From the Halls of Citadel Adbar

By Dudeling

     Thalomin Blackaxe's hammer rang out in the hall.  He had been working the shield for days now, and it was finally beginning to take the proper form.  It was the last piece that had been commissioned by the guards of Silverymoon
for their new forces, and it had to be just right.  If all went well today, the main shield plate should be ready to take the reinforcement pieces and device work tomorrow.  The apprentices had completed the work, and had done well; they'd make good smiths someday.
        He heard the sound of a throat clearing behind.  He grunted acknowledgement, but continued his work.  From the sound he knew it to be Master Runecaster Kragedor, and knew he'd wait for a proper moment - even the Runecasters would avoid ruining a piece unless it was an absolute emergency.
        Twenty minutes later, he put his hammer and the shield down, wiped his brow and turned to Kragedor.
        "What can I do fer ye, Master?"  He was annoyed by the interruption, but when a master runecaster called, they had good reasons, and they didn't take lip from anyone, especially a young smith like himself.
        "I see yer finishin' the work fer the 'Moon, eh.  Good.  It'll be good to make delivery - early thanks to ye - and receive payment," commented the runecaster.
        "Thank ye.  I did try hard to get me own part done early.  Have ye got a new order fer me to work when I'm done?"
        "Actually, I'm here to see ye about yer future.  Ye do good work, eh, and ye'll make a fine smith," said Kragedor.
        "Thank ye again, Master.  I've tried me best to do the kind o' work the Runecasters ask o' us," Thalomin responded.
        "Indeed, however I see greater possibilities for ye, only there's a
problem," Kragedor said plainly.  "Ye've talked at great length in th' past abou' wantin' to join the Runecasters.  It's an admirable goal, and I don' mean t' do nothin' t' turn ye from tha'."
        "I've made no secret o' me desires, tha's true.  What's the problem, then?  I've done nothin' t' harm our reputation, I do fine work, if I do say so meself, and I've been learnin' the runepages as we must."
        "Aye, all that ye have an' ye do.  None o' tha's a problem, except
maybe in tha' it's been yer only focus.  Ye know yer steel, and ye know yer stone: but do ye know yer soul?"  Kragedor looked at Thalomin intensely.  He almost seemed to be looking into Thalomin, looking for something specific.
        "Me soul?  I know me soul.  Me soul says that me life should be spent down here, workin'.  It's all I ever wanted, all me father ever wanted, all me family's ever wanted.  I've never doubted tha'," Thalmin sounded sure of himself, but he felt confused by Kragedor's question.  He'd never questioned him this way before.  What did he mean?
        "Aye, and tha's the problem, eh.  Bein' a Runecaster's not just firin' an' hammerin' and foldin'.  Every time ye work the Forge, a little piece o' yerse'f goes into the work.  I worry tha', unlike those who ye consider less "devoted" the their work, ye only spend yer time workin'.  I don' think ye really know yerse'f, and if ye don' know yerse'f, ye cannae properly place the right part of yerse'f into yer work.  If you continue on this way, ye'll be a fine maker of tools, but ye'll never make a Runecaster."  Kragedor folded his arms across his massive chest and spoke again, resolutely, "I'm gonna do ye a favor, though I don' think ye'll be thinkin' it so.  The other Masters and mese'f have talked and we've decided we're sendin' ye from the citadel."
        "Wha'?" Thalomin reeled, "Yer banishin' me, because I don' know mese'f?"
        "We're not banishin' ye y' daft boy!"  Thalomin was, by Dwarf standards, still quite young.  Kragedor grinned and chuckled a bit, "But yes, we're sendin' ye away to *learn* yese'f.  Ye see, we think ye'd make a fine Runecaster yese'f someday, but not if ye stay here doin' nothin but yer work. And it's not in our hands t' decide who becomes one o' us, anyway.  Only Moradin can decide tha', but by sendin' ye out now, we can give ye a chance t' be noticed."
        "An' wha' am I suppos' t' do, t' learn mese'f?  There's nothin' I need tha' I cannae get here.  Me forge is here, an' me gear, an-"
        "An ye can do what yer told!" Kragedor chastised Thalomin, but not harshly, "I dinnae ask fer yer excuses and yer whinin'.  We're not askin' ye, we're tellin' ye!  Ye'll get yer things, and ye'll go.  Where ye go is up t' yese'f, but ye will go!"
