((OOC: This is Tom Jones' first topic! Yay! ))

So many stories begin with a dark and stormy night. Ironic, isn't it? Most would think it was a prophecy of things to come. It usually is. The difference between this story, and everyone else's, is that the storm hasn't arrived. It's visible on the horizon. And dusk is slowly setting in.

People, going this way and that through the streets. Preparing for the impending threat, getting supplies should it last more than one night. Always bustling about, always forgetful of what they were put on this ground for. Foolish, but it was impossible not to forgive them. They were misled, the majority of them. And while Tom himself did not find that fact very agreeable, there was little he did about it. Because he knew that there was little to be done.

Tom knew quite well, that even though the people had heroes, and villains, they were never truly grateful. Only grateful in so much as was considered formally polite. There were a few exceptions, but thats just what they were. Exceptions to the rule.

The silent shade stood, leaning on his staff. A sturdy staff, made of live oak with steel reinforcements along the length of it. It had seen it's fair share of days, just as Tom himself had. He died near 50 years old, which wasn't so bad. The life expectancy in his day was about 65, so either way he figured he was near his expiration date. Tom smiled a little. He made a funny.

Standing in the morose black cast by the absence of light, where a shop front blocked the falling sun, the shade's two eyes would occasionally glimmer. They betrayed his position, but nobody really payed attention. The citizens of Lomedor were used to that sort of thing, and generally learned to mind their own business when it came to odd looking things in dark places. Tom shook his head slowly. Even though he couldn't see anymore, he knew well the goings on. The shade still had his sense of hearing, most of his sense of touch, and his sense of smell.

Lately, Tom had heard talk of a sixth sense. The ability to see without seeing. Tom wanted that, and badly. It required discipline, and some were doomed never to be able to unlock it. He lowered his head at that thought. What was the use, if he wasn't even sure it would work?

A disturbance. There was some bickering at a shop stall as a haggler and a merchant were going at it, to the bitter end. "Dat dar is a sheisty item im tellin ya! I won't be payin no 20 gold for sum damned peice o shat such as at! Why cant I be haven the othar one fer that same weight?"

The haggler didn't think the item was good enough quality for the price. What sort of item it was, Tom knew not. But the man's annoyance piqued Tom's curiosity. He listened more intently. "Well sir, I don't know what to tell you. If you don't like it, then don't buy it! Nobody is making you buy the thing."

A well thought out and logical response. Was this haggler just being a trouble maker? Perhaps. Tom moved in closer, slowly walking through the shadows until there was none left. He hesitated for a moment, and then stepped out. Tom Jones became visible. Both of the men noticed him, and saw that he had a cloth around where his eyes should be. A blind man, just wandering around, they supposed. The two carried on in their struggle.

"Look sir, I need to close shop. Do you want the dagger or not?"

There was a pause. Then Tom heard some scuffling. "The point wuld be good fer givin ya a knew breathin hole ya greedy bastid!" the haggler shouted. More scuffling. What Tom didn't see, he guessed pretty well. The haggler was trying to stab the merchant with his own dagger. Was this man crazy?

Honing in on the sound, Tom quickly moved in. His near weightlessnes afforded him great agility. Tom Jones stood inbetween the pair. "Calm down. Put the dagger down and walk away." said Tom. His voice was soothing but firm. A strong tenor tone that permeated the ambiance well, but wasn't raucous.

"Dunt be buttin in, ye eyeless freak!" retialited the haggler. Tom shook his head.

"Normally I don't get involved, but I really think you don't have a right to treat my freind this way. Go find a different weapon."

Another pause. The haggler was a troublemaker, likely drunk. Tom smelled ale. He gripped his staff slightly tighter than normal. Just then, a light voice in the back of his head shouted "Lookout!"

Reacting swiftly and with resolve, Tom lifted his staff abreast and the sound of metal impacting wood resounded with a dull 'thunk'. Breathing in, Tom pivoted his arms hard and the staff impacted the side of the haggler's head, knocking him out clean.

