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Greyylene
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re: Capt'n Greyy's Ship's Log

Greyy keeps at least one log of her adventures, and the misadventures. The crew swears there may be others, especially ones with maps of secret stash locations. Only time will tell.

Covered in softened leather, dyed a midnight blue with pages that are thick with proofing wax, the Captain's log holds many secrets and stories that may someday be told. The Captain signs and seals each entry proving she is the one who made it. Go forth and be witness to the tales here in.
Greyylene
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How it all began...

Coming home from a particularly dreary night of picking off goblins and orcs Greyylene was dismayed to see bodies strewn across every flat surface. The pub was supposed to be a place to come and unwind, well these girls took the “Unwind” bit too far. Empty bottles, broken mugs and articles of clothing adorned the floor and odd light fixtures.
“Ok That’s IT!” Greyy’s shout could wake the dead, or the utterly drunk and passed out.
“You lushes have looted me rum stash fe’r the last time!”
With that she grabbed the guilty by the hair and tossed them to the curb. Securing the door and locking windows Greyy went to work making sure her rum stash would be well hidden... Very Well Hidden!
“They want to take My rum? Fine, I will give them rum. This bitter sweet rot gut is just the thing to solve the problem of sticky finger lushes! Not to mention it will help get rid of the old stuff,” Greyy said to a quiet figure in the corner.
The shadowed figure moved with grace and elegance helping to make the switch. No more was said as they worked. When the task was complete Greyylene examined one of the new bottles.
“No mark, perfect. They can have as much of this as they want. And we will know how to tell the difference. Perfect!”
Heading to bed, Greyy’s smile was one of satisfied mischief.

Thus begins the great hunt for Greyy’s coveted Rum! What could the “Mark” be, and how can the real bottles of rum be located? These are questions indeed. Perhaps someday all will be answered.

Or not.
Greyylene
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re: Capt'n Greyy's Ship's Log

Ship’s Log:

Well, tis the season of all things Green! I believe it may well be Aedon’s favorite season. It seems to me that he enjoys using it as an excuse for, what he calls, Pooka shenanigans. In truth, he doesn’t need an excuse. Though, it is high time to cause some chaos.

The bruises and other wounds are healing well. I can walk around without every step becoming a blazing hammer pounding between my eyes. I will need to get the crew together and see what mischief we can devise. It should not be that difficult with this lot.

I know to not include Aedon will, indeed, be construed as an invitation. So, the question stands, do I tell him or just let him play his “Pooka magic” and let the stones fall as they may? I say it would be far more interesting to let him play the Pooka, he does it so well.


... to be continued ...
Greyylene
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re: Capt'n Greyy's Ship's Log

Captain’s Log:

There is one sure- fire way to get a Hobbit diligently searching for a trapped item. That is to tell them it doesn’t exist and not to bother. Tis the season for shenanigans, is there any surprise in knowing jokes are being played? After the crushing loss of the latest rum shipment we, I, needed some levity. I made a mental note to watch for the one who takes the bait first.

Securing a new batch of spirits to be delivered, we sat around the evening meal and told stories. Bam Bam, Scally rat, Wingnut and Rum Face were still a bit grumpy at not loading kegs to the rafters in our hold. At a moment of quiet, which did not happen often, Bam Bam made the offhand comment that she thought there was a keg brought aboard. I, naturally, denied such a thing. The game was afoot.

It was a bit of a surprise to see how quickly the meal was finished and dishes cleared. Each crew member, in turn, meandered off for some chore or to rest. The ship is not that big, but it took them several days to discover a secret cubby hole large enough for a keg.

*side note: remember to secure the hiding places and make new ones*

I was mildly surprised that Wingnut was not more generous with sharing her ill-gotten loot. She found the hidden bounty and decided to partake of its treasure all by herself. The evidence of that became abundantly clear the following morning.

Bam Bam’s hysterical laughter echoed off the ocean and hovered between the sails. She laughed so hard I feared we’d need to clean up after her. One by one the crew’s horror turned to chuckles then riotous fits. Scally rat, between tears and chortles, pointed at Wingnut. The joke had played out marvelously!

Standing in the middle of the deck, looking befuddled was a forlorn Hobbit with very blue fingertips, holding an empty rum bottle. Upon further inspection there was quite a lot that had turned blue, including the hair on her toes. Seemed she had every intention of sharing, but just could not put it down. Before she knew it, the whole bottle was gone.

“Well, what did you get into?” I asked fully knowing.

“She said nothing came aboard, so I went searching. Ye knows, j’st to make sure! Well, I’s found this ‘ere bottle. It call’d to me! I couldn’t let it j’st sit there! Right?”

Her pout was so perfect it brought another onslaught of laughter.

“This may well be a very long trip home,” I said chuckling to myself.
Greyylene
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re: Capt'n Greyy's Ship's Log

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyIXR3s8OtY&t=48s


the hurdy gurdy sounds pretty cool! was compelled to share.