        "An' when 'm I s'posed t' come back, then?" asked Thalomin, somewhat sarcastically.
        "Ye'll come back when yer ready.  I tol' ye, we Runecasters don' decide who does or does na' become a Runecaster.  Moradin will tell ye when it's time t' come back, eh, and he'll tell ye if yer t' be a Runecaster, and he'll tell ye what ye have t' do, and he'll tell ye in his own time and way."  Kragedor grinned once again.  "I know it seems a bit harsh right now, but trust me, in time, I'm sure we'll see ye in here again, and when we do, ye'll make yerse'f a fine Runecaster.  I look forward to that time.  Now finish yer work and go get yerse'f ready to go."  Kragedor turned and left the hall.
        He stood for a time, trying to make sense of everything.  The Masters claimed to be trying to help him, but they had succeeded only in confusing him.  Still, he did want to be a Runecaster, and if the Masters said he had to leave the citadel in order to make it happen, then, annoying as it might be, that's exactly what he'd do.  He turned back to the anvil, picked up his hammer, and lost himself in the finish work on the shield.

        The next day went quickly.  The shield needed only to have the other parts fastened for completion.  He riveted the pieces together, inspected the piece for flaws, and finding none, left his hall to delivery the shield to the Forge, where the rest of the shipment was awaiting this piece for delivery to Silverymoon.
        The Forge was the dwarven temple to Moradin in Citadel Adbar.  All the smiths had their own personal places of work, but the Forge was where the work was done for pieces which were to meet the standards of absolute perfection.  They didn't just create a hammer, a shield, or a helm there; the runecasters there created works which were to become tributes to Moradin, which were meant to be more than mere tools or items, but to be permanent representations of all it meant to be a dwarf.  Thalomin had been to the Forge many times, but was a long way off from ever being allowed to work the Forge himself.
        Thalomin entered the great hall of the Forge, and stood for a moment reverently.  He paused to look at the huge anvil, the giant forge, and the massive furnace.  Hanging near it all hung the tools of the Forge: hammers, tongs, and other items of pure mithral, all with magical dwarven runes covering them, used only on items of the finest quality.  He longed to hold one of the pieces himself, but knew it would be impertinence of the greatest order to do so.  He heard a familiar throat-clearing, and turned to face Kragedor.

"Welcome young Thalomin Blackaxe.  I see ye've done.  Good.  Have ye made yer other arrangements?" asked Kragedor.
        "Aye, me things are packed.  I'm leavin in the mornin'.  I've only a few arrangements t' make before I leave.' he answered.
        "Good," said Kragedor, "Ye'll understand someday why we're doin' this. Fer now it's just good t' see ye've got the sense t' do as we say.  D' ye know where yer goin' yet?"
        Thalomin paused, before answering, He had decided to head West, maybe to Silverymoon itself, maybe farther.
        "I have," he finally answered.  "I'm goin' West, t' the cities and the human settlements.  I don' know how I s'posed t' find mese'f, but if it's not here amongst me own kind, then I might as well go lookin' amongst th' others."
        "Good luck t' ye, then.  And may Moradin guide yer heart as well, as yer hand."  Kragedor smile slightly, and turned back to the Forge.
        Thalomin returned to his hall and gathered his things.  He was sure to find smithing work anywhere there was a need, and he'd packed his tools in case.  If he was to work outside, he certainly wasn't going to use those inferior tools used by human and other races' smiths.  Maybe he'd even find a place where he could craft his own tools, ones which suited him even better and would allow him to make even finer work.  Maybe that was part of this whole exercise, to find himself in his work, get a wider variety of work in other regions.
        Yes, that must be part of it.  He knew where he'd go to start with.
He'd go to Silverymoon all right, but only to rest.  He'd head to Waterdeep.
A wider variety of folks and needs wouldn't be seen anywhere in the Northlands,
and from there, who knows.  He set out from the citadel, grumpy and confused, but determined to do what it took to come back and join the ranks of the other Runecasters.
        Thalomin walked out of the Citadels' hidden cavern opening, and began his long trek to the West.  There was no one to see him off, and he didn't look back even to check.