"Thank you so much sir, I thought he would never leave! That man has been bugging me for days!" said the merchant, excited that someone had finally given the drunk what-for. "It's nothing."

"Whats your name, good sir?"

"Tom Jones." he replied, and began walking back to the shadows...

Winter stared at the ground between her feet, her mind wandering in and out of focus. She was sat on an old worn bench somewhere near the center of Lómëdor and to be honest she needed a good rest. Her Priestess of order and half-alloy dragon, Shari stood beside her, looking up and down the street. Normally Shari would be making a slightly humerus comment right about now, however she'd noted Winter's suddenly more serious attitude since losing the ability to see from her right eye and to use any magic powers. She glanced over at the arctic angel occasionally, a look of concern in her eyes.
"Are you worried?" She asked.

"About what?" Winter replied without looking up.
"Everything," Shari continued, looking away again "It's not just what you're going through, Sartana has vanished and Merenwen has been made the new head of the Bureau and will be choosing a new second in command soon..." Winter gave a slight reaction to the name 'Merenwen' but aside from that made no other indication of hearing the comment "...And the rumors of this dark guild." Shari finished.
"Rumors are rumors," Winter commented, standing up "And I have no interest in Sartana's affairs, he is not my concern."

Shari frowned and walked away, she knew Winter well enough to know when she needed some time alone to herself and so made herself scarce, vanishing into the crowd. Winter raised a pale hand, trying to see it through her blind eye but having no such success, it seemed the only way she would ever be able to see out of it was to release the seal she'd placed on it, but that would also result in unleashing the powers she would rather remained hidden. She heaved and sight and gave up, moving off in the opposite direction to Shari and moving towards the square. It looked pretty late and some of the market stalls set up around the place were beginning to close, however there were a few shops left open.
"Scuse' me ma'am," a jolly looking salesman called over to her "Interested in any of my goods?"

Strictly speaking Winter had no interest in anything sold in the market, but took a glance at the man's display anyway, scanning them with a cold look. The man's jewelry seemed to be made mostly of diamonds and gold, and Winter noted a black stone set into one of the rings.
"4 half crowns for that miss," the man said, assuming Winter had an interest in the ring.
"Would it be any different for you if I didn't buy it?" Winter asked, coldly.
"It'll make me richer," the man replied, jokily.
"Then kindly wallow in your own greed without my help," Winter replied, staring the man straight in the eye.
The salesman shivered slightly, as though the temperature around him had just dropped just from the cold stare of the arctic angel.

Winter moved away through the crowd again, noticing a small commotion near one of the other stalls.
Typical,
The incident ended quickly and the shady looking figure moved away, more or less in Winter's direction. Even from here Winter could tell he was blind, but judging by what he's just pulled off it didn't seem a problem for him. Drunkards always got what they deserved, especially when it was delivered by handicapped individuals.

Tom decided it best to begin the search for an inn or some other sort of shelter. Checking his robes, he found that he had somewhere around twenty crowns. Each gold piece was scratched, bent, or marred in some way. Gold was a soft and malleable metal, and, were it not for it's attractiveness would likely be considered worthless. The shade did not consider it valuable to himself, but knew well the power it held over others. This simple mineral could be used to acquire and accomplish all sorts of things.

In his own personal tastes, Tom favored Mithril the best. Rare, yet not vain in appearance, the metal was light but arguably the strongest material ever found. It's only possible rival was Adamantium, which was nearly as strong but more abundant. However, it was about as weighty as iron or steel. Balance in all things.

Making his way at a nominal pace across the cobble stone, Tom heard the slight whispers and hushed voices of a conversation. Two people seated near where Tom supposed there would be a group of benches or stools. People tended to gather there, and talk. He wasn't always blind, and could remember with decent detail the layout of Lomedor square.


The shade used his staff to feel the path ahead of him on the stonework. Tapping lightly here and there with a constant pace, the man made his way across while searching for obstacles. A die hard merchant, out to get the last of the stragglers in the square, could be heard peddling to a young but seemingly annoyed woman.

