Joram frowns slightly at Donny, "We prefer to call it the mother's heart, rather than her bowels." He shudders at the thought. "But yes, the beauty is quite impressive. The only thing I've seen to compare up here in this blasted openness is a moonless night sky. That is quit impressive."

Well, he had never heard of something under the dark before but ...
"Yes. That's Mehairme and she's with me, or its more like I'm with her. She's wandered away from the tribe before. This is my first time. They told me I had to go."

Mind glitch - what was a gloaming? In the small, narrow boxes that held the sum-total memory for races there was no such index card. Zane's little mind struggled to adapt, which was a struggle in and of itself.

What was a gloaming again?

Seeing the question in Zane's eyes, "I am a gloaming, we are from deep in the underdark. Small like your surface halflings or gnomes, but we have other abilities and strengths." Suddenly Joram begins go glow faintly and then it fades. He smiles, "One of our abilities that helps in the underdark."

So, there was something deep under the dark. Zane's head hurt and he had a feeling he was about to learn something and that made it hurt more.
Joram was small - check. He was a little fella.
He had abilities - uh ... was that a good thing?
He had strength - Oh yeah. Zane had strength too. Everyone (meaning Mehairme) said so.
And now he glowed which was really eerie and frighting - read:MAGIC. He said it was an ability. Mentally, Zane slapped himself on the back for catching that. That gave him the confidence to keep in the conversation.

"Glowing is magic. That's tricky." Zane nods at is profound statement. "Me, I'm strong too ... but I don't glow. You do much more magic? Like singing and spells? Me, I like swords."

Remembering his sword, he holds up the huge, sheathed blade for Joram to see. Even better (and having a banner mental night) he then slung the heavy steel over his shoulder.

Magic! Underdark!...Berthe please save me from temptation! He kept his focus on his food, trying his best not to give in to his desires.

Donny studied magic, more specifically the magical properties of gemstones and elemental creatures. While the Gloaming, Joram was not specifically an earth creature, he was a creature of magic who lived within the Berthe's bowels. He thumbed the cold iron surface of his sickle, picturing himself mining its metal from the depths of underdark, with his free hand, as he ate.

Joram smiled at the orc and his pride in the blade. Blasted thing was longer than he was tall. The big folk always tried to compensate for their size handicap by having big weapons as if that didn't slow them down even more than they already were. Well, so be it, Joram was just glad he didn't have to worry about being that way. The magic in his blood was all the weapon he needed; the bone handled long dagger at his waist was just for show and in the extremely unlikely event that he ever wandered into an area where magic didn't work.

Looking at Zane, "Yes, that's a very nice sword I'm sure. I don't sing, but I do use magic. That's why I've come to this Mother forsaken openness. To learn more of magic."

Not singing to use magic? Well, the priests chanted and that wasn't quite singing, was it?
Must-stop-thinking. Head-ready-to-burst!
Dimly Zane was aware that Mehairme would love to be here, talking to this strange little not-elf. She liked the strange and different in the same way it made the hairs on the back of Zane's neck stand up. The unusual made him want to back up and give whatever it was some space. Why couldn't the whole world be orcs with swords? No, it had to be complicated, like an Orc with more fingers than toes.

Like a migraine shooting from the back of his neck through his eyes, a question for public consumption spilled forth.
"If you use magic, who protects you when magic fails?"

Joram sits back and takes a drink while he considers the question. "Well, so far my magic has never failed me. Some day I might find a mea... er fighter to guard me when necessary." He grins and takes another drink to cover his near slip of the tounge. "So what of you, do you not worry about magic?"

Zane puts down his mutton leg and ponders the question. A tug on a tankard of ale helps dampen the pain in his skull. He puts down the tankard and lays out the Customs of Magic to the little fella from under the dark.

Zane ticks off one finger.
"Priest magic is good. It comes from Gods who are big and powerful, so fear them."
He nods to himself for staying on course so far.
"Umm ..." he ticks off a second finger slower, stalling for time, "other magic is danger- ... dangerous, because ... uh, because it fails without steel and courage."
A final tick of the fingers, with some sweat from his brow.
"Death magic is wrong. It twists magic and flesh into something un ... un ... not right."

This had been a herculean effort for Zane, because without coaxing from Mehairme he didn't usually answer such difficult and complex questions. In a way, Zane thought magic was bad in the same way he thought a twenty foot python falling on you was bad. It just was. He didn't need to understand why the snake was going to eat him to realize that being eaten was bad.

Of course, it was also blissfully beyond his reasoning at the moment that Mehairme herself used magic not of the Gods. After all, Mehairme was good, clever, and mostly right all the time. Zane never felt the reason to learn much of anything himself because people all around him always seemed to know it already. This was really because it took a great deal of time, effort, and occassional screaming to get him to learn anything.

It was kind to call Zane slow. He also had the attention span of a gnat. Still, he could be made to try and right now he was trying really hard.

