So far, the day was not shaping up at all well.

It had started out rather promisingly. Taryn, who had been hard at work for most of the night, had been given a task of ‘vital importance’ by the Port Master. The task of ‘vital importance’ had turned out to be a visit to one of the city manor houses, to collect an item of great value from one of the nobles and to catalogue it, receipt it and return it to the docks.

“Your delivery point is pier fourteen,” the young mage had been informed. “Contact is a man called Zekhen. Khaldun Zekhen. Very important job, Pallerion. See it right and I will increase your week’s salary.”

The young mage had crossed the city to the manor house where he’d been greeted by a delightful young lady whose name was, he determined, Thrianna. Thrianna was the daughter of the noble for whom Taryn was performing the catalogue service and he spent a very pleasant fifteen minutes flirting with her before her father found time to see him.

“Lord Anstrom, may I say what a charming daughter you have?” Taryn had been all manners and politeness when the noble had entered the drawing room. Thrianna had blushed prettily. This handsome, charming, fair-haired young man had been a rare distraction to her boring days and she had thoroughly enjoyed the flirting. Taryn had also enjoyed the rare opportunity to exercise his social skills.

“Indeed,” Anstrom had retorted. “ A charming daughter who is betrothed to be married in less than a month’s time, may I add.”

Thrianna had fled the room, cheeks aflame. Anstrom had indicated to the young man that he should sit down.

“I understand you are here to fetch my chattels for shipping. Understand this, boy. The object in question is a family heirloom and it is only with true regret that I put it into the hands of the Port Authority. It needs to be sent to my daughter’s future husband as the larger part of her dowry. Accursed politics. If it were my choice, all I’d be sending him would be an assassin’s bolt through the chest…giving me all this unnecessary paperwork to deal with…I’m a merchant, not a scribe…” He waved a handful of Port papers irritably.

“Indeed, sir,” said Taryn, smoothly interrupting the noble’s diatribe. “You can rest assured that all the incidentals will not bother you. All I ask is that you give me a few moments to fill in the paperwork and ensure the item is securely packed – and perhaps a goblet of water to quench my thirst – and you need never worry about it.”

“Perhaps,” grunted Anstrom, still grumpy but his attitude softened by this pleasant young man’s approach. “I will leave you to your work then. I will send Thrianna in with a goblet of water, as you requested, but I suggest you do not try out your flattery on her. Her husband-to-be is a most jealous man.”

“I understand.”

Oh, yes, Taryn understood jealousy. He understood it very well.

The ‘family heirloom’ turned out to be an almost disappointingly small golden chalice. However, as Taryn turned it over in his hands, he was impressed at the weight of it, at the glint of the rubies which winked red in its depths and at the inscription which put it at several hundred years old. Elvish by design, he suspected, recalling some of the things he had learned in those heady school days. And that made it two things. It made it extremely rare – and it made it extraordinarily valuable.

When Thrianna arrived with the goblet, it took only a sweet smile and a whispered word of appreciation to get her to take it away and replace it with one filled with some of Anstrom’s finest claret. As Taryn sipped appreciatively on the drink, he filled the paperwork in his neat handwriting.

Once complete, he packaged the chalice into the appropriate box, applied the seal of the Port Authority and attached a secure lock to it. Now it had to be transported to pier fourteen and to this man, Zekhen.

”Get the goods to the pier by noon, Taryn. No later.”

An easy enough task.

Taryn reflected on those four words now as he lay in the alleyway, consciousness having just returned to him. The attack, when it had come, had come swiftly, maliciously, and most embarrassingly, in broad daylight. The young man had been grabbed from behind and had almost immediately been rendered unconscious by a harsh blow to the temple from the hilt - small mercies – of a weapon. He had dropped unconscious to the ground and by the time he had woken, his assailants were long gone and a crowd had gathered around him.

Getting to his feet, Taryn was vaguely aware of the taste of blood in his mouth from the wound on his head that dripped blood slowly down his face. He put his hand up and it came away stained red.

“Do you be needin’ help, sir?” A young woman, plump and pretty in her concern reached out a hand to him to steady him as he wavered slightly.

“What? No…yes...no…oh, Gods…No, thank you, I’ll be fine.”

Taryn stumbled a few feet to the left and bumped into one of the other passers-by.

“Sorry…need to…”

Bump.

“Oh, please excuse me, I didn’t mean…”

Bump.

Somehow, the dazed and wounded young man found his way out of the alleyway. He was less than five minutes from the Port Authority building, less than three from pier fourteen.

