In the Sqaure of Lomedore there was one major attraction, the Boasting Platform, where heroes and the foolhardy could talk up their feats in return for tips. Despite the bitterly cold day, with an icy wind blowing in from the black ocean skies, the Boasting Platform was still bustling; the various bravos and beauties that had taken the stand were vying for the greater share of attention.
The sturdy youth turned his face from this, and his back to the cold not least of all, and walked to the other end of the square, where people really meant business.
There, stuck with a thousand hooks, was the Quest Post, flittering with the notes of ships looking for crew, or caravans in search of a body guard. Reaching into his cloak, he removed the note he had prepared, cut into a piece of very expensive leather, which would be noticed by those who read it. The note read: heading into the wild. Destination will not be revealed until underway. Looking for useful man to manage pack-team, and stand the last watch. All interested parties appear at Holloway Inn two days after the Spring Festival.
Then he made his way to the Inn, and settled with the publican. He spent every night there, taking note of the regulars, so that he would know when a stranger, who might be his potential empolyee, came inside.
The Publican, Gethweore, was a canny man, and was proved to be uncommonly clever with his short cudgel. "Now young-stuff. I can see you eyeing the place up. What you got planned for the place? Speak up."
The youth nodded placatingly, looking into the publicans unflinching grey eyes. "I just hope to meet a few of my companions here. Two days after Spring Festival. Then we'll be gone the next day."
Gethweore tossed his chin, and pulled his dark red beard. "All right then lad. So, do you happen to know these companions yet?"
The youth stopped himself just short of an uncomfortable shuffle, disarmed by the publicans' shrewd guesses. "That would be: no." He felt compelled to admitt.
"Very well lad. When they come asking, what name will they ask for?"
"Terebenior."
The publicans eyes tightened. "That's a high name, at least to those of us that know whence it came from. Do you deserve that name, or have you borrowed it out of ignorance?"
Terebenior drew himself up to his full height, and the publican let the cudgel drop onto its loop on his belt, knowing it would be of no use. "It is my name, and the only name I'll tolerate for myself."
"So it is master." The publican nodded knowingly. "You be careful, though, I guess you to be a bit young for what you're getting yourself into."
"We'll see." Terebenior admitted.
"Aye lad. We will." Gethweore bustled away.

Morgo had recently been to Lómëdor for a dark purpose. He had killed a lonly, old man in his house for pleasure. He had stayed the night in the inn, and now was refreshed and ready to get to the world.

He was not very familair with Lómëdor Square's hero distract. It was already noon, and by that time, the Square was bustling with activity. Morgo walked by a large platform, and by the sign next to it, discovered it was the 'Boasting Post'. Morgo laughed as the small man squeaked, "I slayed a dragon with a rock!" 'Yah, I'm sure you did,' he tought with a chuckle.

Morgo walked by, and notice a large board, with many people crowding it. 'Ahh, this must be the quest post,' Morgo thought. Notes flittered past him, and the crowd was mingled with heroes and commoners looking for help. One note caught his eye, written on a very nice piece of parchment.

The note read: heading into the wild. Destination will not be revealed until underway. Looking for useful man to manage pack-team, and stand the last watch. All interested parties appear at Holloway Inn two days after the Spring Festival. Morgo chuckled, and was going to accept. He didn't really know why he would be willing to offer his help, that wasn't like him. 'I'll see what I can do,' he thought.

It was the second day after the Spring Festival, and made his way out towards the Holloway inn. It wasn't very crowded. Morgo was unable to tell were the man was, so Morgo yelled, "WHO POSTED ON THE QUEST POST! NOW!" he demanded.

Terebenior blanched, for into the Inn, had enterred the most blood-thirsty looking creature he'd ever seen.
He approached the creature, and held its gaze to try and see what it thought of him.
"I did." He said.

(sorry Morgo I had to dash from the computer for a bit there.)

