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Old 07-19-2003, 07:28 PM   #13
The Barrow-Wight
Night In Wight Satin
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Orogarn Two closed the satin covered lid of the Porcelain Throne and followed his noble father, the Proctor of Grundor, down the shadow filled Hall of Astronauts. Dark granite statues of ancient spaced-out kings looked out from between high pillars as Denimthor angrily led his son toward the open doors at the end of the gallery. The two walked in silence, but the animosity between them filled the great space of the Hall like a raging thunderstorm.
“You must not leave the city again,” shouted the older man, turning back. “Minus Moreghoul threatens the Wight City with another case of Bad Breath, and all you can think about is that blasted wallet! It can be replaced!”

“No, it cannot!” screamed Orogarn Two, rushing up to his father. “For it is not the wallet that I seek but what is, or was, in it. Do you think I would possibly leave the Citibank in this time of need for something as trivial as a leather money pouch? ”

Denimthor looked at his son searchingly and asked, “Then what is it that you speak of? What were you carrying through the Entwood that was of such importance? And if it was so valuable to Grundor, why was it taken from the city”

“I cannot say at this time,” answered Orogarn Two, “for I am off to the stables to choose a horse. I shall need a beast for my journey.”

“A what?” gasped Denimthor incredulously. “No cousin of Isildur, however many times removed, has ever required a steed for transportation. You know our motto, ‘A Steeded Steward Shall Soon Succumb to Shadow.’”

“I am not yet Steward, but you do not understand, father. I do not mean to ride the horse I choose. I simply require an animal that can carry the equipment I will need for my trip. I refuse to be stuck in a snowstorm again with only a small towel for protection from the cold.”

Denimthor stood looking, but did not reply.

“I am off to the stable,” said Orogarn Two, “Goodbye.”
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