CHAPTER 1
"Blah blah" – Westron
"Blah blah" – Quenya
It was mid-morning when a company of nine males ran into my cave to escape the sudden downpour outside. Being a somewhat sensible being, I leapt to my feet with a growl, startling the company into drawing their weapons.
"Wait," the old man in grey said suddenly, halting the company's movements. Ignoring their protests I take this time to study them whilst I can. This odd assortment consists of a dwarf, two men, an elf, four halflings, and of course the old man, who I now realize looks strangely familiar. I cautiously stretch my long neck forward and peer into the old mans shining grey-blue eyes that spark with mischief and power. Tentatively, I reach out with my mind, skimming over his shields, it was him.
"Orlórin, what are you doing here," I ask aloud when Orlórin would not let me past his shields, I tactfully ignored the cries of alarm from the company.
"Why I am simply taking shelter from this downpour," Orlórin replies, I shake my head in exasperation, that was not what I meant and he knew it.
"You know that is not what I meant, Orlórin," I sigh, "though the Valar knows how impossible it is to get a straight answer out of you, it is comparable to pulling dragon teeth." Orlórin merely leans forward on his staff with that blasted smile of his. The rasp of steel and the creak of a bow draws my attention to the rest of the company.
"Perhaps if you took a form more suited to ease the present company," Orlórin suggests, noting my unease with the still drawn weapons of the company.
"What is wrong with this form? I happen to find this fanya very warm and comfortable." I frown.