"Scuse' me ma'am, interested in any of my goods?"

The voice was that of a slightly older man, but jovial and friendly nonetheless. Tom felt sincerity in his voice, and did not think that he meant to rip off anyone. There was a pause, and Tom surmised that the merchant had succeeded in attracting his target. The sound of his staff tapping on the stones was the only constant for a moment.

"4 half crowns for that miss..."

"Would it be any different for you if I didn't buy it?"

Someone was having a rough day. She must have a sore shoulder from all the grandstanding... Tom thought to himself. Poor man, I hope she doesn't route him to hard.

"It'll make me richer," he parried. Wonderfully done, and Tom smiled.
"Then kindly wallow in your own greed without my help,"

Nothing. It was almost as if the woman had cut out his tongue. The sentence made Tom feel cold inside. As if already being dead wasn't cold enough. He wanted to meet this person, but felt as though he would merely suffer the same fate.

A person was in front of him. Who was it? Was it that woman? Whoever it was, he could hear their light breaths as they stood nearby. In front of him? Tom sensed a slight stress in the air, as though someone nearby was bothered over something.

Tom tentatively poked around with his staff. Maybe he would be able to turn the tables on this ice queen, and make her to be a fool for a brief moment. Tom laughed on the inside. A hero one moment, then a child the next. Making carefull steps forward, the shade tried to locate the nearby person. The breathing was too light to pinpoint. Often, he lost it.

There! The staff found purchase in someone's foot. It was not as if he had prodded, but it did rest lightly on whomever's foot it was. Tom played the unknowing blind man bit.

"Is someone there?"

Marcus's boots were covered with debris and dirt as he crossed the trail leading to Lómëdor Square. He stood eye closed craning his neck to the sky, the sun baked down upon him with a warming tenderness. He enjoyed the lapse in his walk as he felt the painful tension in his legs ease. Reaching back to touch the nape of his neck Marcus sharply retracted his hand upon his shoulders sweeping the sweat from his body. His breath came in sharp painful gasps, like the ragged ambience of the sea. Reaching down into a pouch he withdrew a small flask. Taking sip of its contents a cool honey textured liquid fell on his pallet, sending a sharp warm burn down his throat. Lowering his gaze toward the valley of buildings and merchants Marcus let out a sigh.

As he replaced the flask into one of his pouches Marcus noticed the strain on his arms as he reached down toward his left side. Taking a closer look he could see a large hole in his shirt. The edges were ragged and frayed, letting out another sigh Marcus spoke a curse at his misfortune. Now he could no longer bypass the town of Lómëdor. His boots set deep within the dirt leaving an impression as he waited for the energy to continue. As if it were preordained a cooling gentle breeze rushed past Marcus ushering him forward. Lifting his leg with an audible groan Marcus took stride once again, slow but steady he walked toward the crowded streets. Ignoring the clench of his stomach Marcus forced his way through the active city. He felt a constant strike upon his shoulders and legs has he wedged his way against the traffic flow toward an ornately carved building. A tattered old sign hung from the door, though red in color Marcus had a hard time discerning its legibility.

With the ache in his stomach growing stronger Marcus with a weary groan pushed and shoved his way toward the inn. Marcus looked up as the building grew and became more detailed, he could almost read the sign. He unconsciously reached down to his side, feeling for his purse. Panic and rage shot through Marcus he could not feel the familiar leather against his palm. Whirling around Marcus scanned the streets; unable to differentiate one creature from another in this sea of greed Marcus retraced his steps. His breath grew sharp and came in painful gasps. Forcing his way through the crowd he followed the current of peasants.

