed heavy on his mind. He preferred to entertain the happier, warmer thoughts, of course, but it had been the darker ones which had prompted him to take the falcata from the trunk once he had slipped from the bed.

What have you learned, friend Gib, he wondered, guiding the stone purposefully along the blade’s edge, When will you call upon us and tell us our kibibi has been found? He turned the blade over, set the stone to the opposing, and pushed it along its length. And what of you, Cedric, he mused, what news might you have for me should I show up on your step?

He sighed, using the breath to blow the steel shavings from the falcata’s edge before lifting it to the growing sunlight and inspecting his work. He pulled the blade back, then, and confirmed his visual inspection with the tap of a thumb. The freshly whetted edge easily split a line in the burn scar on the pad of his thumb and, poking the thumb into his mouth to stem the trickle of blood, the Kazari nodded, satisfied with his effort. The one blade was returned to its scabbard, then, and he took up his mug of tea, again, before freeing the second blade from the sheath and scrutinizing its edge.

“Hm,” he growled softly, not at all pleased with the tarnish and tedium the blade presented. He took another sip of tea, set the mug aside, and spit a small bit of his mouthful onto the whetstone before setting it to the steel. “It has been some time, indeed,” he muttered as the stone scraped away the first of the blemishes on the blade. A heavy second and third pass scoured out the line he hoped to follow, then, and as he flipped the weapon to do the same to its other edge, a voice on the wind was carried to his ear…

“Ho there,” Brif’s voice floated through the air from the direction of the gate which lie just beyond the field that flanked his and Ara’s cottage, “Well met, traveller! Where ya comin’ from?”

Samuel’s eyes panned in the direction of the North Gate, straining at this distance to make out the figure atop the wagon that sat under Grif and Oric’s attention, now. He was a larger figure, the Kazari could tell, clad in pale blue, and had a voice deep enough that the wind didn’t carry it well. He heard sounds that were made in answer to Brif’s standard line of questioning but precise words were not easy to pick out. He tipped and swivelled his ears, hoping to catch the words a bit better as he returned his eyes to the blade in his hand, but, in the end, heard no more of the visitor’s last words than he had the first.

Whatever the monkey’s answers had been, though, Brif and Oscric seemed to approve of them and waved the man on through the village. Samuel only glanced up again when the wagon wheels creaked into motion and watched as the large robin’s egg of a man goaded his team onward into the town. The wagon clattered along the main for a moment, as if it might pass straight through Meadowbrook but, as it drew near a junction that might lead lake-side, the wagon slowed and turned down the narrower thoroughfare. As the egg on it’s wagon nest disappeared from sight behind the houses that lined the street and obscured his view, Samuel went back to sharpening. When enough time had passed, though, that the wagon should be emerging at the farther end, the turquoise eyes lifted, again, to find the cart clattering to a stop at the post outside of The Lakeshore.

Early for a drink, Samuel mused, watching as the robin’s egg plopped off the buckboard and made for the Lakeshore’s doors. He shrugged, then, his gaze going, once more, back to the blade in his hand, as more than one other patron followed the blue-clad man inside. Not my circus, he snorted to himself, tracking stone over steel, Not my t’mbili.

The next little while was spent much the same. Honing his blade, sipping his tea, and checking the sun. After a time, the yellow halo that had graced the tops of the distant mountains had swelled enough to turn the skies over Meadowbrook blue and purple. He hadn’t quite finished with the second blade but the sun told him it was time for him to leave for Rakiim’s and, shoving the falcata into its scabbard, he sighed and forced himself to his feet. He slung both blaes over his shoulder, tucked his whetstone into the pouch on his belt, scooped up his tea, and trudged into the house.

Inside, he set his mug on the table before refilling it from the pot that hung over the hearth. Then, as that cooled, he padded toward the bedchamber he shared with his wife, returned the blades to their trunk, and perched himself on the side of the bed. “I have work, m’penzi,” he purred, stroking her hair away from her face with one hand as the other adjusted the blankets around her.

“Mmm,” she grumbled, shifting beneath the covers and wriggling closer.

Samuel chuckled softly, slipped a quilt up over her bare shoulder where it had fallen away, again, and leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. “I hope you have a good day, m’ke,” he whispered.

As he went to slide off the bed, Sara’s hand lifted to touch his back, “Mmm’une,” She mumbled sleepily, her golden eyes blinking open, unfocused as she gave a small yawn. When she saw Samuel’s head tilt in question towards her, she asked, “Is anything amiss?” her head tilting towards the trunk, “I thought I heard…”

“No, m’penzi,” he purred, settling back onto the mattress and reaching out a paw to stroke her cheek, “all is well.” He glanced in the direction of the trunk, then back at her. “I was simply… remembering,” he shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He leaned over, then, and kissed her softly before rising from the bed, again. “There is tea in the kettle,” he said…

The concern faded from Sara's face as she relaxed once more onto the mattress, giving a contented sigh, "I'm glad. Thank you, melanin," she murmured in half wakefulness. A glimmer of dawn's light flickered in the window, catching the red in Sara's hair and almost giving her a warm glow about her.

