“Lómenrainë,” a voice bid, its tone admonishing. ::That voice! So familiar yet cryptic, even still,:: Lómenrainë reflected. A voice that had woken him every morning since he was a child, always full of reproof, never forgiving. There was never more spoken then that one word, a word he had come to hate as much as one could hate their own name.

Lómenrainë opened his eyes to the predawn, eyes of amethyst that missed little yet revealed nothing in return. This was his favorite part of the day, the world resplendent in its muted grays before the rising sun corrupted it. Lómenrainë rose from his pallet beneath the trees, moving easily into his habitual stretches, warming muscles atrophied by the night’s chill.

Lómenrainë sighed audibly as the sun crested the mountains. “It never lasts,” he stated as much as concluded. He irritably flicked at an errant strand of silver hair that presumed to obfuscate his vision, as he packed up his things. He slung the roll across his lithe frame, attaching his weapon back to his belt. It was his mission to travel into town today, a mission he despised for the simple fact that it required social contact. It wasn’t that he was socially inept, it was because the inanity of the common folk was bound to rub off on him the longer he stayed.

Resigned to his task he made his way toward the port city of Lómedor. Unpalatable smells, sights, and sounds, greeted his prejudiced senses as he merged with the traders heading through the city gates. A guard eyed him suspiciously but nodded him through anyways, too indolent to check any paperwork he might have had.

“’Scuse me sor,” a voice greeted him as a burly merchant moved past. Lómenrainë shuddered involuntarily as the slang grated on what he hoped was not his last nerve. He forced an awkward smile, a feature that belonged on his face as much as he belonged in this city.

Continuation:

The merchant noted his reaction his face becoming impassive as he moved further along. Lómenrainë had no doubts that there would be another “chance” meeting with that one, but not even he dared to strike openly in broad daylight. ::At least not without proper monetary motivation:: He noted with an inward chuckle.

The sun drew itself up to unimaginable heights as the day passed. Travel through the city was slow even on an off market day. To Lómenrainë it seemed as if the entire world had chosen to occupy this city, everyone coming and going in a dance slow yet as precise and as measured as the time he affiliated himself with. This was the one aspect of human culture he appreciated. ::It is a shame it’s wasted on a race too dull to appreciate its own complexity,:: he mused misanthropically.

A conspicuous gesture caught his attentions. A young “gentleman of the road” had just ineptly appropriated some of the common circulating medium. It took little effort on his part to reaquire such ill-gotten gains, casually discarding its contents on the path, knowing full well the contents would never be found through the heavy foot traffic.. Lómenrainë thought nothing of his actions; it was the balance of things. The thief would perfect his craft to secure his place, and the beggars that roamed the streets picking up whatever they could find after the market had closed would thank their lucky gods that they had provided, as they always professed they would. “Hah, likely,” Lómenrainë muttered.

Lómenrainë was aware the he was nearing his objective. The crowd had become nominally smaller as he approached this well known, but often overlooked sector of the city. Even the stoutest of spirit unconsciously avoided this area. To most it was a breeding ground of anarcy, to Lómenrainë it was nothing more than the “classified section” of the city press. It was something you searched when you had something particular in mind to find, but otherwise left it to those who better knew its paths.

Snidri zoomed through the streets easily going unoticed for his size. He just loved the city. The smells, sounds, the excitement. But, his favortie of all was the enormous wealth that he could take. It wasn't hard at all in croweded streets. He could easily pinpocket a passerby with ease. He could just zoom in and take what he liked then get out. He wouldn't be caught for the most distourbance he had ever made was a slight bumb and the human hadn't even noticed. The only problem was his size. He could not take much and would be lucky to get a gold coin away.

But, today he had a purpose. He was in search of a certain jewel that he had been after for quite some time. It would probably cost him quite a bit but if he found it it would be worth his while. This jewel was only the size of a small pebble, a quiality he liked, but it was worth much more then a block of gold or anything else he could hold. Now he just had to find it.

He had been flying for quite some time now and his wings were getting quite tired. He doubted he would find a ride were he was going but it was worth a try. To his luck he saw a man walking towards that section of the city. He was not the type you would probably want to be around a lot but there wasn't much else of a choice besides to continue flying. Well he might be fun to talk with for a little. So, he flew over to the man and landed on his shoulder.

He landed with no more then a small pat which he highly doubted the man had heard. To get his attention he slowly inched his way over to the man's head getting as close as he though safe to his ear. When he was a little less then a centimeter away from his neck he cleared his throat and began to talk.

"Hello fine sir. How are you today? Were are you going? What's your name? Whatcha here for? Are you a good elf or a bad elf? Have you ever flown before? It is quite fun. You should if you haven't. Have you ever met a pixie besides me? What do you like to do? Do you do magic? What do you do for a living? Do you like to talk? Do you have a lover? How old are you," he asked eventually coming to a stop to catch his breath, wait for answers, then ask some more questions.

A plethora of questions assailed him as he made his way through the dank passageways of the sector. Lómenrainë turned his head to look at incessant creature. ::Pixie:: His mind supplied readily, but failing to provide the angry retort he was accustomed to. “It has been said that, a person who is too nice an observer of the business of the crowd," he paused, "much like one who is too curious in observing the labor of bees, will often be stung for his curiosity.”

Lómenrainë paused for a moment, searching the face of the creature alighted on his shoulder. “Lómenrainë,” he paused searching for signs of treacherous intent, “My name is Lómenrainë.” He continued walking turning here and there as he came upon alleys and corners; it was a path Lómenrainë knew well. After a suitable interval he continued, “It means Night of Peace,” he explained.