Soon enough exhaustion set in, Marcus looked around to see nothing of familiar origin. The current washed him along the streets with a fury as each person or creature set out for the morning shifts. With a sharp shove Marcus was surprised to see that he was expelled from the wave and onto the doorstep of yet another old building. Another sign green in color hung limply from a termite infested handle. A chilling realization washed over Marcus as he looked out; before him stood an undersized child within the current, untouched by the gathering storm. Drawing his attention away from his current problems Marcus noticed the child's stunning innocence on its dirt covered face. Wearing frayed clothing much like him; Marcus felt a surge of sympathy overwhelm him. The child turned to face him exposing the contents of his hand. An oddly familiar patch of leather was intertwined in his fingers. Letting out a roar Marcus bellowed to the child to stop. He looked helplessly as the kid took flight back into the sea of people. In desperation Marcus overcome by exhaustion and with a surge of adrenaline tumbled off after the boy.

Completely consumed by the desire to retrieve his belongings Marcus failed to notice the nature of the situation. Surging forward Marcus felt a sharp thud to his right. Whirling his head around blindly Marcus saw nothing more than faint blurs and colors. His eyes twisted around without regard for their master's commands. Regaining control Marcus noticed the ground was drawing nearer. Scrambling over Marcus pushed out his arms in an attempt to brace him for the fall. He looked beyond the blurs and colors to see nothing more than a blotched cloth covering a man's eyes.

Thomas heard a sharp intake of breath. A surprisal. Did the person not see him coming? Maybe he got the wrong person? This was not good. Not a half second after the gasp, a sharp thud resounded in the air followed by a tumble. Tom realized that he had tripped someone near him! Of all the rotten luck, first blindness and disfiguration, then being attacked by drunks, and now people are tripping over his staff?

It was very near a mockery of his own blindness. How could one not notice the shade? His flowing black and crimson robes, his bald head and partially burnt face were dead ringers in a crowd. Not to mention that he had a black cloth tied around where his eyes would be.

Tom was torn between laughter at the comedy of the situation, annoyance at the foolishness, and guilt for having tripped someone. It was expressed as this:

"Oh gods, I am- chk... ha ha heh heh HA HA HA! Oh! Sorry! I am so sorry! Really I am! please pardon me sir, I am but a blind wanderer. Is there anything I can do to help you?" he asked. Tom began poking around with his staff to search for the person. "Where might you be so I can give you my hand?"

The shade sighed inwardly. Things would be so much easier if he was an intangible spirit, but no. Some God decided they would have their way with ol' Tom Jones. Yes, lets let him be a restless ghost, but make him a tangible ghost! That way, when he is walking through Lomedor Square, people will trip on him!

How fitting a fate, since Tom preferred to be as inconspicuous as possible. He sighed inwardly. What a stupid thing to happen upon him.

((OOC: Ack! Horribly short post, I do apologize. ))

Winter passed by the blind man without a second thought, he wasn't the reason she was here after all and so he held little importance. Of course she didn't actually have any reasons for going anywhere at the moment, she wasn't a very ambitious person compared to your average fighter, a lot of people wouldn't even call her a fighter due to her partial pacifism and tendency to preserve life. The half angel paused, wondering if the blind man was attempting to move over to where she was. It wasn't likely should he be a normal person, however Winter had witnessed him drive off a drunk with nothing but a staff, she supposed that took skill, and he was likely attempting a subtle approach.

She was about to turn around to face the man but the sound of hurried footsteps caught her ears, followed by the sound of tumbling. Winter turned around to see what had happened. From what she could see a man had just tripped over the blind's staff as he crossed the street. A few other heads had turned to see the commotion but they showed little interest. Winter's eyes narrowed, suspecting that the blind man might have been attempting to come into contact with her over the man on the ground.

Neither of the pair appeared in best condition, the man on the ground for a start had just been tripped up, whether or not that was to blame for his tatty appearance she didn't know, the blind man on the other hand seemed to be holding back a fit of hysterics before poking around to try and find something. Winter viewed this proceedings with a slightly bored expression, she could not tell if the man was acting or if he really did act like this compared to his performance earlier. The arctic angel sighed heavily and moved over to the pair, half regretting her decision.