Samuel paused in the doorway, a faint purr rumbling in his chest as he looked back at where she reclined amidst the covers. The morning light caught the red in her hair, setting it ablaze with a warm glow that seemed to envelop her in that moment. “Sometimes I find it all too difficult to leave you for the day,” he sighed, wishing he could crawl back under the blankets with her, “Your warmth is preferable to the heat of the forge.”

“Ah, but you would miss Rakiim’s banter, I’m sure,” she giggled, languishing in a stretch as she peered over the blankets at him.

“”Hm,” the Kazari snorted, “it is hard to miss a thing that never ceases.”

“I suppose you should go, then,” she smiled, “Miss me, instead.”

“That is much easier to do,” he purred in reply. “I will see you tonight, m’penzi.”

Imma go bat this ball of yarn around and look disinterested when really my heart is breaking because I know what's coming!

*exhale*

Seee??? I may be a kitty but I know what's pretty!

Whatcha lookin at, sweetie?

P.S. Kazarimas is MUUUUUUUUUCH cooler than Life Day... juuuuust sayin'!

It was just too good to resist!

We'll get you that knife you want for Kazarimas to make up for it! How's that?  

A red haired, felt doll of a Sylvari walked up towards the door before Adedre’s chamber of its own accord, skipping from one foot to the other as it was tugged along by Morgana’s threads. The guard stationed there didn’t notice the doll, it being so far below his peripheral vision.

You there, boy… be a dear and inform Adedre that I must speak with her

The guard jumped, his hand immediately going to the sheathed sword at his side as he looked around frantically for where the voice had come from, “Wh-who goes there?!”

Morgana sighed, the doll crossing its arms and tapping a foot impatiently, the sound of a pointed shoe tapping the ground echoing up from where the foot touched the ground, Normally, I’d find amusement in your antics, but this is an urgent matter. Stop gawking, boy, and do your job.

The young guard’s eyes were drawn down by the tapping of a distinctly pointed toe shoe and blinked in wonder at the little elfin effigy… Whaaaa… I’ve got to find a different job… I knew Mistress Undolithe did some strange things but…

Now?! The little doll demanded, its arms uncrossing from its chest and settling impatiently on its hips.

The guard blinked once more and, then, nodded in compliance and turned to rap on his Mistress’ chamber door.

“Oh! What is it?” Adare’s voice sniped from the other side.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” the guard called, “There’s someone… something...” his gaze flitted nervously back to the felt figure at his heel and he seemed to contemplate for an instant before letting loose a disbelieving sigh and finishing; “...There’s a doll demanding to speak with you, ma’am.”

A short sigh and a faint rustling sounded from Adedre’s side of the door, then, followed by the soft fall of bare feet on the floor, before the door-latch clicked and the slab was pulled open. Across the threshold, a masked and robed Tecla bowed respectfully to the little red-haired doll and, stepping aside, silently invited Morgana’s vessel to enter. The doll twirled on one foot, floating into the air to drift across the threshold into the chamber, as if carried by invisible threads, before it landed once more on the ground. 

To this point, Adedre had been lazily reclining in the high, wing-backed chair but, as the doll floated past Tecla and pirouetted to a perch on the floor, once more, the witch’s yellow eyes skimmed past the felt-worked vessel, past the mask shrouded girl on the one side of the door and the young, gawking guard on the other, and saw no sign of the Kazari or the shadowy little bitch that had stolen him. She sighed, her eyes narrowing only slightly and coming to rest on the little doll’s face. “I had expected… something else, Thread-witch,” she smirked.

The doll, otherwise impassive as it seemed, seemed to darken as if shrouded by the shadow of a hand for a moment, but the shadow lifted quickly, as it gave a curtsy to Adedre, I am… aware of that, she voiced, irritation slipping underneath her usual detached words, But a few more seconds… and I could have made him dance by my threads… Rest assured, normally I would not be here less the pact were complete… But that is not why I am here.

Morgana sighed again, I do apologize for my intrusion, Adedre, but the situation has changed… quite drastically so. She voiced with genuine concern, It seems that those who would be our prey have decided against fleeing. Even now, I expect they are within the walls of your estate… 

Adedre’s hands clutched the arms of the chair and she hauled herself forward, her eyes hardening a bit more but, at the same time, widening just a bit in surprise. “What?!?!” She tried not to screech.

Her gaze tore from the doll and fixed on the guard; “Rouse the house,” she snapped, one hand lifting from the arm or her chair to click fingers together, “and loose the spider from the dungeon!”