Lómenrainë stopped in front of a house. The house itself was unremarkable, just like the hundred others on this particular street. The paint was peeling off warped boards of stairs in serious need of repair. They however, like every other detail of this home, was as calculated as the birth of the world. If one stepped wrong they would find themselves in a serious predicament. Deft shuffling and a brief display of light acrobatics put him in front of a studded door. Noise could be heard within, indistinguishable voices the clatter of trays.

A small rectangular window had been hastily cut in the door to allow identification of visitors. Lómenrainë knocked softly; all noise ceased abruptly. The easily identifiable rasp of steel greeted his ears, not just from the window that opened. A non-descript face appeared in the slit followed by suspicious eyes. The window closed, a bolt was drawn back. Lómenrainë pushed open the door identifying several of the occupants, the doorman that had been hidden behind slamming it behind them.

“What is tha’ thing,” the doorman asked, “Don’ ya worry I ga’it.”

The doorman acted, a worn though well cared for saber, appeared in his right hand. The doorman swung the blade outward, horizontally at shoulder height, the tip of the blade moving towards the Pixie perched on Lómenrainë’s left shoulder.

Lómenrainë rotated his torso clockwise and back while bringing his right hand up catching the cross guard of his scimitar, drawing it partially from the scabbard. His left hand closed around the hilt easily freeing a blade already moving through the combined movements of torso and off hand. Lómenrainë pushed out his left hand snapping his wrist outward. The two blades connected with a spark. Lómenrainë thrust his left arm foreward the two combined weapons pinning now at the cross guards.

“On your life friend, I wouldn’t attempt a repeat,” a deadly voice emanated from Lómenrainë, his amethyst eyes glittering menacingly.

Hmmm doesn't appear to like talking to others much. Probably doesn't have a good social life or one to begin with. Looks like he knows his way around here. Must mean he comes here often. Must be on the badder side. No surprise by his appearance. Only answered one of my questions. Pretty rude.These were just some of the thoughts that stormed into his mind after the first few seconds of the short-lived conversation.

When he started to do acrobatics he completly lost his balance and almost fell off his seat on his shoulder. He patted his own shoulders slightly to display his dislike and to get his clothes back in position even though he doubted the Lómenrainë would really notice him at all. Hmmmm, nice place. Might want to put it on my top ten list of "Places Not to Visit". Might even rival that one bar that he had almost been sold as a slve too. Well one's looks could be quite deciving, even though in this part of town it was quite likely that its appearance was what it seemed to be.

He took high offense when the man dared call him a thing. He pondered what the man meant by "I got it" but he would figure out soon enough. When the man pulled out his sword he nearly fell off Lómenrainë's shoulder for a second time. Well third time was always lucky. Well that was if there was a third time. He failed to close his eyes and hide the horrid to come for it was far too exciting to be shut off. Even if it was the last excitement.

Well there would be a third time. When he saw Lómenrainë pull out a scimtar. He had not even regain his balance when he almost slipped off and he did. He fell off backwards arms flailing but caught himself in the act and swooped back up. It was fun to fall. Until the fall of course. Now that would hurt. Escpeccially at this distance.

When Lómenrainë displayed his threat he was not very surprised. Creapy but not surprising. From what he had gathered that this man, Lómenrainë, had either something to hide or something to find. He was very used to this part of town and he seemed to be reconized here whther that was a good reputation or bad it rarely differed in these parts. Well at least he is on my side. At least for now.

The smell of dead fish filled the air as Istonania walked through the fish markets. The sun had just appeared over the horizon, the ocean reflecting the beautiful light making the surface of the water sparkle. Not many people were out at this hour of the morning except the anglers and a few mysterious characters. Istonania was one of those mysterious characters.

He wore a black cloak that hid his pointy ears and slanted eyes. He looked at his feet as he walked for he didn't need his eyes to see where he was going. He was quite dashing, blue eyes and gold skin complementing his handsome face. His silver hair was tied in a ponytail, the long strands of hair never needed brushing. He had the perfect image, for he was an elf and they were the most attractive creatures in all of Arda. A long sword was sheathed at his side, covered by his garments. It was a weapon that he took pride in; the deadly blade was forged by elves of a far away land.

It hasn't changed a bit.

Istonania just came back from an adventure. He arrived just hours ago, saying goodbye to the boat that gave him company throughout his travels. He wasn't sure if he would see it again but that was up to the gods to decide. He planned to go back to his small cottage on the outskirts of Estolad. He was homesick and couldn't wait to see how much the village had grown. All of his friends were probably dead by now for he had been gone for two hundred years but his son was likely to still be alive. The last time he saw him was when he was in his teens.

Rye took the path of man so he will be quite old if he still lives. My dear wife will be gone for she was an Atani. I wanted to see her again, but I had more important duties to attend to.

Istonania continued to walk. He didn't know where he was going but he knew he would get to where he was supposed to be. More people began to appear on the streets as the morning progressed. The elf still looked at his feet. He wasn't being followed and he had no reason to keep his identity secret, but the less people that knew his face the better.

The crowds suddenly became smaller as Istonania walked into an unpopular part of town. The houses were deserted and the streets were filled with sewage and dirt. Soon there was no one in site. Even the homeless didn't associate themselves with this area. A smile crossed his face as he stopped. He lifted his head and removed the hood from his head. He took the band out of his hair and it sit on his shoulders.

"I know you're there."

Istonania took the sword from his scabbard and turned around. Something was spying on him and it wasn’t doing a very good job. The elf spotted the figure straight away, behind a tree on the left side of the street. Istonania waited for its reply, knowing that it wouldn't attack him unless it was either very stupid or very brave.