7th Day of Fireseek, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon, Furyondy

The rain was getting heavier, Elrohir noted.

He could see it of course, in the ever-thickening sheets of water that filled his field of vision everywhere he turned. He could hear it, in the ever-increasing pings reverberating off his helm. And he could feel it, as the wind sporadically whipped the heavy drops into his face. It wasn't just a rain, it was a cold, driving downpour.

The ranger grumbled and pounded the wooden sign into the grass. It was placed just off the side of the road, facing northwest, so that travelers heading southeast from Gorsend could see "CLOSED" in big red painted letters, and know that the celebrated Brass Dragon Inn was, at least for a while, not in service. Black and red striped strips of cloth, torn from a bed sheet and nailed to the sign to improve its visibility, flapped madly in the breeze.

They had not had the time or materials to dye the sheet, so Argo, who somehow knew that Cygnus had a cantrip that would suffice, had gone upstairs and knocked on the wizard's door. After some arguing back and forth, the door had opened a crack, and Argo had tossed the sheet in. The door had closed, and a minute later had opened fully. Cygnus had thrown the now-colored sheet back at Argo and slammed the door shut. Elrohir, downstairs at the time, had thought Cygnus was behaving rather petulantly.

Still, he considered now, glancing back towards the inn; a dim shape barely visible a hundred yards down the road, Thorin's life hung in the balance on his decision. Would he be acting any better if it were Barahir at stake?

The ranger slowly walked back towards the inn. He knew that, one hundred yards past the inn in the opposite direction, Argo was pounding in a similar sign, letting the traffic coming from Willip know to keep on moving. They wouldn't be happy seeing that sign in this particular weather, Elrohir knew, but he was in complete agreement with Aslan and Argo that, for the next few hours at the least, the Brass Dragon might be a dangerous place for the unwary.

Squinting against the rain, Elrohir checked the sky as he walked. It was about two hours until midsun, he guessed, although he was unable to make out the point in the dark ceiling above them that might be hiding that fiery orb. They didn't know exactly when Nodyath would show up, but he was guessing it would be close to that time.

As Elrohir approached the inn, he began to pick up his pace a little, or at least as much as that was possible in his plate mail. He saw Argo, only about thirty seconds ahead of him, open the door of the inn and walk in. Suddenly, Elrohir noticed a change around him. The pings of raindrops off his helm became clanks, and the drops themselves turned a milky white, and began bouncing off the inn.

Hail. Just great, thought the ranger as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He took off his helm and ran his gauntlet through his hair.

There were only five patrons left in the common room. They were all seated at one table, talking amongst themselves in low voices. They were all men, young to middle-aged, and they glowered at Elrohir as he came in. They were the only patrons left that the party had not been able to persuade, bribe, or intimidate away from the inn. Either they were incredibly brave, Elrohir thought, or they just really didn't like getting wet.

He scanned the rest of the room. The staff, including their barkeeps, cooks and serving girls, along with the stable boys, were all in the basement level, where their quarters were located. All things considered, they had been rather compliant with the party's instructions, given that they were not told anything about the nature of the upcoming event. A few extra gold pieces slipped into their hands of course, had not hurt.

Tadoa was walking Dudraug around the room. On the cooshee's back sat Barahir, laughing madly and hugging the dog's thick coat fiercely. Talass and Caroline were sitting at the bar, talking quietly to one another. As Elrohir passed them on the way to the Tall Tales Room, he overheard his wife say "Talat" and he quickened his step just a bit. He was uncomfortable with the entire subject of his sister-in-law and had not yet brought it up with Talass. He just didn't know what to make of it.

It seemed to him that Talass wasn't quite sure, either.

In the Tall Tales Room, Argo and Aslan were sitting on chairs facing each other. Beside each warrior sat their own wardog. Tojo stood nearby, facing them. Elrohir was thinking that they looked like part of a giant chess set, when Aslan looked up and saw him. In the paladin's left hand was the scroll.

"Elrohir. Hello. Thank you for putting up the sign," he said. "I was just about to tell Argo here something. Sit down," he gestured. Elrohir sat down on the other couch, and saw Argo give him a sardonic grimace, like a pupil dreading his next lesson. If the paladin saw that, he gave no sign.

"Do you people remember, when we were back on Aarde, about to explore the dungeons of Venom, when we ran into that other party doing the same?"

The topic caught both rangers off-guard for a moment. "Sure," said Elrohir, rubbing his chin. "There were eight or nine of them in all, I think, and their leader was that knight, Sir..." he looked to Argo for the name, but Bigfellow shook his head.

"I have no head for names, Elrohir. I was too worried that a fight was about to erupt. It was pretty dicey for a few minutes there, as I recall. That knight seemed a little stiff to me."

"Sir Dorbin," Aslan cut in, "was his name. I was just thinking about them. Dorbin managed to stop our mutual distrust before violence flared up, He seemed to have better lines of communication with his people than we do. I was thinking maybe we could take a page from-"

Argo sighed loudly. "The last thing I want is more rules and regulations, Aslan," he said. "We don't know if we were seeing them at their best or their worst. And besides, they had a great advantage over us."

Aslan frowned. "What was that?"

Argo smiled. "Their party had no paladin."

Elrohir chuckled, but Aslan merely gave Argo an icy glare. "Why I bother with these things, I don't know, Argo. You seem to have this bizarre-"

A pounding on the main door to the inn interrupted them. They all turned to look back outside at the common room, then back at each other.

The pounding continued.

Elrohir got to his feet. "I'll get it!" he said in exasperation. "I guess someone has to show you people what leadership is all about! He strode angrily from the room, shutting the door behind him.

"That's not being a leader," Argo chuckled. "That's being a butler."

"Well, he knows I can't leave this room until all this is over!" Aslan stared at Argo; his brow furrowed. "Why didn't you get it?"

Argo's face took on a look of mock concern.

"I didn't want you to get lonely."

Argo smiled and took a sip of apple cider while Aslan shook his head slowly. After a minute or two, the door opened slightly, and Elrohir's head peered around the frame.

"Argo, you said a while back that you don't believe in coincidences, isn't that right?"

"That's right, Elrohir," his fellow ranger answered.

"Then explain this," Elrohir said and swung the door wide open.

Behind the ranger was a crowd of people, eight in fact. Most wore hooded cloaks, but it was obvious from the assortment of armor, weapons and paraphernalia, that this was a group of the bards called for lack of a better word, "adventurers."

The figure in front stepped forward around Elrohir and removed his hood, revealing an elaborate helm with a large ruby set into the forehead. He was clad in silver plate mail, with a brilliant insignia of a fist holding a lightning bolt emblazoned upon his metal shield,. His dark blue eyes twinkled merrily as he smiled at Argo.

"Hail and well-met, friend Argo Bigfellow!" Sir Dorbin exclaimed. "Could you find room at the inn for some special friends?"