One moment, if I may, Morgana suggested, Our prey have taken such efforts to enter here otherwise unnoticed. If they remain unaware that you know they have entered, they may yet be able to be brought to a situation more… advantageous to us.

Adedre turned her hand, forestalling her previous order to the guard, then, made a waving motion which prompted Tecla to shut the chamber door…

“I will let you know if you are needed,” the masked girls muttered to the guard as she pushed the door to.

“As you say, miss,” the guard returned just before the latch clicked.

...Adedre’s eyes returned to the puppet. “I am listening, dear Morgana,” she said, sweet and bitter all at once, “but… we may need to revisit the terms of our contract. It seems that your efforts might have been less than half of what drew them back here.”

Morgana’s doll shrugged its shoulders briefly, And yet, it is me who is here to tell you of their arrival, where you otherwise wouldn’t know. I am still prepared to follow through with what I said I would do. Two lives, two gemstones. Let them into a place where the web of threads, bone, and spell may close in on them, and, in that way, we may turn their aggression to our favour.

The yellow-eyed witch regarded the doll a moment longer… Have you seen Kazari aggression, she wondered to herself, Do you know how many men I lost capturing him in the first place? How many I lost when that little half-breed let him loose, again?... and, then, after seeming to think better of her challenge, waved her boney hand again and slumped back into the chair. “Tell me your plan, dear one,” she sighed, “and I will consider keeping to our original accord.”

The Syl doll lifted a felt hand, and the sound of fingers snapping echoed from that point. She shadowed silhouette of Morgana faded into view above it, one hand outstretched over the small doll, blood red threads connecting her fingers to the doll as a puppet’s controls. The lips of Morgana’s mask curled into a sly smile, “Very well, what I propose is thus…” 

((Pause... cause we're antoginizing Bree!  Come home, kibibi! We miss you!!! ))

Just looking at that gives me

You know, the stuff that tastes like someone strained turpentine through a dirty sock... now it pumps through my veins like  in place of blood.

*ring ring*

"Hello?"

"Good evening! My name is Amber and I'm calling from Monk's Pole Dancing Academy and Chicken ranch..." *Whitesnake Song Starts Playing* "...and I just wanted to strut onto stage and shake this at you!"

Gotta be a market for that somewhere, right?

...is not having to worry too much about shoulder surfers!

That said, when Olan sent me that PDF, I did work in a cube farm and the first time I opened it I was just like  "Helllooooo ladies!" *Page Down*

Aahhhh, good times!

...as I said, I don't believe that it's terribly important to the game that the slot be there and filled, really... I doubt that there will really be much call for it as we go hunting for Kith and Bae-vena.

Plus, I have enough "backstory" in the works to hint that it's coming so, while he's not 100% proficient, he's worked on it a bit.

@ pixellated nipples. Pixpples!!! 

...would a boost to lvl 5 be enough to add another NWP? Not that it's truly important, I suppose, just wondering if, by that time, Ch'dau would have the slots to add "weasponsmithing" or, instad, would it still be something that he's working toward?

Ha! Never mind... found my answer... it'd still be a work in progress. Gotta get to lvl 6 before adding a slot.

Excited to meet new players and characters!

If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know. You all know where to find me!

It's those Google Docs collabs, dude! That stuff just flooooooowwwws!

10^th Bre Tola, 453 E.R.
Smithy of Rakiim Ironforge - Midday

“Easy,” the old blacksmith cautioned, “just because you can smash it flat doesn’t mean that you should!”

The kazari apprentice blinked, stopping his hammer in mid-air, and turned his questioning eyes to Rakiim as the old dwarf clomped toward his anvil. “Yer makin’ a blade,” the grizzled, grey-haired Khord groused, climbing up on a box, “not drivin’ fookin’ nails!”

“Too hard, then,” the kazari sighed, the hammer falling to his side.

“Much too fookin’ ‘ard,” the old dawrf nodded, “Yer gonna have ta melt that anew ‘less ya want pices of it flakin’ off in a fight.” He took up his apprentice’s tongs, then, snatched the still orange bar of steel from the anvil and, after hopping down from the stool, pitched it back into the forge.

“Ye’ve gotta maintain smooth, even strokes, Sam,” Rakiim reprimanded, his broad hands on his stout hips, “Ye go smashin’ dimples inta th’ steel an’ ye do naught but forge inferior blades! Be tha’ wha’ ye want fer yer lady?”

“No,” the grey-furred beast rumbled, “I want a blade worthy of her spirit…” He frowned as he looked toward the forge where his steel was being re-melted, “…worthy of her skill.”

“An’ so, ye need ta fookin’ pay attention,” the Khord grumped, poking the tongs into the kiln and stirring the motlen metal as a result. “Smooth. Even. Blows.