Whichever one he went to, he would have some explaining to do.

Not that he had any idea what had actually happened – or who had made it happen.

Thus it was that Taryn stumbled unsteadily down pier fourteen, his green eyes dazed and unfocused, looking for all the world from a distance like he had been drinking too much of Anstrom’s fine claret.

He stopped in front of the first person he encountered on the pier. “I’m looking for Zekhard…Kharzen…damn it!” Taryn gently rapped the side of his head to get himself to focus.

The young mage took a few calming breaths.

“Khaldun Zekhen,” he got out, finally, then added, for good measure, “I’m afraid it’s a bit of an emergency.”

The crowded streets, the never ending noise, people of all kinds and races trying to give the strike of their life and get rich… and the buildings, they were like nowhere else. It was Lomedor, the greatest and the most impressive town of Arda.

It’s been too many years since Zekhen has last been there, for some reason he forsook the place, and any memories related to it has been cast into the depths of his mind. But circumstances have brought him back, not for pleasure, but for sheer business, it was his time to make a name of himself and earn his existence. His destination was Port Adune, he in charge with the safety of every item ready to be shipped to other destinations, if thugs were the problem, he needed to annihilate them.

But before getting there, the desert-born elf went to visit an old house, it belonged to a blacksmith, a simple man who allowed Zekhen to stay with him and his son for a while. He never got a chance to thank him, and for some reason he blamed the death of the blacksmith’s son on himself, it seemed that after all the ‘outsider’ was a bad omen, he brought only pain and grief in the Findel family. It happened a long time ago, when he was still young and naïve, they both thirsted for adventure, but nature turned against them and they were attacked by a large pack of felines, the man died, and Zekhen barely managed to survive.

Finally in the pier fourteen, Zekhen introduced himself and took his job as a supervisor and guard to all the treasures ready to be loaded on that ship. He was a strange appearance in the town wearing strange, billowy clothes, seemingly from other places. His face was tanned and his grey eyes spied like those of an eagle, a curved sword hung at his side, a scimitar, one with the ability to detect magic would sense that the weapon was not mundane. Since morning the sailors started to load the large vessel, everything went through the strange elf first, before being set on their place. He had a large scroll in his left hand, and a quill in his other, taking notes and checking each item in turn.

Everything seemed to work just perfect until some cried out for help. “Thief, thief… somebody stop him.” The voice was fading, but it was enough to pick up Zekhen’s senses. From afar he could see someone running with a box under his arm. The thief somehow managed to get out of the ship and avoid the guards as well.

“Bring me my horse!” The elf’s voice demanded, he was an imposing presence, he never liked the fact that he had to let his horse in one of the stables established on that pier, for some reason the horse was the most useful trick he had, and now he was losing time while the horse was being brought to him. It didn’t last long though, but enough for the thief to depart. He mounted quickly, and heeled his horse in the sides. “Go, Iye!” Iye was a powerful horse, trained for battle, and it hailed from the same place as its master. “Everything will be set on hold until I return.” Those being his last orders. It was his job to ensure that that the shipment will not be jeopardized. Few minutes have passed and he returned with the thief, but to his everyone’s amazement he had no items in his possession, it was either hidden somewhere or given to another accomplice. The only way to find out was through interrogation, so he was handed over to the authorities. A heroic act perhaps? No, nobody saw it like that.

Meanwhile at the pier, his name was called out by someone from the crowd, and in response he said:
“I’m Zekhen, who’s asking and why? I hope it is important, as you can all see we are in a little delicate situation.”

Some of the recent rumors were after all true: a band of thugs was terrorizing the nobles of the land, stealing some of their most prized possessions. The vessel probably looked like the strike of their life.

((OOC: sorry, I am a little rusty))

"You're Zekhen?" The young man, who up close was visibly wounded and very obviously decidedly dazed, turned a pair of startlingly green and very clearly unfocused eyes on the elf. A look of relief came into his expression.

On first impressions, Taryn always gave the impression of a man some five years younger than he actually was. A pleasant, clean-shaven, honest face - a handsome face, that was true, although it was presently somewhat marred by the open cut that was still oozing blood down his face. Light brown, almost blond hair framed his face, drawn back in a short ponytail that was probably usually fairly neat, but was right now dishevelled and untidy. He was tall, a little over six feet in height, and had a slender build. He wore a set of dark navy robes with the Port Authority's crest emblazoned on the breast.

And right now, he cut a very sorry figure indeed, swaying as he was from side to side. Whoever had hit him had hit him hard.