-------------

Thalomin left the hall, bucket in hand, to go fetch the water he'd need for the forging process.  He was somewhat put off by the cleric's reaction to his refusal to let them enter the dwarf warrior's rooms.  He was equally put off by the whole groups' eagerness to pick and pilfer items from the last homes and santuaries from those who had gone there before.  Sure, there were things which *might* be useful in the future, but there was no respect - they'd conveniently sidestepped the cleric's own reservations of enunciating another God's prayers to go see what was inside.
There'd be none of that with the forge.  A dwarf's workplace was his own shrine.  It's one thing to put the tools and forge to the use it was meant for, but to sift and sort through it to find tokens and treasures out of greed - there would be none of that here.  He'd make sure that the dwarf's sanctuary was properly respected.
   The walk to the stream and back was not terribly long, but took time.  Once he'd filled the bucket, he walked back carefully, so as not to spill any.  He thought back to that last conversation in the main hall.  He'd not asked any favors from the Cleric, but the warrior's suggestion to create water would have been convenient.  He was still puzzled by her reaction to the thought of helping them.  What did she mean he was 'refusing to help.'  A dwarf's desire to show proper respect to another dwarf's life and work was refusing to help?  I've been dealin' with th' constructs protectin' the place - wonder how much o' those the dwarf had made - without question, and with little 'help' from her.  Tha's not help?  Bah, so long as they respect the shrine I'm not for carin'."
   Thalomin reached the hideout once again, and returned to the forge.  He looked over the tools that he had set aside.  He thought once again about the Cleric's words and his own reaction to them, and promptly put them all aside.  While he could use the tools, and make fine items from them, they weren't his.  They'd been made for another's hands, and they'd never feel comfortable in his own hands.  He'd use his own tools for this piece.  He'd have the familiar weight of his own tools in his hands while working here.  It's not that he didn't feel right using another's tools, he just didn't feel comfortable doing it, and the 'searches' of the other adverturers' rooms didn't make that feeling any better.  Thalomin pulled his pack over, and pulled his own smithing tools from it, setting them on the forge.
  As he began the work on the small piece of metal, he thought back to his last conversations with Kragedor, back in Citadel Adbar.  He'd told him to go and find himself, and he'd thought that his work in Waterdeep wouldhelp him do so.  He'd found good work, and the 2 years he'd spent there had taught him much.  he didn't, however, feel like he had 'found' anything new or different, or had any revelations into what Kragedor meant.
   Now, standing over the forge working the metal, and relating back to the past few days here in the hideout, something seemed different.  It didn't have anything to do with the work.  It had more to do with how he felt about all that had gone on, especially on the way to get the water.  He felt like he'd maintained a certain amount of respect - for those who had come before, and to a degree, for those he'd been accompanying him, at least some of them.
   The halfling, as annoying as he could be, cetainly showed some usefulness, and a willingness to risk himself to keep the group safe.  That was certainly to be admired.  I wouldn't want to rely on him in a fight, necessarily, but when it came to the more 'subtle' issues in life, he did a good job.
   The warrior, well, he had a ways to go.  He seemed to be more of a victim of youth and unfortunate luck.    You had to give him credit for his resiliency, though, his willingness to keep 'pounding away' at the task at hand.  That certainly showed in the clash with the animated suit of armor.
   The elves were an odd pair.  The arcane one had certainly been effective, and had his skills.  But so far he'd been quiet.  Thalomin felt like he really didn't know much about him, and wondered what his motivations in all of this really were.  The other one, the performer, was equally hard to figure out, but not because of his silence.  In fact, he's anything *but* silent.  On one hand he seems a bit soft and weak.  But on the other, he'd certainly showed good sense dealing with the mechanical spider-things, and had made an excellent point about at least inspecting the dwarf's quarters.
   The Cleric was the tough one, though.  She seemed almost reckless one moment, and a silent hanger-back the next.  Had the group waited for his return with the table, the whole situation with the spider-things would have been handled much easier, but on the other hand it had given some of the others a chance to show what they were made of.  Her attitude toward other faiths still puzzled him though.  How could a priest of any goodly deity be so hesitant and respectful of the words of another God, while similarly disrespectful of the place those words were meant to keep sacred?  She seems a walking paradox in some ways.  Yes, she would take much more time to figure out.  Longer, even, he thought, than the elves.  Maybe he should do some looking into the church of Tymora, learn more of what they're all about.
