[Burzdol]

Islist returnedto his tent and gathered his weapons for the trip. He soon laid on his bed an old, weathered broadsword and started to clean any blood stains off as possible. He next laid out his elven longbow and three quivers full of hand made arrows.

"Islist, sir, I am ready and a few others of the camp are as well. Should we leave sooner," Elleraden asked from behind Islist.

"Oh, I didn't realize you were there."

"Hey, what sword is that? That's not yours is it?"

"It was my fathers. He gave it to me when I last visited him. It was his granfathers, so it is very old. Its name is Nariel, never failed my father yet."

"Oh, I just came to report that. I'll just leave now," Elleraden left his statement trail away as he left.

Islist turned back around to his weapons. He lifted his bed to grab three small throwing knives. No one knew about the knives, and he intended to keep it that way until they were needed. He then got a small chest and pulled out a small sack full of money thinking he would need it in the future. Islist hit the inside bottom of the chest and it broke through. Laying on the bottom was a knife. He had seen its sister weapon on his friend Elleraden. He had a hatchet that was made at the same place from the same materials. His blade was of no particular beauty, but his blade was made for the purpose of death.

The ranger looked over his armory again, then put it on his to pack pile. Then he sat on his bed until the sleep weighed down his eyes.