Get the steel stretched an’ folded, first. Then, stretched an’ folded ag’in. Then, stretched an’ folded’s many times’s it takes ta get th’ best hold fer a blade. Ye’ll know it when ye press it oot inta th’ proper length an’ it dinnae sag, even yella.” The grey-bearded Khord thrust the tongs into the forge, once again, and, when he hauled them back out, he had the whitehot bar of steel clenched at it’s business end.

The kazari’s broad fingers flexed around he haft of his hammer and the khord grinned. “Now,” Rakiim grunted, “Smooth. Even. Think ‘bout th’ spine b’fore th’ edge…” The old Khord paused, scowled up at the big cat, and snorted; “…Matter o’fact, dinnae think about neither one o’ them. Jus’ set yer mind ta hammerin’, foldin’, an’ hammerin’, an’ foldin’ s’more, aye? Smoo…”

“Smooth and even,” Samuel rumbled, “yes, I heard.”

Rakiim stabbed a leathery, burn hardened finger up at the Kazari. “Dinnae be givin’ me none o’yer lip, ya big daft cat,” he growled, “I’ll climb up on tha’ table, yonder, an’ cuff ye roight onna snoot!”

“Gah!” The Kazari gnashed his teeth at the dwarf and snarled in reply; “And I shall be picking my teeth with one of your ribs before your stubby legs see you halfway there!”

“Oooo! Yer sooo skeery!” Through the plaits of his beard, Rakiim waggled his fingers at Samuel and stuck out his tongue even as his one good eye went wide in mock-fear. “Ye big puss!”

Both the Kazari and the Khord laughed, then, and Rakiim reached a hand up to thump Samuel on the back. “Fer truth an’ serious, now,” he grunted, nodding at the billit that glowed atop the anvil, “Hammer. Axe. Fold. Hammer. Forge. Repeat!” He clapped his heavy hands together and, then, made a shooing gesture before turning back for his bench. “I’ll jus’ be over here workin’.”

“You will be over there drinking, you mean,” Samuel snorted, swinging the hammer.

“Priv’leges o’ seniority, Sam,” Rakiim shot back over the clanging of hammer on anvil as he climbed up onto his stool and reached across his bench for the flagon that sat at the back. “Ye get a decent rough outta tha’ billit ‘fore we close shop an’ I’ll fetch ye a round o’ tha’ swill ye drink at th’ Lakeshore, aye?”

The hammer clanged again and the Kazari nodded even as his arm came around in another arc. “Deal,” he chuffed, “but just one. Today has already been long and I should like to see Sara with her eyes open before I have to come back here and slave away for you again.”

Rakiim pulled on the flagon, wiped the foam clinging to his moustache off on the back of his sleeve, belched loudly, and then snorted. “Oi! Tha’s no customer’s blade yer workin’ on over there,” he prodded, “Were ye m’ slave, I’d nae be allowin’ ye time fer pers’nal projects!

Fact o’ it is, I’d prob’ly ‘ave ye follow me home, sprawl yer fuzzy arse of afore th’ fire an’ have a go at th’ missus atop yer back as if ye were a roog!”

Samuel shook his head as he took up the hand axe and carved a seem down the center of the billit. “You are a strange stump of a man,” he chuckled, taking up the hammer and tongs again to begin folding the metal over.

The old Khord roared with laughter at that. Once he got hold of himself, though, he tipped the flagon to his lips, again, before leaning back and resting his elbows on the edge of the bench. “Speakin’ on havin’ a go,” he smirked, the wooly brow above his one good eye spiking curiously, “how’s tha’ work wit’ Sara an’ yerself? Tried ta imagine it once but it were…”

“That is not your business, ya'kh'ale,” Samuel snapped even as he smiled, “but…” and blushed if a kazari was capable of such a thing; “…it works.”

“Puss!”

“Monkey scrotum!”

*CLANG!!!*

Hours passed and, with only a little more input from Rakiim before the sun set and Khr’a’s Left Eye opened on the town of Meadowbrook, the Kazari, Samuel, had managed to craft a sturdy, yet flexible, rough from the billit. When the Khord had had enough drink and enough of the clanging, he had clambered down from his stool and ambled over to where the cat-man loomed over the anvil.

“Hm,” the old smith nodded, eyeing the results of half-a-days hammering, folding, and forging, “Reckon them big ears do hear sommat o’ what I say inta ‘em…”

“Bellow into them, you mean.”