 "Bah," Thalomin muttered aloud to himself, "enough distractions.  I've got me some work t' do here."  Thalomin picked up his hammer once again and returned to the work at hand...

-------------

Durnock slowly opened the door to the room Thalomin had been staying in while the party was resting and planning their next course.  The dwarf had not responded to his calls, and from the sound of hammering he could make out, he was likely preoccupied.  He thought to wait for later, when the Dwarf was out among the others, and not intrude, but his purpose for coming was semi-private, and he'd rather put this to the Dwarf alone.
        Inside, he could not see Thalomin, but as the second door was also open, and he could hear the hammering much clearer now, he knew where the Dwarf was.  He entered, and walked to the second door.  From there, he could see the dwarf's back turned to him, working hard on a piece of metal at the anvil inside.  Remembering lectures he had received from his father, and the near lob the halfling had received upon ruining the dwarf's work back in Waterdeep, he stood
quietly, waiting for a good moment to interrupt.  He didn't have to wait long, though, as after a few minutes, the hammering ceased, and he saw Thalomin stand a bit straighter and wipe his brow.
        "What is it?" the dwarf asked, a bit gruffly.
        Durnock paused, surprised.  How the dwarf known he was there?  He'd not said a word or even made a sound.  Thalomin turned to face him, and seeing the startled look on his face said, "I heared the outer door open.  I've got no extra eye on me neck.  Good o' ye t' wait fer me t' finish.  Otherwise ye'd be makin' yer hilt yerse'f with a fat nose.  Now, what can I do fer ye?"
        Durnock recovered a bit, put forth the magical blade and said, "Thalomin, this blade needs a hilt, and while I know I am no dwarf, I did grow up in a smithy.  I would like to help you craft a hilt as fine as this remarkable blade.  I am sure that as we are blooded friends on a journey seeking fame and fortune we should take this opportunity to work together.  Especially as it looks like it will be up to you and me to lead this group.  Is it me or did you notice that we were the ones facing death head on?"
        Thalomin took the blade in his hands and began to quietly inspect it.  After a few moments' pause, Durnock continued, "I also need to increase my skills in weapons crafting.  I am a fairly accomplished crafter for basic weapons.  I offer my assistance to you in this endeavor.  Of course I am here to say that your efforts will not go unrewarded.  The next time we are in town you can count on me to find you the finest ale for your enjoyment."
        Thalomin looked up from the blade at Durnock, sternly, but not angrily.  "So ye want me t' give ye some teachin' in the smithin' ways, eh?"  He set the blade down on the table next to the forge.  He appeared to ponder for a moment, then said, "There're bein' many human folk who would be hopin' fer my kind to teach them our ways of dealin' with stone and metal.  I won't say it's never been done, 'cause it has.  But it's not been often.  T' dwarfs, this kind of work is very serious business.  It goes t' the very heart o' who we are.  If yer to be wantin' me t' teach ye, I'll be needin' some better reasons than those.  I can do the work yer talkin' of just fine on me own, and I'm not sayin' I won't teach ye.  I just want t' know yer *real* reasons fer learnin'.  From what I've seen, ye've got the makin' of a good smith, and ye've certainly showed yer worth in battle.  But if yer t' be learnin' from me, or any other dwarf fer that matter, yer going t' have to show the same kind of resolve, commitment, and character that I'd ask of any other dwarf apprentice."
        Thalomin, continued to look at Durnock for a moment, then turned to walk a small loop of the room, "As fer the others, ye speak of us bein' the only ones facin' the foes head on.  Yer, right, in one sense.  But on the other, what purpose would it serve t' have those whose abilities don't match wit' ours steppin' forward t' be cut down.  Our 'mage' companion, for example.  One good swing o' that sword the armor was wieldin' and we'd be one less in our group.  He's got skills, but I'd be willin' t' bet he doesn't have the stamina of a dwarf like mese'f.  That, and the cleric's intervention are likely th' only reason I'm even here fer you t' ask t' be taught.  If she'd been up fightin' at the time instead o' where she was, who's t' say if she'd been able t' help me in time?"
        Thalomin stopped his loop, faced the forge once again, looking away from you for a moment, "No, we may be th' only ones gettin' up close & personal-like, but don't be quite so quick t' be shruggin' off what they have been givin'..."
