[piosenniel]

Durelin’s post

Tareth strolled down the milling streets of Bree, axe and knife and quiver at his belt, and his bow strung across his back, he planned on doing a bit of hunting after he was finished. As he went, he nodded and waved to all the folk he knew. He made his way to his usual stop, The Prancing Pony. He liked to pick up news of the world and talk to the travelers. When asked why he was so interested he would always reply with saying how he would like to travel around the land, see the cities and strange people. But, needless to say, he had never taken a step out of his little world, into the worlds of others. Today was no different, and he felt a fool for never leaving, but he also felt that he never would.

Tareth walked into the inn, babbling with voices, steaming with hot food and smoke from patron's pipes. He automatically went to his table in the corner, it was his routine, and it was always open. He sat down and a woman in a dirty white apron came rushing over. Egwene, the cook. Tareth had known her for a long time, she was only five years younger than him. "Well, I didn't expect to find you here," she said sarcastically.

"It's nice to see you Egwene, it has been a while." Tareth paused, stroking his chin as if he were deep in thought, "I think it has been since the day before yesterday."

"Oh, do keep that mouth shut!" she said to him in mock severity. She was doing a bad job of keeping a straight face, Tareth could see the mirth billowing up in side of her. He smiled, and asked the same question he always did, "Any news?"

"Curse you, Tareth! Will you ever learn more words for your vocabulary? It grows old, you asking me that everyday. And I tell you what I can, show you people who can tell you more, and do you budge! No! You can't bring yourself to put that hammer of yours down longer than it takes to come in here and ask me that question!" Egwene was yelling at him, but a grin slipped out once every so often, ruining the effect. "I do have news for you, and maybe it'll get you out of here for a time!" She wasn't trying to be harsh anymore but she still grinned as brightly as ever. "There's a man here, Rang something or other's his name. He says he's going to Harad. Most think he's a drunken fool, but I know from Bode that he's still working on one tankard." Bode was a serving girl at the inn, her real name Bodemira. She was younger than Egwene, but no less hard on anyone who looked at her funny.

Egwene eyed Tareth sharply, "You should talk to him, not too many have been willing to even consider going anywhere, much less even take him seriously at all."

"Thanks Egwene, maybe I'll be out of your hair for a while after all." Tareth found this quite interesting, no one had ever asked people to go anywhere. This was just the kind of spark that was needed to get him moving. "Can you take me to him?"

"He's the man sitting in the middle of that mob over there," the woman said, pointing to a small group of people standing on the other side of the tavern room. "Thankyou ma'am." Tareth gave Egwene a short bow of his head and went to talk to this 'Rang something or other' somebody, leaving her scowling at him. What nerve! she thought as she stalked back to the kitchens.

Tareth worked his way through the crowded room to the small group gathered, it turned out to be only a few people. He was just in time to hear the man's story. He waited for the talk to die down, trying to hide in the the shadows as he watched people join the 'quest'. Well, it's a quest, we're looking for something. Well, someone. I can't believe what it'd be like to lose your memory. When everything became relatively quiet, Tareth went up to the man sitting at the table. He looked tired, almost desperate. And a bit perturbed. "Good day to you, sir," Tareth began, ignoring the drunken snickers coming from behind him. "I heard something about going to the Harad..."

"Yes you did," the man said, "The name's Rangar."

"I-I'm Tareth," He stuttered, cursing his tongue. He calmed himself and made his voice plain and clear. "If you need any help on this journey, I'd be glad to come along."

Rangar nodded, it seemed like a routine. "Okay, then," he said, "I'll just g-get ready." He was full of both excitement and dread as he stepped quickly out of the inn. He leaned against the outside to catch his breath, he felt like he had run a mile. I'm getting too worked up. It's not that big of a deal. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself, but thoughts bubble up in his head. But, it's Harad I'm going to and... Tareth reminded himself he would not be scared. Scared? He wasn't scared he realized. It was plain excitement. You are a fool, a fool not to be scared. But I promised I would never be afraid. And you won't, something told him.