The Khord pretended as if he hadn’t heard that remark. Instead, he reached out a hand, took up the rough, and examined not only it’s vaguely curved profile but, also, the fine ripples beneath the carboned surface, that showed just how well the two metals had been fused. Grunting, he lay the thing back down before the Kazari and grunted. “Tha’s noice work, Puss,” he nodded, “I still dinnae see why ye had ta forge a whole new blade, though, when either o’ the pair ye slagged doon fer yer billit would’ve done…”

“It had to be new from the old, Rakiim,” Samuel began to explain again, “For Sara, there are memories and emotions in each of the…”

“Pfft!” Rakiim wagged a hand in the air, “I dinnae need ta hear yer philosiphisin’, Sammy! I’ve heard it plenty o’ late. Just sayin’ as I hope yer meltin’ doon them two fine Syl blades’s worth all yer work.” The Khord ambled away from the anvil then, belched again, and motioned for the Kazari to follow. “C’mon,” he grunted, scratching at his beard, “Sun’s doon an’ I reckon I owe ye a drink. Le’s go ta th’ Lakeshore!”

“Very well,” Samuel replied, wrapping his rough in a rune-stitched swath of black fabric and setting it aside for tomorrow before stalking off in Rakiim’s wake, “But just one…”

“Aye! Yes! Ya wanna go home an’ stare intae yer wife’s pretty eyes! I know!”

The Lakeshore Tavern - After Sunset

The Khord and Kazari from Ironforge burst through the door of the small, water-side tavern whether they meant to or not. As the two toughest, gruffest souls in the village - both of whom preferred the small, ramshackle pub to Meadowbrook’s larger inn - the slat-boarded door scarcely held up to their gazes let alone their shoving through it after the smithy had closed. As was typical, the Kazari that townsfolk had come to know as Samuel sought out a rickety table by a window in the lake-facing wall while Rakiim stomped to the bar and barked out their usual order...

“Two pints fer m’self an’ a mug o’ burnin’ piss fer th’ Puss!”

… Drinks procured, Rakiim tromped to the table, banged the simple wooden mug of liquor down in front of Samuel, and shifted one of the pints to his now free hand before climbing up onto the chair. “I still cannae fathom how ye drink tha’ fire-water,” he snorted at his cat-friend before draining away half of his first tankard in a single pull, “it’d burn the skin from a dragon’s mooth!”

“Hmm,” Samuel shot back, indulging in a slow sip from his mug, “I suppose that makes a Kazari mouth much stronger than a dragon’s, then…” another sip and a taunting wink across the table, “...certainly stronger than a Khord’s.”

“Oi! Ye c’n jus’ go hide unner a chair an’ lick yerself, lad!”

And so came the first laugh of the evening from the old blacksmith and his burly Kazari apprentice. More taunting and laughing would follow, of course, in between bouts of serious conversation, but rarely did it ever continue into the later hours as it did with some of The Lakeshore’s other regulars. No, more often than not, Samuel would nurse his spirits until Rakiim had started on his third pint and, then, as the dwarf lifted his fourth, the Kazari would excuse himself to the jovial enmity of his employer and saunter off into the night… and always straight from the pub to the little cottage along the walls in which he and his Sylvari wife had lived for the past weeks.

Tonight, though, Samuel didn’t so much saunter as stagger and, as Rakiim watched the big cat stumble into Meadowbrook’s streets, he chuckled at having ordered his apprentice a double. “There ye go, Sammy,” he snorted, lifting his mug in salute to the door that had bang shut behind the Kazari’s exit, “Ye go home an’ look inta all four o’ yer lovely lass’ eyes, eh?”

Raucous laughter erupted from the nearby tables, then, and Rakiim order one more round for all of those who appreciated his humor.

Shaking her head, the little Cidal serving girl swept Rakiim’s array of tankard from table to tray and rolled her eyes at the Khord. “Honestly, Rakiim,” she grinned, “I don’t know how Samuel’s not tried to kill you, as yet!”

“Not sure o’ that m’self, Blossom,” the old smith snorted, “Tale I heard o’ ‘Samuel’ in years past, I’m surprised he dinnae kill me th’ day we met.”

Blossom smirked and glanced toward the door before shaking her head, once more, her chestnut curls bouncing from her bare shoulders. “I reckon you might’ve set it up so Sara kills him when he gets home,” she quipped before skittering away, “How did a double make sense to you?”

“It dinnae make any sense,” Rakiim laughed, “tha’s why I done it! B’sides, the lad worked hard t’day… He deserved a bit o’ let loose!”

“Wicked old codger.”

“Fuzz footed floozy.”

“Just one,” Rakiim snickered, tipping the tankard to his lips. “It’s always just one…” he burped, wiped his mouth on a soot stained sleeve, and smiled; “...see ya t’mornin’, Silver Cat,” he muttered.

A Short time later - Samuel and Sara’s house

As he neared the gate, Samuel reached out a hand for the latch and, as he did, his head swam and his vision blurred for a moment. As a result, his paw swiped past the latch and he toppled forward, almost tumbling over the low fence that hemmed in the tiny cottage huddled against Meadowbrook’s timber walls. His eyes went wide and, as he tumbled forward, his claws extended and his hands shot out, catching him just before his face ended up in the freshly compost-tilled herb garden he had helped to construct not days ago.

