Talkale

The house being pointed out to him by a passer-by, Talkale took in its appearance. It was an ordinary house, two stories high, and nondescript in every way from the others that surrounded it, save that it was much larger, and it had many glazed windows, both indicators of the owner’s wealth. Similar to the other houses, it had a tiled roof and wooden frame, likely red cedar, though he was no whittler, he said to himself with some satisfaction.

Both Estarfin and Parnard had departed the house by the time I rose from slumber. It was still early though, so I had plenty of time to bathe and dress, and make my way down to the Last Homely House for a few words with one of the librarians, before setting off to the forges to speak with Ruineth. 

The map had made no mention of this place. A looming stone shape stood before him, dark and forbidding. He dismounted carefully from the bay mare, ensuring his boots made as little noise as possible on the loose scree outside the squat ruin. He whispered a word of caution to the tired horse, patting her mane as he did so.

Sir

The morning has given me a little less unquiet than last night, when the sight of you made me very tired. I have reflected on matters since, and now I wish to better explain my indignation and dissatisfaction.

"What is the meaning of the guard posted by Lord Estarfin’s door?"

When Parnard had sufficiently recovered from the shock so suddenly induced by the scholar’s gross and glaring indiscretion, he repaired to his office and feverishly set to work.

Talkale looked down at the white parchment stretched upon the teak desk in front of him, wondering to himself if he was following the proper course of action. His intentions were good and he had already raised the matter once. No action had occurred, so further steps were needed. Such were the burdens he shouldered and at times they could become wearyingly heavy. Rolling his head from one side to the other to stretch his neck, he dipped his quill into lavender ink and began to write in his usual beautiful script.

***

Lord of Bar-En-Vanimar Anglachelm,

This day I came to the Bridge, hard by the Spire of Meeting, where my retinue gathered. There I saw three of the Fountain’s guards, with shields and spears in their hands, and beside them stood my clerk Sorontar, who carried a stack of papers, and was dressed all in somber black cloth, as if he were part of a mourning procession.