"I'm Taryanderon Pallerion," said the youth, turning his attentions fully to the elf. His senses were slowly returning to him and with them, awareness of the pain in his head. But he kept his composure as much as he could. "I was sent to the house of Lord Anstrom this morning to fetch a parcel to be returned to you for shipping. Alas, I was accosted en route - as I suspect you may have noticed by the fact that there is blood everywhere."

He hesitated and sat down, right there, on the pier, causing a very definite obstruction, but knowing that if he hadn't sat down, any second now, he would fall down. He buried his head in his hands for a few moments, struggling to get himself pulled together. The years of training kicked in, and after a minute or two, the young mage managed to get a grip on both the pain and the situation.

"I needed to report the theft. I would have gone to the Port Authority, but you were closer." He reached round and rubbed at the back of his neck anxiously. "I will, of course, do whatever I can to ensure the return of the item, but I'm afraid I can't give you a description."

He looked up at Zekhen and for a moment, fire burned in his eyes. "They attacked me from behind, the damn cowards."

In that moment, it became evident that this boy had a very definite core of strength. His undisguised fury at having been attacked and the fact that he was truthful and honest about what had happened spoke volumes about his moral code.

"They could be anywhere by now," he added. "I'm not sure how long I was unconscious for, but it could only have been a few minutes at most." He gave a description of where he'd been when the attackers had struck. "From what I've learned of this city in my time here, they'd likely have headed away from the Port rather than closer to it...damn, that smarts."

He had put a hand to the wound on his head again.

One of the men on the pier had fetched a damp cloth and came over to clean the wound on the young mage's head. He resisted attempts to help at first, then gave into it and let them wipe away the blood to reveal a jagged cut on his head. The blow had fallen just short of his temple, a fact that he thanked his lucky stars for.

"They're useless shots, whoever they were," he said, getting slowly to his feet. "But the Gods help them when I get my hands on them..."

He looked up at Zekhen. "So...ah...that's why I've arrived here empty handed. Bit of a convoluted explanation, I apologise, but I wondered whether you might be able to spare one of your men with one of those marvellously sharp swords to help me find those sons of mullets and skewer them? Not terribly good with a sword myself, unfortunately."

And the charm was back, headache or not.

Zekhen was surprised by the appearance of the young man, fancily dressed in dark navy robes, he seemed to be working for the authorities, and if so, why would he come to him, did he do something wrong, or the man was there to take the custody over the recently captured thief. But no, something was weird, the man was wounded and could barely focus his eyes. He reported that an item was stolen from him while he was supposed to deliver it to the ship, it seemed almost true and ironic that the bad news never ever come alone.

A soft sigh escaped past the elf’s thin lips as he continued to listen to the youth. “This is turning into a disaster!” He shook his head a couple of items while the man sat down, anger and disappointment was slowly starting to fill his eyes, yet he done his best not to exteriorize those feelings. He needed his head to be clear, so he could work a plan of sorts, anything which will retrieve the stolen items and deal once and for all with the band of thieves, as many or as few as they were.

“But I’m afraid you are giving me too much credit.” He continued. “I am not your superior, and those are not my men, my own stupidity pushed me into the situation to accept the job as a guard of this vessel and its items, and I am sort of forced into this small, how should I call it… ‘erand’ of annihilating those thieves, even if that means risking my life.” Indeed. He was a man of hire, a mercenary of sorts, lords usually preferred him because he never abandoned a job, and brought it to completion with a strong sense of duty. On the other hand, he was a little hard to deal with, similar to the desert from which he hails from, he is tough and rough, seldom or never showing any glimpse of friendship towards another. That privilege was only reserved to his horse and the desert, at least for the time being.

By the time, the young man finished his words, Zekhen dismounted his horse and held it closely by the reins, he was in a deep thought, it seemed that the only way to bring back that item was by going after it himself.

“I’ll go, he said, and you will follow. Perhaps sooner or later you will be able to identify the thief, and more important the item. I have a feeling that these attacks are not random, and someone with a personal agenda is either trying to endanger the whole operation or get rich over night. I assume you are from around here, so let us make haste and investigate the recent rumors, you know them better than me, so if you will, I would like you to share your thoughts with me while on our way there.” His hopes were probably too high, and for a moment he failed to notice that the young man was injured pretty badly, he was unable to maintain his balance, and sat down, helped by another man to clean his wounds. “But, are you sure you can undergo this mission?”