Donny was interested in the conversations about magic, and he paused briefly from stuffing mutton into his mouth. "All magic, priestly or otherwise can be used to do evil." He said to Zane. "I choose to use mine for good. I will say though, that priests have good magics. Others have evil magics."

Donny noticed that Zane's attention wavered between their conversation and the red-haired orcish singer. He seemed to be doing his best to keep up with them, even enumerating his talking points. He didn't seem to be the scholarly type.

Joram, however was a different matter, and his small knife and non-brutish appearance were alot less intimidationg. "I have spent some time studying arcane magics. Berthe has blessed me with the knowledge to use certain magic items. One time I cast a missile spell from an arcane scroll, and killed a farmer's goat. Actually, now that I remember, it was then that my bretheren told me to 'Go hunt some rocks for the Mother'. I of course was more than happy to oblige. Did I tell you I'm also a geologist?" Donny's hyperactive excitement was nerdlike in its enthusiasm.

Reki blinked. A newcomer dressed in black had joined the wet human and the Orc. Her knuckles turned white as they gripped the handle of her beer mug. An elf?

She paused - no, it wasn't an elf. So hopefully nobody interested in her.

"Hmm, that's interesting..." Joram eyes the priest a little more interestedly. "I study the arcane, though I don't actually cast spells. If you ever come across anything like that scroll, I'd be interested in looking at it. I've often thought that I might eventually take up arcane magics at some point, they offer a great deal of flexibility in what you can do, though they are inferior in other ways to using the magic the way nature intended."

All this about using magic was crazy talk. Of course Zane knew that magic could be used for evil. Deep down, he believed, a bit, it was evil, but he never told anyone that. This fear and understanding was brought about by the priests and shamans of his own tribe. They told him priestly magic was good, but they threatened him with it - threatened to kill him.

Did that make him evil?

Zane took another long pull on his ale. The others talked about things he only dimly understood. It wasn't fun watching them talk this way. It was fun when Mehairme talked to people, because then he knew who was right. He knew who to root for. This was different, almost like they were speaking a different language.

He had reached the limits of his intellect. Zane knew, sometimes, that he was stupid. This was one of those times. He didn't know what to do to make himself feel better. He sat and listened to the others talk, because he knew Mehairme wouldn't want to see him leave.

Thinking about the outside made him feel better. To run in the rain, and splash in the mud would be fun. Zane found that happy place where he had done those things and his spirits lifted.

To the outside world, it seemed that Zane had zoned out while he ate his dinner.

"I would be happy to share any knowlege I find concerning the arcane. From what Zane has said, his companion on stage also has magical abilities."

Zane had a blank look on his face and robotically ate his food. He might just be disinterested in his and Joram's conversation.

Donny gave Joram an understanding look, as if he was in synergy with the other man. "I know certain beings and forces have a natural magical ability. Berthe also gifts many of her avatars, as well as some races who live within her, with magical powers. While it would be presumptuous of me to ask, I can't help myself." Donny was licking his lips in excitement.

"Has Berthe gifted your race with her magics?"

Joram pondered the question for a bit and continued to drink and listen to the Half-orc on stage. "My people in general have certain inborn abilities, like being able to produce light, fly, and a few others. I am a bit different though, I have more magic within me because of close ties to the Fey that the rest of my people don't have. I don't really care to explain any deeper than that at this point, perhaps if we were to travel together for a time."

Donny new he had delved into a sensitive area. He could'nt help himself. He had always been fascinated with these things, and Joram was an opportunity for him to learn more. Joram's half-rubuke of Donny's questioning was his signal. Lay off, or risk alienating Joram. He had to bit down on his tongue to keep himself from digging a deep hole and leaping into it.

"I..I understand." He responded to Joram, a little embarassed. "Perhapse we can continue this later." Donny was hoping that Joram was going on that caravan duty tomorrow. It would give him an opportunity to ask some more questions.

With that, Donny proceeded to quickly eat what little food he had left. "I must change into dry clothes and get to sleep."

After removing his stuff from the horse who abandoned him, Donny headed over to the room he had from the night before. Once there, he stripped, hung his clothes up to dry, said a blessing to Berthe, and went to sleep. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

Once he'd eaten his own food, Joram nodded to the orc and headed over to the barkeep to arrange for a room. Handing over more coins that he thought the room should strictly be worth, he tried not to let the emotions show on his face. He was sure he'd bargained well and gotten as low a price as this inn keeper would ever give, but it still hurt. He didn't have so much coin that he could afford to throw it around. Still, he always loved the opportunity to talk someone down on price using his personality to do the persuading.

Once he had the key he headed upstairs and secured the room both locking the door and putting a chair up against the door to prevent it from being opened should someone get any ideas.

The door to the tavern banged open and a gust of cold damp air swirled around the thoroughly rain-soaked traveler who stood momentarily in the doorway. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the light before stepping through the door and letting it close behind him.

