[b]The Bronze Lantern Inn, Cromerth[/b]

He was not, on the whole, much fond of civilization. The noise, the stink, the dust, and- above all- the [i]people[/i]. They were the worst part by far, with their braying laughter and grubby hands and stupid, staring eyes. 

Someone's unwatched brat was running about in the hall, pounding on the walls, while next door some noisy mouthbreather was busy berating his wife. 

Below his window, a crowd had gathered to watch clowns totter about on stilts, swinging wooden swords at each other and screeching bawdy jokes. In the pub downstairs, hoarse laughter mingled with angry shouting.

How was a man expected to [i]think[/i] in such clamorous surrounds? 

He closed his eyes and sank lower into his bath with an irritated grunt, sending steaming water over the sides, soaking the room's rough floorboards. He reminded himself that Cromerth was just a momentary, necessary indignity. He had the book, after all. Now it was just a matter of getting home. 

Home. The thought brought a pang of longing. He pictured his distant, lonely library, the rain pattering against the crooked windows and cracked stone roof, the smell of old parchment and wet pine, the endless, quiet hours. He had not seen it in over a year.

"SLUT!" screamed the mouthbreather in the next room. His shout was followed by the loud [i]swack[/i] of a hand striking flesh, and a woman shrieked.

He opened his eyes- bright green- with a sigh. Honestly, such noisome nonsense would be enough to drive even Shada the Imperturbable into a rage....well, it would have had Shada not turned himself into stone five centuries ago. Still, the noise was intolerable.

He stood and stepped out of the bath, water streaming from his weather-worn body. He stomped into the narrow, leaning hall and kicked open the flimsy door of the neighboring room. Inside, a fat man stood over his wife, who lay crumpled, crying on the floor. Both looked utterly shocked at their quite uninvited, quite undressed guest.

"Wha..." started the fat man.

"I am taking a bath," he said, "I don't want to listen to your-"

The fat man, angry now as well as confused, charged, fist raised. "Who the fu-"

He sidestepped the fat man's punch almost lazily and, in one smooth motion, picked up a water basin from a nearby table and brought it down on his assailant's head. The basin shattered and the fat man crashed to the ground, dazed and bleeding.

"It's bad manners," he said, wrapping a towel around his waist absently. "Making so much noise. Honestly."

He stepped gingerly over the fat man and went back to his room, slamming his door behind him. 

The water was lukewarm. He sucked his teeth in annoyance. A perfectly good bath ruined.

---

[b]Later...[/b]

Dressed in his rust-colored robes and dark travel coat, he clambered down the narrow, crooked staircase to the Inn's first floor and snapped at a serving girl for a goblet of wine. "Nothing cheap, thank you, and an ale for while I'm waiting."

Pipe wedged firmly in the corner of his mouth, he sat himself in a corner table and produced a small scroll from his coat pocket and began reading, oblivious to the din of the pub. It was a letter, just (discretely) delivered by raven to his room from one of his acquaintances. He had been expecting it for some time.

[i]Athalus,

Your last missive confirms my fears. The Signs are too many and rule out coincidence or an imposter...and the stars do not lie to those who know them as I do. Astripio is aligned with the Southern Huntress- a configuration in the sky not seen since his last rise. If the Elves are still blind to the danger, it is only because they no longer know their own Art. 

If you have not done so, I think it wise to consult your Friends. At this point, more information would be worth the risks of Contact. I await your next.

Uthos[/i]

He read the letter twice, frowning, before touching the paper to the smoking bowl of his pipe, where it quickly caught alight. The note burned to ash in his fingers, and he swept them onto the floor. 

"Athalus? Athalus Velim!" came a cry, and he looked up, his thin mouth twitching into a sour smirk. "How long has it been?"

"Too long, Rudolf," he said as the burly, bewhiskered dwarf waddled over to his table. "Much too long."