Marcus' flesh pressed hard on the ground, dirt and small rocks stuck to his face with vigor. Opening his eyes in shock of the extreme pain jolting through his arm he began to fidget. Marcus pushed his hands around over the cobblestone street searching for a handhold. Having found one underneath his own stomach Marcus forced out a shove. Veins on his neck began to pulse as he strained to rise off the ground. His silver armor covered in a light dust. As he pulled his legs underneath him, Marcus felt a pang to his left. His sword Celestial Justice jabbed away at his side in the awkward position.

Slowly he turned his head upright only to see the blaring sun bake down on his face in his embarrassment. It flared with a new found light as he rose as if the Sartana’s memory itself were mocking him. With a gruff expression Marcus cursed under his breath, pushing hard on the ground he managed to regain his posture. Standing now at absolute height the Holy Knight's splendor was in full view. His silver cuirass shone in the morning sun with a silver brilliance. The tight links of his mail clung to him as the debris fell from his tall stature, as if it where the skin of scales and gems he held so tightly under his disguise. Both his holy blades now finally resting correctly upon his hips shone with a royal sublime color.

Marcus' face contorted as the stark realization of the situation came rushing back. Now without money or dignity he would be doomed to walk all the way from the Village of Estolad to the very edge of the sea once more. Remembrance struck Marcus as he began to understand the dire nature of his quest. With the passing of the silver moon Marcus had been within the halls of an inn. Estolad held many stories none of which were to be taken seriously however one rumor peeked Marcus' interest. He could recall the event clear as the blue sky that hung over him now.
An old tattered bartender stood in front of his, a year's worth of ale stuck out from his torso in the form of a belly. Hair covered most of this man and short stubble rested upon his chin further evidence of his disgusting nature. Normally Marcus' would cringe at such a poor example of hygiene, but the man's eyes portrayed him better than his appearance. Within the depths of his soul it was obvious that through these portals, the barkeep was a simple but honest man. As Marcus stood in front of the oaf he softened his heart and listened to the man's story with a keen interest.
Leaning forward onto the wooden bar, the port man began his tale.
With a hearty voice he spoke to Marcus, "Aye lad I hear many a venture to come through these parts' to be frank I don't take not one worth a single crown. But lad, this ranger came through with the most horrible tale. Not far from here neigh more than a few days’ journey lays the Palanen Ocean. There in its blue wonders, is a cove. None like any yer kind be seeing, a Pirate's cove. Home to the rank, raunchy rebels that be raiding trading ships!" Pausing to take an unneeded sip of ale and split between the fits of coughing that befit an out of shape old war hero the barkeep began his tale yet again. His voice grew quieter and his eyes wandered the inn as he spun the old web. " It is what I hear in these old wooden prisons that these are no ordinary pirates...no...Outfitted to the teeth they be. Dark magics push these wretched beings forward...aye they need be cleansed if you take my meaning. With a loud belch the barman took a lighter more joyous tone in his voice. "Aye but they be only rumors."

Marcus was interested now; cleaning evil from the face of Arda had always been his duty now would be the perfect opportunity to continue. Bearing a simple long sword Marcus flipped a bright silver coin out from his leather purse. Placing it on the table and sliding it over the beer stained bar Marcus said one word."Thanks."

Turning his back to the man he could hear the frugal old bloke reaching excitedly for the coin. With a smile he exited the inn, the cold night's air hitting him square in the chest.

Marcus' mind returned to the present. His head whipped around blindly reminded that there must have been a cause for his tumble to the streets. His eyes found their target, crossing over a burnt creature. Marcus looked at the chap with an unknowing gaze. Suddenly it hit him the black stained cowl that covered his eyes. He had seen it before his fall. Looking over the man once more he noticed a slight hollow look to the being. Remembering nothing more than a few words that passed over his fallen body, Marcus turned his head and gave the mortal a queer look. Having finished surveying him Marcus spoke in a warm tone as he scratched his head. " Don't rightly know what just happened but are you alright? Looks as though I took a bit of an embarrassing tumble down the road there."