The creature sized him up, but, to Terebeniors' surprise, it did not appear to make any judgments about him as yet. "Can I buy you an ale? I still have some money left, for about another days delay. Do you like ale?"

They were shown to a table, and the creature was unspeaking, but a keen light was in its eyes. It might be savage, it could even be evil; but it was intelligent. Very intelligent. Terebenior realised that this could be the ideal companion, bound together only out of mutual benefit, with no further complication.

The patrons of the inn gradually relaxed, and Terebenior noticed, the creature did too. It clearly bothered him that others were so terrified of him. "I'm heading into a territory I have never actually travelled in. There was once a stronghold of men, that guarded the passes out of the Dark Land. There is an heirloom there, of my family, that I will attempt to recover. A small thing, a ring, that was left behind. It has no power, nor any value beyond what my family places on it. But I must fetch it, if I am to become a man."
He looked at the beast; still unsure of what the many thoughts might be, that worked within the eyes. Its expressions were unfamiliar to Terebenior. He couldn't tell if it liked him, or couldn't care less. If it was interested, or not; or if it just didn't like to be rushed, and was thinking things through.

In the corner, a huge farmer, wobbled out of his seat, and began warbling an old song, one that everyone joined into. Soon the inn was aloud with voices, and they began dancing a folk-song, joining arms and dancing in circles. But Terebenior fought with himself to continue watching the beast, waiting to see what it might choose to say or do.

"Can I buy you an ale? I still have some money left, for about another days delay. Do you like ale? I'm heading into a territory I have never actually travelled in. There was once a stronghold of men, that guarded the passes out of the Dark Land. There is an heirloom there, of my family, that I will attempt to recover. A small thing, a ring, that was left behind. It has no power, nor any value beyond what my family places on it. But I must fetch it, if I am to become a man." Morgo chuckled upon him saying this, finding humor in his words. Morgo highly disregarded law and order.


Morgo grunted in annoyance as a fat farmer began to sing. "SHUT UP YOU LARD!" he roared,"I'LL RIP YOUR ARMS OFF!" he warned. All the patrons stopped, and a eerie silence proceeded. Morgo sighed in approval, and then looked back at his employer.

Morgo chuckled, and then replied to the man, "Do not get me a drink, its poison. You don't need approval to become a man. If accept such idiotic traditions, you are a fool. Morgo Domanu, Grand Slaughterer of the Chaotic Gladiators, at your service. Stupid laws and traditions are nothing but a burden. I will help you, though. Well, under one condition. This 'stronghold of men', I'm assuming is occupied by a hostile force, or perhaps the way to it is dangerous. My question is, will there be any killing? I would very much like to kill something along the journey, or might might be tempted to kill you," he said coldly, looking directly to the man.

A few eavesdroppers gasped at the orcs vicious statement. Morgo perked up upon hearing these gasps, and the people went off back to their drinks.

Terebenior flinched internally.
However, he found himself capable of holding the beasts eyes. There was an honesty there. Albeit an honesty of a very different kind to that of men, but a straightforwardness that made the beast irrefutably honest.
"Yes, there will be danger, and I expect fighting; but there is one important thing. We must not be discovered. If we fight, it is without a sound, and when we have passed, we must not be tracked. I have not yet fought alongside you, perhaps this is your greatest skill, but I must confirm you can do this."
Terebenior looked into the unreadable face again.

A hand appeared on the vast shoulder of Morgo.
"Morgo, Morgo is that you? Yes it has to be. My dear old Morgo. How are you? No cheerier, by the looks, but you look a damn sight stronger than I've ever seen you. You must have been eating well then aye?"

The bantering mercenary helped himself to the ale that had been bought for Morgo. "You should lay off this stuff young-one." He winked at Terebenior. "Poisonous, this stuff." He downed it in one. "Aint that right me old Morgo?"
"So, gents?" He leant on an elbow. "What brings you two into my old regular?"