        Thal, turned back to face Durnock again, and looked, expectantly, "So, back t' me original question.  Tell me why ye *really* want t' be learnin'."
        Durnock wiped his brow and thought carefully before responding.  Addressing Thalomin with respect he said, "I know that the honor of becoming an apprentice to a Dwarven Master Smith is rare indeed.  As such I make no pretense as to my current capabilities, only the fire of my heart.  For most of my life, short as it may seem to your kind, I have watched in wonder and awe while my uncle created beautiful arms and armor.  I can't begin to tell you how many nights I've dreamt of being the one wielding the hammer.  It is my life's dream to acquire the skills necessary to make some of the finest arms and armor the world has ever seen."  He heard a slight grunt, possibly of disdain, from Thalomin at the final comment.
        With his shoulders slumped and his eyes gazing at the floor Durnock continued, "But while I yearn for the day when I can display my wares, I know that day is years away, if even I reach my goal.  I am not concerned with riches per say, a modest living is all I desire, but one day I would like to be known as the "human smith" who crafted an Axe worthy of a Dwarf.  To this end I ask for your guidance and help.  I have spent years in a smith and I think you may be surprised at what I have come to learn in such a short bit of time."
        Facing Thalomin with a look of pride and concern, he said, "And as for the rest of our group, don't take me wrong.  They all serve their parts well, without them we would not get far.  I was just pointing out the fact that it will be you and I facing danger head on.  Our strengths will complement each other and as we encounter more and more battles I feel we can develop fighting skills to rival many famous duos."  Durnock breathes deeply.  "Besides, I like your fighting style, perhaps we can learn from each other.  Anyhow my offer to assist you is sincere and genuine and I trust you will see the truth behind my words and start me on the path of knowledge.  Every chance to further my skills is one I feel I must pursue, for the good of our party as well as the attainment of my dream."
        Thalomin looked back at you thoughtfully.  After a few moments, he nods slightly, and said, "Aye, desire ye've got.  Yer heart's in the right place.  I'll tell ye now, though, yer learnin' won't be easy, as I'm sure experience with yer uncle ye well know.  But there's a few things we'll be gettin' straight afore we start."
        Thalomin, paused, and looked at Durnock seriously, "First, we'll be settin' yer expectations properly.  Ye said tha' a human bein' apprenticed to a dwarf Master Smith is rare indeed.  It's so rare, it's never happened.  I'm no Master by dwarf standards.  Likely by human standards, but the masters I answer to wouldn't even think of wastin' their time with ye.  I'll teach ye well, but there are certain secrets I don't know yet mese'f, and even if I did, I'm not sure I'd be able to teach 'em to ye."
        "Second, we'll be startin' ye out just as if ye'd never even seen a forge before."  Thalomin puts his hand up to silence the protest before it reached the man's lips, "Don't ye go thinkin' I'm gonna be turnin' ye into me lackey.  I need t' properly see what ye can and cannae do, and what bad habits I'll need t' be breakin' ye of.  Ye'll likely move through those times fast enough, and we'll get ye doin' real work soon enough.  As fer the hilt o' yer sword, I'll do work on it mese'f, t' get it done right.  As it's fer yer blade, though, I'll let ye watch closely, and I'll fashion it to yer own likin'."
        Thalomin paused once more, and his face took on a much more serious look, "The last thing is somethin' we have t' get clear from th' start.  I've been seein' the way some o' the others have been treatin' these rooms.  Aye, the original owners are likely long dead.  But I won't be havin' this room," Thalomin sweeps his hand to indicate the entirety of the room, "disrepected in the ways I've seen some o' the others.  To others this room may just be a place where stuff is made.  T' me, and if ye truly want t' learn properly, ye'll fast treat it thus yerse'f, this place is holy.  The work done here is not just the craftin' of things.  The forge, the anvil, the tables, the tools, each one is an item used to create a piece of yerse'f, in the pursuit of perfection.  Ye'll treat the metal like a child in need of teachin', the tools as a part of yer own se'f, and nothin' in this room will get handled in a way that ye don't want yerse'f handled similarly.  If ye toss somethin' across the room...," Thalomin trailed off, looking seriously to make sure Durnock understood the implication.  Seeing comprehension, his face took on a less serious, but still very professional air.