The Paladin’s silver armor shone with a rainbow of colors cast against the building in the rising sun's jubilant light.

Tom could hear the person who tripped stand up with a good deal of fuss. Whomever it was had a decent amount of armor on. All the links, plates, and latches could be heard rattling about as they stood up and gathered their bearings. What Tom couldn't see, he could imagine. Someone wearing a decent amount of armor. The shade hoped he did not anger this person. Even though he could hold his own pretty well, the knight likely had a sizable sword that his staff would not be able to deflect. This thought kept boring a small hole in the barrier that separated the back of his mind and his train of immediate thought.

The makings of a small crowd formed briefly about the pair, to discern what had happened. After seeing that a knight had tripped over a blind man's staff, a few began to wonder. Was this man a trickster, or was the knight merely clumsy?

It was neither. Just a series of events that led to a coincidence. Thats what Tom beleived. So many people were so superstitious, and allowed the silly rules to govern their lives. The shade felt free without these, and even though he did have a inclination towards the deity known as Threnody... Lately, there had been words that she flipped her lid. Had a cow.

That frightened everyone just a little bit. If she decided to up and quit for even a small amount of time, Tom knew personally what could and would happen. Coming back to the here and now, the shade heard the knight speak up to him.

" Don't rightly know what just happened but are you alright? Looks as though I took a bit of an embarrassing tumble down the road there."

Thomas couldn't look himself over to check for inury, but he felt no pain. He decided it best to play dumb, rather than outright tell the knight that he had tripped him half on purpose. "I'm good." he replied. The staff changed from right hand to left, where the arm relaxed to a degree parallel to that of his legs. The staff came off at a slight tangent, around the same diretion as his wrist and set on the ground behind his heel. Generally a safe place for a staff to be.

Tom didn't intend to trip more people. "There must have been a crooked stone there on the road." The shade spoke with a very even, complacent tone. Anyone who was angry that heard him reply would usually feel a little calmer. His mother had always taught him that a mild reply could douse a volcano.

The knight didn't sound angry, but just slightly embarrassed. The offered explanation would help him to seem less of a fool in his own eyes, hopefully.

Disappointment was the emotion that Tom felt. He could not find that cold but attractive female voice. Her light breaths disapeared in all the comotion that the dispersing crowd created. However, as the shade heard footsteps leaving, he heard a set nearing. The shade crooked his head in the direction of the sound, like a curious bird. The body language was intended to cue this person to identify themselves. Or at least announce their presence.

Winter paused once she'd reached the pair, her breathing remaining calm and almost unnoticeable. She watched the knight get to his feet, looking as though he was having some problems what with the heavy amount of armor he wore. Winter had never seen any need for armor, it was nothing but lumps of metal that slowed you down and more certified your death than defended your life, should you fall you could never get up quick enough to defend yourself, that and it was like an insult to your opponent not to show them your face.

There's no order left in this world, it would be far easier to kill everyone and let the land make its peace.
Winter sighed and turned around, her perspective leaving that of reality and arriving in the pitch black realms of her own mind. An exact twin of her stood opposite only the twin's face was full of color and dark red hair covered her head and her eyes were the color of blood.
"Just because I've joined with you again doesn't mean I'll go along with your wishes so easily anymore," Winter said.
"I know," Autumn replied "You only need me for your selfish desire to live longer, if it weren't for me you'd be dead, think on that."
"I am not selfish," Winter snapped.
"Oh? You're nothing but self centered Winter, you try to do everything yourself and leave no room for other people. Why do you think your mind's nothing but a cold black void, hm?"
Winter didn't answer but turned back around, returning herself to the physical realm. From anybody else's point of view it would merely have looked like the half angel was staring blankly into space.