“Whoa,” he chuffed, shaking his head and pushing himself to his feet, taking car not to crush the fence or the garden as he did. He blinked at the garden, then. Blinked at the gate. Stifled a laugh. Swayed, and once more reached for the gate’s latch.

This time it clicked open easily and he pushed the thing out of his way as he stepped onto the crushed stone path that led from the gate to the cottage’s front door. Turning, Samuel took a bit longer than was usual to relatch the gate but, after some fumbling and another snorting chuckle, he got the thing secured and turned for the house.

He glanced sideways at the herb-garden, then, lifted a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shhhhh,” before thudding toward the cottage. 

He had less trouble with the latch on the door than he did with the gate but, still, he may have leaned a bit heavy on the handle when he pushed it open. The jamb creaked and the hinges groaned a bit before, blinking, the kazari stood himself up and took some pressure off the door. “Shhhh,” he hissed again, taking special care to close the door as slowly and silently as possible before turning to sweep his gaze over the meager, four room cottage. “Sara,” he called, louder than he’d probably intended, “I am home.”

There was no immediate answer and, as he teetered toward the water bucket on the table ahead, he called again. “Sara?” And he chuckled, scooping a ladle-full of water from the bucket and pouring it into his mouth. “Samuel is here…” He snorted, then, and laughed almost uncontrollably for a moment before sitting himself down in the willow woven chair and scooping another helping of water from the bucket.

“Damn you, Rakiim,” he chuffed, his head falling into his hands and memories of Kithran flooding back to him just as he came to realize that the Khord had ordered him a much stronger drink than usual. The laughter collapsed into hitching snarls and coughs as the kazari fought against recollection and rage… “Ara???”

Just as emotion threatened to consume the cat, the cottage’s tiny side door opened and Sara stepped through it, a small, rush basket nestled in the crook of one arm, and a bundle of wildflowers clutched in the other hand. Her head tipped to one side when her eyes fell upon Samuel doubled over the table and, when she realized he was fighting off tears, she dropped both basket and bouquet as she crossed the floor to wrap her arms around him. 

“Be still, Samuel,” she cooed, her fingers finding the spot at the base of his ear that, if treated just so, would calm the kazari, “what’s wrong?” Her thumb traced a small circle where his outer ear met his shaggy head.

“Nothing,” Samuel grunted, choking down the emotion that had so suddenly crashed over him. “Rakiim and his pranks,” he coughed, shaking his head, again, and lifting a paw to take her hand where it caressed his ear. Then, sighing, he brought that hand to his lips, kissed it tenderly, and looked up into his wife’s concerned eyes; “How was your day, m’penzi?”

Sara leaned in to gently bring Samuel to one of the chairs as she looked him over, her golden eyes, no longer red rimmed as they had been for a long time, looking to his unfocused blue gaze as she continued to hold him in a gentle embrace. “It was a good day, m’une,” She replied, kissing Samuel on the cheek, “I’ve still many things to learn, a long way to go, as Mhera keeps telling me, but her words seem to hold less bite to them as she entrusts more to me to prepare in her mixtures,” she shared, her voice gentle and soothing, “Here, let me draw more water for you,” She offered, leaving Samuel only for a moment before bringing back a cup for him.

He offered a wan smile, accepting the cup but immediately setting it aside in favor of filling his hands with her. “My thanks, wife,” he said, pulling her onto his lap and nuzzling into her neck before she was even settled there, “but I have a thirst, now, only for you.”

He sighed, again, pulling her closer as his nuzzling became softer, less provocative… if only a bit. “Do you miss it, Ara?” he rumbled almost in a whisper. His lips met the spot where her neck gracefully met with her shoulder and, following the soft kiss he left there, he let his breath whisper over the spot a moment before lifting his eyes to hers; “Do you ever miss… being out there?”

Even as she seemed to contemplate an answer, the kazari shook his head, again. “Do not misunderstand, m’ke,” he purred, gesturing about their tiny cottage with the hand that was not holding her, “This life we have started to build, is more than I could ever have dreamed, here, on Capasha, or otherwise.” He blinked, then, and reached for the cup of water. After pouring it down his throat, he grinned at his wife, once more. “I do not know what I am saying,” he smirked, tipping forward just a bit to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. “Perhaps I should take to bed and forget what Rakiim has done. I have a project to tend to in the morning and I would hate to tarnish it with old stumpy blood.”

He pulled her tighter to him, then, nuzzled her once more and purred quietly; “Will you come?”

Sara’s head tilted a bit to one direction as she tried to follow Samuel’s words, as scattered as they seemed to be, but as he kissed her, she leaned back into his arms, and she nodded, “Mayhap I would share words with him,” She chuckled softly, “If not your claws; bed, however, does sound lovely right now,” she nuzzled gently against Samuel, “Of course I will go with you,” she affirmed, her arm reaching around him in a gentle embrace, “Lean on me, if you need,” Sara offered then, as she readied to help Samuel to their bedroom.