        "Also, I don't expect ye t' follow after me own Gods, as I'm sure ye've got yer own, and I'll not be responsible fer bringin' their wrath down upon ye, or on mese'f," Thalomin chuckled a bit, the first time you've seen him doing anything resembling it, "but I'll also be makin' sure ye understand and respect them.  If ye want to be as good a smith as a dwarf, then t' a point ye'll have t' think like a dwarf, and t' do tha', ye'll have t' at least understand a bit o' where we're comin' from in those matters."
        "Now, if ye've got any problems wit' any of me rules, ye'd better let me know now and be off wit' ye, as I'll not be comprimisin'.  If ye don't, then grab the bellows there and start pumpin'.  I've got plenty o' work t' do on that hilt, and it's better t' get it started now and stop wastin' time."
        Picking up a towel from his bag Durnock wipes his hands before grabbing the handle of the bellows.  With a small smile in the corner of his eye Durnock nods to Thalomin, letting him know he is ready to help.  Thinking to himself, perhaps we have reached a breakthrough with this gruff craftsman, perhaps, just perhaps we are now on the road towards friendship and adventure.

-------------

Thalomin finished smoothing the outer edge of the small, silver disk.  He'd seen the necklace Selaria had been wearing, probably her holy symbol, a not uncommon variation of the Tymoran disk he'd seen many times before.  This disk should fit nicely on it, though.
        He cleaned and polished the disk, and then fit it into the small jewelry mounting he'd found on one of the cubby-holes on the jeweler's desk.  He was fortunate to have found it, since he'd no experience making these types of items.  Making a small flat disk was easy enough.  Making the bits to hook it onto a necklace, however...
        He looked at the piece with satisfaction, he stepped out into the main hall.
        A knock on the doorway to the cleric's room (that's where he knew she'd been staying) resulted in silence.  She might be in the library, working with the other elf, researching the destination of the original owners of this place.  He turned and headed there.
        Looking into the library, he could see the two of them sitting, poring over maps and books.  He looked first over toward the bard, then to the cleric.  Walking over to Selaria, he tossed the small disk on the table in front of her, "I wanted t' thank ye for what ye did durin' the fight wit' the armor.  I heared ye helped me when I went down.  I'd thought I jes' took a good knock on the head tha' it took a moment t' recover from.  I found out that ye he'ped me, and it's appreciated."
        Thalomin still looked stern, but continued, "Anyway, I thought ye might be able t' use tha'.  I don' claim t' know much about Tymora and whatnot, but I've seen enough o' yer kind t' know what ye use fer a holy symbol, and thought..."  He trailed off, looking away a bit, toward the bard.  Selaria wasn't sure, but if a dwarf could look humble, this might be it, "anyway, it should clip onto yer necklance there jes fine.  Let me know if it don', I'll fix it so it does.  I know it's not been consecrated or whatever you folks do, but it's up t' you t' take care o' tha'"
        Selaria sat staring at the trinket the dwarf had tossed before her moments ago.  It took a few quick blinks of her eyes and a slight pinch under the table to make sure she is awake and not hearing things.  A frown slowly crossed her face.  Confused she glanced up at the dwarf.  Very queitly she spoke, "For me?  But I didn't do much, t'was mostly the bards doing, I merely stopped you from bleeding to death."
        She quickly looked away from the dwarf, wiping a bit of moisture from her grey eyes, now dark as storm clouds.  Carefully reaching out she carefully touched the coin before her on the table, a slight sniffle escaping her throat.  Suddenly grabbing it, clenching it tightly in her small hands she looked back towards the dwarf, feeling slightly shameful now for the way she had been acting.  Imagination making it feel still warm from the forge he had carefully crafted it on, though she knew it couldn't be.  Lip quivering, she took a deep breath, about to launch into one of her infamous hours of rambling if someone didn't stop her quickly.
        "Nobody has ever made anything just for me, I don't think I have ever had anything that wasn't one of my siblings' first.... I really don't deserve it though." A slight pause as she took another deep breath, her voice growing more quivery by the moment and it might look as if her ramble will be cut short by a violent burst of tears.  "And I've been so 'orrible to you this whole time too, you must be the nicest dwarf I've ever known Thal..."
        With that she did just as her grey eyes had been threatening and burst right into tears, leaping from her chair to catch the gruff dwarf in a hug.  It took only a moment to realize what she's doing and she quickly stepped back from the abashed dwarf.  Arms tucked behind her and eyes downcast to the foot scuffing the floor she sniffled quickly.  Then suddenly, she moved to grab at a pouch at her side, and drew out a pair of spectacles.
