Lately, Neh-tohon has been distracted by dreams and memories of the clans and life as a slave so he initially missed Semeal's entrance and his comments. Ever the perceptive bloke, he quickly fills in the gaps and gives the party a wink as he disappears out the rear exit of the inn. Despite the fact it is mid-day, Neh-tohon is a ghost on the streets. He passes a pair that don't notice him as edges behind them while they are making racist comments about a halfling street performer. Silently, as he slips by the nudges the man's mead all over his friend and is off before the later begins pummeling the confused loud mouth.
The prank lightens his spirits and distracts him enough from his own thoughts before he reaches the blacksmith. Unnoticed he sleeks around to the rear of the shop near the anvil and forge. The steam, heat from the forge, and the soot stained alley provide wonderful camouflage for his watch. For a few hours he remains at his perch, the lack of movement would have driven most men and women to collapse but Neh's monk training make the task easy. The wait finally pays off.
The bell above the shop’s entrance chimes. Neh-tohon takes in a silent yet deep breath. With the breath he blocks out ever other sensation, the heat of the forge, the cackling of children at play only a few doors down, the crinkling of embers, all else goes quiet as he strains to hear sounds from the front of the store. As his ears stalk after his prey, a voice stands out. Oddly it is only one voice; he knows the old man was watching the counter, but why isn’t he speaking. A question for another time, he can’t let the only voice escape him. It is a woman, and she’s whispering. She is an elusive one. Like the trickster hares of mountains, she tries to mask her call in the ambient noise. “The patient hunter with time can catch the hare.” The voice of his Neh-tohon’s father interrupts his thoughts. So, he waits and teases out the sounds. Whispers and muffles they maybe but there are clues there also. Her comments are slowing and he can tell the end is near; just a few more words is all he needs. “Semeal, Neh-tohon, Balint, and Jesse.” She said in concluding her monologue. The embers start popping more as Neh-tohon is forced by his shock to utter, “Ruby.” A plume of smoke rises and a timber buckles in two at the word. The bell rings again and Neh-tohon waits.
A minute passes and Elder Sharug walks to the forge and begins to work a piece of blackened iron n. Halfway through the routine he stops. Frustration shadows his face as he sweats and begins to finger a pendant. Neh-tohon stares at the curious object aware that the trinket not the iron is somehow the source of his frustration.
Re: AM 6-26-1043
The prank lightens his spirits and distracts him enough from his own thoughts before he reaches the blacksmith. Unnoticed he sleeks around to the rear of the shop near the anvil and forge. The steam, heat from the forge, and the soot stained alley provide wonderful camouflage for his watch. For a few hours he remains at his perch, the lack of movement would have driven most men and women to collapse but Neh's monk training make the task easy. The wait finally pays off.
The bell above the shop’s entrance chimes. Neh-tohon takes in a silent yet deep breath. With the breath he blocks out ever other sensation, the heat of the forge, the cackling of children at play only a few doors down, the crinkling of embers, all else goes quiet as he strains to hear sounds from the front of the store. As his ears stalk after his prey, a voice stands out. Oddly it is only one voice; he knows the old man was watching the counter, but why isn’t he speaking. A question for another time, he can’t let the only voice escape him. It is a woman, and she’s whispering. She is an elusive one. Like the trickster hares of mountains, she tries to mask her call in the ambient noise. “The patient hunter with time can catch the hare.” The voice of his Neh-tohon’s father interrupts his thoughts. So, he waits and teases out the sounds. Whispers and muffles they maybe but there are clues there also. Her comments are slowing and he can tell the end is near; just a few more words is all he needs. “Semeal, Neh-tohon, Balint, and Jesse.” She said in concluding her monologue. The embers start popping more as Neh-tohon is forced by his shock to utter, “Ruby.” A plume of smoke rises and a timber buckles in two at the word. The bell rings again and Neh-tohon waits.
A minute passes and Elder Sharug walks to the forge and begins to work a piece of blackened iron n. Halfway through the routine he stops. Frustration shadows his face as he sweats and begins to finger a pendant. Neh-tohon stares at the curious object aware that the trinket not the iron is somehow the source of his frustration.