The arctic angel looked on as the pair ended their short coversation as the blind man laughed it off. Winter turned her cold, snake-like eyes to him as he began poking around again. Winter's eyes narrowed, she could tell what he was doing.
"Looking for me?" She asked in the same emotionless voice she'd addressed the salesman with.
What the man wanted with her though she couldn't tell, so this was her only way to find that out at the moment.

Marcus stood in front of a man with a burnt physique and a towel wrapped around his head, what more confusion could he had to the scenario? What an odd man, the sun is shining brightly over the hills and here he is standing all heavily clothed and eyes covered nonetheless... A visible contortion crossed Marcus' face as he realized how foolish he had been. Noticing the twirling of the staff and the proud disposition Marcus failed to notice that this man could not see. How could he have been so foolish!? With an angry mutter at himself Marcus drew closer to the man and offered his arm in assistance.

Marcus sighed he wasn't in a particularly good mood. This was visible on his face as his brow furrowed in long creases and his chin drooped in exhaustion. He just wanted to go to bed and sleep off his long journey. His feet were shore, this damn armor clung to him like flies to honey and all he could manage to do was wait for this bloke to grab his arm and skip off merrily into the sunset.
Imbecile, Marcus thought to himself, why must these creatures be so infuriating? Why must he spend every waking hour protecting these people who would not care for him had the roles been reversed? Marcus' conviction swayed as he let his arm fall to his side with a limp burn. Raising his overly relaxed hand toward his face Marcus again wiped the profuse sweat from his brow hoping to seek some clarity in this mess.

Marcus tightened the leather bounds around his sword hilts as he dropped his hands to them in efforts to relax his body. Failing to find even the slightest comfort in any position, he impatiently reached out to the burnt chap before him. Placing one gentle hand upon his shoulder Marcus spoke to the man with an increasing sense of urgency. " I hate to be rude, considering my great many follies, but I really must ask you if we could take this conversation inside one of these fine inns here?"

Marcus waited for a response every portion of his body hoped the man would agree so the knight could keep both his dignity and fill his stomach. As his stomach turned in knots the Knight attempted to remember the last time he had feed himself. Must have been about four days now, well at least that’s how long he had broken pace to search for his beloved Sebastiaon…It was a sad thought but it crept into the crevices of Marcus' mind nonetheless. Maybe this old burnt up creature will pay for the meal considering he nearly wore my face off with his damned stick. Marcus gasped as he stopped himself from continuing. How could he be so rude? His mind wandered to the whole purpose he served on this plain of Arda. Though his memory was a little mulled Marcus had a slight tingling sense of remembrance as the tides of the heavenly sun washed again over his weary face. The same sun he had felt upon his tender skin neigh three thousand years ago.

Marcus had been all but a pup in the draconic kingdoms when his family left for war, placing small men upon there backs they flew into Chaos' hands into the presence of Raku and more importantly arrows. Marcus originally named Nimo'thara Sishinan, draconic for Paladin's Mind sat on the edge of his township with the setting and rising of each sun. He would look out to the horizon hoping to once more see the familiar wedges of shadow blot out the rising morning's rays. With the passing of each day Marcus would fly down from his empty home in the hills toward the very same outcrop. His claws clung to the edges of rock and filth as he looked out craning his neck further and further outward following eagerly each flash of light and specks of shadow.

Again and again his family more importantly his father never returned to him, as the days passed on Marcus failed to return to the cliff. Depression set in followed eagerly by anger. Marcus sat deep within the caverns of his home lying on the cold stone floors laughing menacingly in fury as he waited for the day he would destroy his family for crushing his fortune. They destroyed him, it was they who left him why should he feel sorry for following his heart? Years passed in timeless wonder before Marcus, he aged years and days bathed in his own fury. From what Marcus could tell his family had abandoned him, he would complete the circle and leave them as well. With a powerful leap Marcus flew high into the air out of his cold dank cavern and set out to follow the winds wherever they might take him. Suddenly there was darkness impenetrable perpetual darkness....