        One hand fingering the worn second hand coins dangeling from chain about her neck, the other held the spectacles out towards him "Thank you Thal, it will go perfectly with the others.  Please take these as my apology for my temper this last week.  Perhaps they can help you in you craft."
        Carefully peeking out from between wet lashes she watched his reaction to the odd gift, not about to tell him where she came by the spectacles or the fact she had found little use for them herself.
        Thalomin stared at the spectacles held before him.  He was entirely speechless.  On the one hand he had absolutely no idea what use he had for a pair of spectacles, and on the other, he had even less idea what to think of the idea of having been hugged.  It just wasn't something dwarves did...
        He slowly reached out and took the spectacles.  He looked them over a moment, and said, "Well, ahem, er, thank ye.  Tha's very kind of ye.  I don' quite know what t' say."  Thalomin looked completely befuddled.  He turned to look behind him, and said, "I, er, should be gettin' back t' the forge."  He took a pair of steps backward.  He looked almost as if he wanted to run away, "I've got me some work t' finish."  He turned and walked quickly toward the doorway, paused and looked back at Selaria one more time, and then, shaking his head, left the library.

-------------

Thalomin sat away from the fire, slowly sharpening the blades of his weapon.  The blasted orcs had actually managed to notch it in a couple places.  His arms were aching from the long, grueling melee, and the work on his urgrosh didn't make it any better.  Chopping orcs used different muscles than hammering steel.
    He was tired.  The trip through the misty forest had been grueling, and to end it with the battle, while it had certainly allowed him to vent his frustrations in a productive way (50-odd less orcs in the world had to be productive, didn't it?), it had hardly been satisfying, and it certainly hadn't made the fatigue any better.
    Fatigue he could deal with.  A good night's sleep, out of the damp mists would do him a world of good.  But what about the dissatisfacton he felt?  As he sat sharpening his urgrosh, the stone along the blade working in an almost meditative way, he focused on the battle.  Certainly he and Durnock had been effective in cutting down the majority of the pig-nosed beasts.  He certainly felt no regret about having slain them, either.  Why, then, did he feel no sense of glory or accomplishment by their actions against the orcs?
It seemed to him just a bunch of dead orcs.  They'd even once again almsot lost a member of their group.  And again were it not for the quick action of Selaria, that almost would have been less 'almost.'
    He thought back again to the words of Kragedor before he had left the Citadel.  In the months since, had he really made any progress toward finding himself?  He'd found companions, even if they could be annoying at times.  He'd found an apprentice, though he'd not been looking for one.  He'd found combat aplenty, and a couple good knocks and bruises to go with it.
    As he sat there, mulling all of this over, he felt something small and heavy tapping against his chest.  Pausing, he looked down, seeing it to be the hammer and anvil symbol of Moradin he'd always kept with him, bouncing with the motion of the stone against the blade.  He lifted it looking at the silver item.  Glowering at it, he muttered "So what am I s'posed t' find?  I'm lookin', fer certain."  He let the symbol drop, and took up the sharpening once again.
    Maybe when they found out what had happened to the seven he'd gain some sort of insight into the dwarven member of the group.  Maybe that was the point.  Maybe he needed to see what made this one tick in order to understand himself better.  By following in his path, he might discover a path of his own.
    Setting his now complete work down, he looked over to where Durnock lay, and chuckled lightly under his breath.  Not so long ago, his own aspirations had been no more than the boy's.  He'd merely wanted to be a fine dwarven craftsman, respected for his work by his people, respected enough to join the ranks of the runecasters.
Kragedor's words, though, had changed much of what he had envisioned of the master smiths, though.  Maybe his goals in life weren't as simple as he had once thought them to be.  Maybe that was what bothered him about the battle with the orcs.  Despite the injuries, it had still been pretty easy, and that simplicity stood as a reminder of what he had lost when he left the citadel, the false simplicity that had existed in his life back then.  Maybe that was Kragedor's point in all this, to force him to face challenges and to ask questions: questions about others, himself, and the world around him.
    A twinge in his back brought him out of his introspection.  Maybe in the morning, however, the next question he'd ask would be of Selaria and her healing abilities.