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Olòrin Blunderbuss
"You have fought bravely, my friend. Tend your wounds and rest, you may well be needed by dawn of the next morn, but rest now."
With that, Olòrin retired to his room and lay upon his bed.
Olòrin woke from what little sleep he could get. The battle had tired him but Fuorom's verbal assault had weighed heavy on his mind.
He moved to pull himself to his feet. He took his staff from its position; leaning against the wall and used it to lever himself to an upright position. He placed his hand above the orb of his staff. The orb immediately assumed a bright glow.
He used his torch to lead his way towards the tall window of his room. He looked out across the city of Larone. It looked somewhat depressed of late; the city and the people. The war had proved a mighty blow to the normally upbeat attitude of the inhabitants.
As he looked out, his eye was suddenly caught by the gradual opening of the Great Gate of the city. Through the gate he could see a white horse descending and upon it; Inquistior Fuorom.
The army had retreated; they would be weakest at their camp; if only they knew where the camp was. Olòrin instantly knew what Fuorom had set out to do. But to go alone would surely mean death. He would wake the others; a discussion and then Fuorom must be followed. He must not be allowed to reach the camp alone. He would be seen before he could report back.
With that, Olòrin ran from room to room, hammering at the doors with his staff. An urgent meeting must be held.
[ 02-03-2005, 12:39 PM: Message edited by: Blunderbuss ]
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