[Ithaeliel]

After returning the newly sharpened blade to the trader elf at the river, Angalos began the long walk to his home, his head filled with thoughts. The pace of trade was beginning to slow, as it was around that time of the year. Should he leave the valley and help search for this book? Angalos wasn't even sure it existed, for he had not completely trusted the storyteller and the elf's words.

Suddenly he laughed out loud, surprising a man who sat nearby. Walking on, Angalos spoke quietly. "And why is it so?" he asked himself. "Elves do not lie, nor exaggerate on things they know of. It must be real," he mumbled, his tone becoming more serious. If he went on this journey, his life might be endangered. There would certainly be guards and traps set around the book if it was of any worth at all. Goblins would be lurking about in the shadows, armed to the teeth. Perhaps spells would be set on it that would maim the flesh of anyone who touched it. The terrible things that lived in the wilder places of the world were enough to make Angalos' skin crawl. Stopping, he looked at his axe, sizing it up, testing the weight and stability of the blade. He smiled. "I have a fine dwarven axe at my side, and courage and willingness in my heart."

He paused for a moment. "What a wild dream... I, a trader, off many leagues beyond the comfort of any home, searching for the annals of a supposedly lost race. The way is fraught with dangers; I may well lose my life as may others. It will be a great adventure beyond anything I could have imagined as a boy. If this book is found and returned to Dale, the name of Angalos Stormaxe will be written in history. I will have done something more..." his voice trailed off. He stood a moment in the light of the dying sun, his head bowed in thought, before he turned back in the direction of the Rusty Hilt. "I am going."

[ February 02, 2003: Message edited by: Ithaeliel ]