His right hand traveled slowly along the mane of the stallion, as it was waiting faithfully at its master side, it was an intelligent animal and knew that another challenge was waiting ahead of them. Moreover, a band of thugs shouldn’t consist in too much of a problem for the desert elf, not only that he viciously swung the infernal scimitar, but he was even a better shooter with his longbow, hitting their targets while galloping on the back of his horse. The speed he had and the strange clothes he wore made him often look like a mirage, white could be an awfully painful color for the eye.

Taryn accepted the washcloth from the man who had cleansed his wound and cleaned the worst of the blood from his hands. The blood had ceased pulsing from the injury now and, as with most head wounds, it was evident that the wound had bled far more than was right or natural. Evidently the young man, somewhat foppish though his manner may have been, was tougher than he looked.

This was, of course, the case. Taryn had had to cope with far worse magically-sustained injuries during his training and there had even been one memorable occasion when he had literally hopped through the Hall of Trials on one foot, the other ankle having been broken during a confrontation. He had a tenacious streak a mile wide.

"Disaster does not even begin to cover it, Zekhen - may I call you that? Please forgive any over formality. Goodness me, I haven't even introduced myself properly, where are my manners?"

A genuine smile touched the young man's lips.

"I got as far as the Taryanderon Pallerion bit, I recall. An over-grand name for a simple soul, I appreciate this and thus, to simplify, most folk just call me Taryn. I am presently in the employ of the Port Authority..." Taryn gestured at the crest on his robes, "and they sent me on this errand this morning."

He listened to Zekhen's softly spoken words, impressed at the man's bearing. Taryn was deeply ashamed of the way this situation had turned out, but had the ability to look at it ojectively. There would have been no way he could have defended himself against a sneak attack. On top of that, his limited experience with offensive magic meant that he would have stood little chance of reacting swiftly enough to have prevented it.

"I am perfectly able to come with you," he said, confidently, and indeed, his eyes certainly seemed to be swimming back into focus. "If you could give me a few moments, I could do my best to recall anything I heard behind me in those seconds before the attack - accents that stood out, anything like that."

He leaned into Zekhen and said in a conspiratorial whisper: "Port Authority errand monkey is just my secondary role. I'm a mage. I have good recall of such things." He tapped his nose. "But in order to do so, I need a moment or two to concentrate. I appreciate that time is of the essence, but if you could let me do this one thing, I may be able to provide a clue to who we're looking for."

He hesitated.

"It's the least I can do. And...well, to be honest with you, I'd rather die horribly chasing down these felons than die at the end of a tongue lashing from my employer if you know what I mean. So I can do this one thing for you if you are prepared to wait a moment or two longer - or I can catch up to you."

His manner was confident, his tone easy - but in his eyes were the most dangerous qualities any man could possess.

The enthusiasm and eagerness of the inexperienced.

Pleased at the man’s reaction, Zekhen stifled a satisfactory look on his face and shook his head ever so softly, continuing to listen to him. He could not blame him for losing the item, but he could not congratulate him either, his feelings towards this man were a mixture of things. The man introduced himself as Taryn, his full name being a little too hard to be remembered and reproduced, not upon a first introduction anyway. “Taryn…” He repeated the name. “And yes, you may call me Zekhen.” He realized that despite the lack of experience, Taryn could consist in a powerful ally thanks to the information he could possess or gather before they went after the thieves. So far so good, the planning went right, but the elf did hope that Taryn will not get in his way or get into much trouble once they will have to face the problem itself.

Zekhen talked when he had to talk and listened when he had to listen, and now he was listening and scanning Taryn, trying to figure out what kind of man he was. For sure he had a lot of charisma and knew how to play with words, it was almost certain that he was not a warrior judging that there were no weapons in his possession and the way his body was built. Though, why anyone like him would work for the Port authorities. The answer to his curiosities soon came, as Taryn leaned towards him, confessing that he was in fact a mage.

“Then so be it, you go look for the information we need, and I will meet you at the gates in no more-no less than an hour, if you will not appear I will go alone, and do pray that I will never return.” A smirk flashed on his face, and he turned around, his cloak moved behind him wildly, trained by the breeze of the ocean.
Zekhen grabbed the saddle of his horse with both of his hands and lifted himself on its back.

“Meanwhile, I have a few things to take care of, don’t forget, you have one hour. I will be at the gates. I will try to find anything useful myself. Come prepared!” The last words seemed to fade slowly as he turned his horse on place almost without a warning. He instructed another man to continue with the supervision of the items and handed the scroll and the quill to him. With that being done he drifted off into the distance, going to make a small investigation of his own, his first objective was to have a meeting with the recently captured thief, he will try to make him talk.