Ulric glanced quickly around the room and selected an empty table as close to the hearth as he could get. Paying no mind to the other patrons who glared at him for leaving the door open so long and reminding them of the dreary night outside, he flung his still sopping overcloak over the over the chair closest to the fire and settled his pack at his feet as he sat down. The table wasn’t as close to the fire as he’d have liked but he could still feel its warmth so it would have to do.

A serving wench happily bounced up to the young leather clad traveler with his short cropped black hair still plastered to his head from the rain and his intense blue eyes. He tersely ordered a cheap bowl of stew either ignoring the girl’s obvious interest or oblivious to it.

Taking a better look around the room Ulric found it to be much as he expected. The majority of the evening’s patrons were simple common folk although there were a few exceptions. On the tavern’s small stage a red headed Half Orc minstrel was entertaining the crowd and much to Ulric’s surprise she seemed to be rather talented. A full blooded Orc sat at a table close by, apparently mesmerized by the music. Ulric guessed he was the female minstrel’s companion. Just leaving the table were a human in poorly decorated scale mail and a small creature that looked like the results of a gnome and an elf mating.

“I wonder what you’d call that” he mused silently to himself. “A Gnelf?”

Ulric was smiling to himself when the wench brought over a steaming bowl of stew. Mistaking his his smile for interest in her , the buxom lass leaned over as she served his meal and allowed he blouse to fall open enough for Ulric to catch a glimpse of what lay beneath the course material.

After an awkward moment of the girl flashing her assets at a clearly disinterested Ulric, he looked up from his food and said “Is there something you want?” loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. Hurt and embarrassed, the girl scurried back towards the bar clutching her her shirt closed and left Ulric alone with his food and thoughts.

Reki sighed as the barmaid ran off from this new rude human. She couldn't see the dwarf who posted the notice anywhere, although she didn't really get a good look at him. Leaving a copper tip, she slid out of the tavern door and trudged over to the Stone Inn to get a private room and an early wake-up call.

Later, as she was alone in her room, she pulled off the scarf that covered her head, revealing the theives' mark the prison has branded there. Fishing out a small metal mirror, she inspected it carefully, then sighed softly in the candlelight.

Mehairme's stomach grumbled softly and her arms ached from holding the flute up. She normally told stories, but the volume in the inn hadn't dropped with her song, and she'd have to really yell to get her story out. It wasn't worth the effort, and besides, she was hungry.

Finishing with a final flourish, Mehairme stood and bowed, pleased at the couple of coins - both coppers - and the slam of a handful of mugs on the table. She smiled, warmed by their appreciation.

Her food wasn't so warm, but as she sank into the chair next to Zane, the young half-orc didn't care. "Thank you," she said to her companion; then, despite her hunger, she turned to her clanmate's tablemates. "Hello, I'm Mehairme," she said in clear common. Her voice was naturally rough, but she clearly took efforts to smooth it. "Thank you for sitting with Zane. I'm sure he enjoyed the company."

Zane seemed truly relieved to have Mehairme back close to him.
"You were good," he murmured to her.
It was good to see her eat and even better now that she was around, in case anyone else wanted to talk about anysuch stuff. He was so distessed (in his own internal way) that it was tough not to give her a hug.

"Thank you for sitting with Zane. I'm sure he enjoyed the company."
Really? He did? Well, she knew more about such things than he did, so Zane quickly forgot the headaches and mental limbo he had been subjected to. All was good now.

The Dwarf feeling all but ignored by everyone but Zane decided to retreat with his comaredes from the Driven Dog and the gnomes followed suit. Leavng only the more familiar costumers amonmg the crowd.

The night was passing by fast as the drinks flowed and the tally's of the party started to increment.

A band of half-elves entered the tavern late into the night, cloaks soaked, hair soaked, boots covered in mud. Asking for a big room for all of them, the bar-tenderd agreed on the basement for them if they could stand it and in they went.

(OOC: I'm ready to move on, whenever you guys want to end this just tell me in an OOC bit, k?)

Over the pounding of her heart she could hear the footsteps in the corridor, the jingling of the keys hanging from his belt. They stopped at her door. The key being slid into the lock....

There was a knock at the door. Reki screamed, jerking upright in her bed.
"Miss? Miss? Are you alright?" someone demanded, muffled behind the door.
"I... I'm fine, thank you," Reki managed. "Why are you here?"
"You asked me to wake you...."
"I'm awake. You can go now."

There was a pregnant pause, then she heard the creak of the floorboards as the innkeeper's helper moved back towards the stairs. Reki sighed as she relaxed, her shoulders slumping. Tiny trickles of sweat rolled down her face. Irritated, she mopped her face with a dry corner of the blanket. From the shuttered window, she could see the first rays of the morning sun turning her room gray.

Climbing out of bed, she poured water into the basin and washed her face. This wasn't a good way to start the day. She needed a job, legit or otherwise.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she sighed and then turned to start dressing.