With a shudder Marcus came crashing back to modern times, with another confused contortion on his face the White Knight pondered why his memory had faded so quickly. Changing his focus once more the brunt creature in front of him Marcus looked to the man with a new found vigor and strain waiting for an answer.

"Looking for me?"

There it was again. That voice! So even, so clean. Nothing polluting it at all. Perfectly female, but not overtly so either. Was he really looking for her? That voice reminded Tom of his wife. If he had eyes, a tear would have strolled down his cheek. However, the only sign of the pain Tom felt was a slight hunch in his shoulders. It disapeared as fast as it came. Those times were behind him. It was now the time to find his new purpose. The reason that he was alive. Or, sort of alive. Was he? He had been confused over it for a long, long time. Some people never found what their purpose was. Others, they found it. Oh, they found it all right they did. But it took them a good amount of time.

Tom reckoned that it was going to take him a long time. And whatever brought him around to being a tangible spirit, had in mind for him to take a long time to find his purpose. Soon, it would happen to him. He didn't know it. It wouldn't happen today, but it would happen for sure. Tom made his reply. "Not looking, no..."

He pivoted his body in the direction of her voice.

"...I was listening.

The shade paused. Sure, he was listening for her. Who wouldn't? Of course, her voice was devoured by all the bustle and commotion of busy affairs. But those busy affairs had cleared the streets and found their place in the bars and inns. Now, the city square was nearly desolate. Save for the strange trio. Each one from a very different walk of life. A few shadows flitted about the edges of the square, where the lanterns did not reach. It was normal.

Nearly lost in the moment, the voice replaying in his head.

"Looking for me?"

A hand on his shoulder roused him from his daydreaming. The knight was speaking to him. Tom's head cocked to the side to better hear his newfound acquaintance. " I hate to be rude, considering my great many follies, but I really must ask you if we could take this conversation inside one of these fine inns here?"

Tom thought over it a moment. Inside the inn, there would be noise. And he did not expect that the woman would follow along. And even if she did, he wouldn't hear her so clearly. A thunder clap in the near distance helped him to make a decision. "A wise idea, sir knight. I could use a drink."

The blind man took a step, to signal his companion he was ready to be guided to the destination of choice. His head moved to the left, as if casting a glance over his shoulder. "Would you like to come?"

Old man indeed. The statement would likely confuse the woman. Being undead had it's perks. Your appearance didn't age a hour past when you died. The only issue, was that the burn marks on your upper body stayed their too. Bugger.

He waited a reply calmly.

Listening, well I suppose that makes sense, Winter thought, taking a good look at the cloth wrapped around the man's eyes.
It was bad enough having partial blindness, since anything coming from the right would be nearly undetectable by the half angel until it was nearly too late, but living with complete blindness meant he had no vision to rely on at all; the upshot of this was that his other senses were slightly better than everyone else's, that any many people had something like a sixth sense, Winter herself possessed one.

She turned her attention to the other man that had been previously tripped up by the blind stranger. She had less interest in him but it seemed interaction with the man was unavoidable since the blind man did seem to express an interest in him, or was just trying to make up for the fact that he'd just tripped him up. However despite his fall earlier the man seemed perfectly fine, and didn't seem to have any intention of demanding an apology from the man, but was more keen to move out of the open.

He can't be an ordinary elf, Winter thought Usually an elf wouldn't take something like that so lightly, he's different.
Winter had a fairly logic based mind, she spent alot of her free time either traveling through different terrains or researching the history of different races in order to learn their traits. She had even managed to allocate six races to one of the seven deadly sins; humans came under greed, elves under pride, hobbits represented gluttony, goblins and orc races came under wrath, drows took envy and trolls took sloth, however she hadn't managed to find a suitable race for lust yet.

Watching these two she could see that neither came under her list, since the blind man was something other than human and the knight was something other than elven. Perhaps she was missing something.
"Would you like to come?"
Winter looked up, noticing the blind man indicating her general direction, inviting her to come along as well.
"I suppose I may as well," she replied calmly, following the pair.