He chuckled at her mention of having words with Rakiim. “Perhaps you should,” he rumbled, “he fears you more than me, anyway. And,” he leaned in to plant another quick kiss on her nose, “should he protest much, my claws are yours.”

At her suggestion that she could help him to bed, though, the kazari veritably growled… or was it a purr?... and rose from his seat, carrying her up in his arms as he did. “I need no help other than your permission to carry you off to bed, Aranwen Galandel,” he smiled suggestively.

Ch'dau: *blinking dumbly and holding out his paws in question* What? Steel is always a good gift, is it not?

...Uncle Fuzz-face gets to see them again... y'know, for Kazari Kristmas or something!

Danny: Look, Mom! Unkah Ch'dau brunged me a knife!

Chora: *squeals* Unkah Ch'dau brunged me a knife, too!!! C'mon, Danny, let's go stab stuff!!!

Danny: I get to stab you first!

Chora: No! I get to stab you first!

Lina *rolling her eyes at Ch'dau*: No stabbing each other!

Danny and Chora: Awwwww!!!

Chora: I know! Let's go stab that D'hrugen priest camped by the towers!

Danny: YEAH!!!

That was ADOREABLE!!!!

...although, at first, it struck me as odd that Aranwen had never mentioned siblings before. Theeeennnn I started thinking about it and it occurred to me that Ch'dau has brothers and sisters back on Capasha that he's never told anyone on Antaron about, soooo... *shrug*

Anyhoo... Admara was a great addition, imo... besides, she sort of inspired the whole "m'ke" bit so there's that.

27th Ternoth Ore, 453 E.R. – Mid-Morning
The Village of Meadowbrook

For several days, Ch’dau and Aranwen’s wagon had followed an ancient track that ran along the banks of the Rapture of Light River, leading them north and east out of the Sylvarian Forest. With the woods behind them and the misty crags of the Chakran Mountains rising in the distance ahead, the couple had kept to the riverside road, avoiding any of the more travelled thoroughfares, for a few more days, still. Finally, as Khr’a’s Right Eye opened and peered over the Chakran summits, chasing the mists from the surface of the lake into which the river flowed, the Kazari and the Syl caught sight of their destination.

Nestled between the lakeshore and the foothills of the looming mountains lie the tiny, rural village of Meadowbrook. Simple earthen ramparts, topped by rough-hewn wooden bulwarks skirted the little town and, inside those walls, scattered amongst the fields, farms, and fisheries, were perhaps no more than three dozen buildings of various form and function. Most of them appeared to be simple, cottage like dwellings but there were other, larger structures, as well - a town hall rose in the center of the village, looming over the broad, cobbled street that ran from gate to gate through the town; several small shops huddled around what appeared to be a market square and, flanking the market one one side or another, were stables, a smithy, and what appeared to be a smallish barracks of some sort.

Aranwen relaxed as she caught sight of the town proper, leaning beside Ch'dau and exhaling softly, "It's just as I remember. Sometimes we'd receive metal from here at Megilindor Nost, and on my patrol route I always took the opportunity to take a brief look to here," she reminisced, "Even if not truly part of the Three Kingdoms, it was also a place I wanted to keep safe."

Ch’dau smiled faintly, pleased to hear the soft nostalgic tone in which Aranwen spoke of the place, as he looked over the village. “It is even smaller than Crandel,” he observed, watching the various inhabitants of the place scurrying about in their morning routines before the road descended a hillside and the timbers of the town walls obscured them from his sight for a moment, “and it looks much more peaceful. A good choice for our new home, m’penzi.”

As the wagon rattled along the road toward the south gate, he turned his eyes to Ara and chuckled; “You do not think the villagers will be too terrified of a cat-beast settling among them, do you?”

Aranwen shook her head, wrapping one arm behind Ch'dau, "If we bore them ill intent, they'd have reason to be, but we are only arriving as others seeking a quiet respite. I am sure they will understand; many here, I think, chose this place for the same reason." 

Ch’dau nodded and chuffed softly. “This is good,” he purred, “we have come this far to avoid trouble, I would hate for any to be stirred by my presence.” 

His gaze tracked skyward, then, and, as an early autumn breeze blew off the lake, wrapped an arm around Ara. A small chuckle escaped him as he recognized and recalled the positioning of the sun and the seasonal turnings of the weather. That chuckle became a broad smile and his eyes turned back to the woman at his side; “Do you know what today is, my love?” When she blinked up at him, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers; “It was on this day, all that time ago, that Kithran and I landed at your feet in Sendria.”

Aranwen blinked once more, and recognition dawned in her eyes, "This day?" she asked, before she leaned in to Ch'dau's warmth, "What a day that was, too. To think we'd come across one another in such a place, in that chaos," her eyes grew a bit distant as she recalled, "I am glad for that, to have met you, and Kithran," she held Ch'dau close. She only wished that Kithran was also here, too.

“Mm,” he rumbled with a nod, “I, too, am grateful for that day,” he purred, “I found a new clan in that chaos. A family that I never would have thought to have on these shores…” He sighed softly, his paw giving her shoulder a tender squeeze as his thoughts, too, went to Kithran. “...My life began anew on that day,” he muttered after a moment, “I suppose it is appropriate that we find another beginning, in another place, on that anniversary, yes?”

"Yes," Aranwen agreed, her eyes closer to how they looked a year ago, that warm golden sheen as she looked to Ch'dau's blue eyes, "To begin, again…" she leaned upward into a gentle kiss, "It will be nice."

He savored the touch of her lips for a long moment, purring softly as he lingered in their sweetness. “It will,” he agreed, pulling back to stare into her gleaming golden gaze and smiling, too at how bright her eyes seemed, now, “Na’ku’penda... m’ke.” His smile preceded a chuckle that seemed driven by that last word.

Ara blinked, again, a vague expression of confusion playing on her features. Na’ku’penda, she had heard from him many times in the past months and had learned that it was kazari for ‘I love you.’ That last word, though… she couldn’t recall having ever heard him use it before. She searched her mind, trying to find her own way to a translation but, after a moment, shook her head and looked curiously at him. “M’ke,” she asked, “what does that mean?”

Ch’dau chuckled even more, and shook his head at the memory of Admara that had prompted him to use the word. “It means my wife,” he smiled. “Forgive if I assume too much, Ara,” he chuffed, then, “I just recalled your sister’s words from days ago and…”

Aranwen's eyes widened a moment in surprise, but just for a moment, immediately softening with a bashful smile that accompanied her cheeks deepening in blush, "Let's not tell her about that detail," she giggled helplessly, "She'd never let us hear the end of it," she let her warm cheek rest against Ch'dau's fur, and nodded, "my husband," she spoke in acceptance as she embraced Ch'dau again.

“I imagine she would not,” he rumbled. His ears flicked and his tail lashed happily even as his purring grew louder. He stroked a thumb across her cheek as she leaned into him and, as they approached the town’s gate, kissed her once more. “I will speak nothing of it to her until you do,” he winked.

“Ho, there,” a voice called from up ahead, forcing Ch’dau’s attention from Aranwen and to the pair of men who had just emerged from behind Meadowbrook’s walls. The taller of the two, a dark haired human clad in piecemeal armor and carrying a spear stepped into the wagon’s path and lifted a hand. “Well met, travellers,” he said as the wagon came to a stop.

“Well met,” Ch’dau nodded from beneath his hood his gaze ticking to the shorter man for an instant before returning to the other.

“Where ya comin’ from,” the tall man with the spear asked, reaching out a hand to scritch one of the mules on its nose.

“West,” Ch’dau replied, “most recently, Alfirin.”

The shorter man, stockier than the other, wearing a not well maintained mail shirt and carrying a cudgel in one hand approached Aranwen’s side of the wagon. “An’ what business ya got in Meadowbrook, then,” he queried, resting his empty hand on the buckboard, “Jus’ passin’ thr… Oh, Mother!!!” The short man staggered back a few paces, blinking in either fear or disbelief as he’d gotten a look under the wagon driver’s hood.

At that reaction, the man with the spear, too, backed away and, awkwardly readied his weapon. “What, Oric,” he demanded, “what is it?”

“I… I…” the one called Oric stammered, still blindly backing away from the wagon, his fingers fumbling on the haft of his cudgel, “I ain’t quite sure, Brif… What’s them big cats called? Tigers? I think it’s a tiger!”

Ch’dau shook his head, snorted out a chuckle, and slowly raised his hands toward his hood. “I am Kazari,” he chuffed, drawing the cowl back but keeping his hands raised as he looked between the two guardsmen, “and I mean you no harm.”

Oric and Brif gawked at the beast-man and exchanged uncertain looks with one another, then. They seemed to relax a bit when the Kazari made no move to so much as turn on the wagon’s seat but, still, they had yet to ease their weapons down. “A’right, then,” Brif nodded curtly, “I ask ag’in, Mister K’zari; what’s yer business in Meadowbrook?”

“I am called Samuel,” the cat-beast replied, then, inclining his head to the Sylvari woman beside him, “and this is my wife, Sara. We had heard that Meadowbrook was a welcoming place and had hoped to make a home here...”

Again, Oric and Brif exchanged indecisive glances with one another but, this time, the trembling grasps they had on their weapons eased and the tip of Brif’s spear pointed toward the road at his feet, now. “A home, ya say,” he blinked curiously, “Ya wanna live here?”