Last edited by Greyylene on 2021/03/16 10:52 am; edited 1 time in total
Greyylene
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Ship’s Log:

The beauty of a small crew is, typically, I know where they are. In this case giggles and groans prevented any amount of hiding or further shenanigans. It gave me a moment to myself. I laid on the deck by the wheel staring at the clouds. They remind me of home and of gentle conversations with Aedon. Lazy days of watching the fluffy sky move about tossing out shapes of all kinds brought a smile to my face.

Mamuk, birds, an orc face skewered by an arrow, a ship all floated past my wandering gaze. The bliss of listening to the wind in the sails and the rhythm of the sea at the hull was rudely interrupted by the padding of feet on the deck.

“Capt’n, there be a bit of a leak in the hull again. Nuttin' too serious, we aint takin on water or none o’ dat, but it’s a bit drafty, to be sure.”

Scally rat was a fair distance making the announcement of her discovery, rightfully so. To stir my ire was not always a good idea.

“Fine, send over the blue toed Hobbit to make repairs.”

A dismissive wave began a scurry of activity preparing a mournful Wingnut to go over the edge to slap tar in the offending hole. I watched to ensure no further damage came to ship or crewmate. It took a good deal longer than one would expect of a “simple draft”. Nothing is ever very simple on The Vixen.

“I swear, one of these days I’m just going to torch this dingy and send it out to the horizon. It has more holes than it does solid pieces. Remind me to scuttle this heap of kindling when we get home,” I said to really no one in particular.

It was a good li’l ship, way back in its day. The crew was notorious and we brought a level of fear to those who heard the name. What happened to my fearsome crew? I think we need to make some changes, soon! The first of which will be to get a new ship!
Greyylene
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Ship’s Log:

It was good to be in home waters. This trip seemed to fly faster than others, yet take a long time. I had often heard that time is not linear, and to a degree I suppose that to be so. At present it certainly holds true. Crystal blue waters danced and swayed with sunlight and surf causing a kaleidoscope of colors. It was a pleasure to walk the deck preparing for home port.

~*~

The Wailing Siren was a sleek ship with square sails. The colors of Gondor had been augmented to suit the Capt’n more appropriately. Steel blue sheets topped the blue gray stain on the hull. Silver accents glistened in the sun and brought an air of regal elegance. A silver sheen from the rigging lines boasted an Elven flair with a hint of wizardry.

Steering from the wheel deck Greyy’s fingers caressed the ornate wood. In response to her touch it would move the rudder easily maneuvering the ship with the speed and agility of a cat. Worn parts in the wood spoke of high sea adventures and vast regions begging to be explored.

Taking stairs down to the lower deck and lighting the hurricane lanterns as she passed, Greyy inspected the work of her small crew. The Hobbits may not have been tall, but they were far from inferior. What they lacked in height they made up for in heart. That was what drew Greyy to them. When they worked, they worked hard. Perhaps to earn the reward of Play! Song, dance and rum filled the cabins and deck with many tales, some were actually true.

Moving along the rails, fingers gliding over the smooth metal, the next stop would be the bow. Instead of the typical swan, or the duck as Greyy called it, was the figurehead for which the ship had earned its name. Standing at the prow with a fearsome display of fury was the Wailing Siren. Her arms outstretched she screamed the called to arms.

Looking back, she was pleased with the sight. Lanterns could be seen on deck, but difficult to see from any distance. There was One light that Greyy insisted remain lit. It was her home beacon. A small lantern with amber glass hung in her cabin window. When they were close to home she hoped it would be seen from the shore to let Aedon know they returned. In truth, it was seen by any who waited the return of the Wailing Siren and her crew.

Satisfied she gave a nod and returned to the wheel.

“Home, ladies, we be home.”
Greyylene
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Tis the wee hours of morning and I sit at the old desk in my cabin. The stories this desk could tell, were one inclined to hear them, would amuse and terrify. It is a quiet morning and I can see the mists dance on the water. None of the usual bustling about will happen today, I left before the crew got back from shore leave. They will undoubtedly be concerned, and perhaps irritated when they discover the Wailing Siren missing.

This trip I must take alone. Alone, what does that actually mean? I do not believe it is as simple as the definition may imply. Where I travel by myself, the spirit of those I love, and who love me, come with me. That is a comfort in deep waters that are unpredictable in their terrible beauty.

Wandering around the cabin I allow my fingers to trace items from adventures long past. The whale tooth I began to carve, an old compass that is cracked and only correct half the time and a pocket watch that belonged to a navy admiral long gone sit in a cabinet secured at the wall. They are housed with items that are much more useful. A piece of calcite, nicked and rough but still used is always the first thing grabbed when the sky is moody.

Taking the stone from its resting place I remember the many times it should have been lost to angry seas. Yet, here it is, eager to be of service. The long glass that seems to instinctively know which way to look, I hook to my belt. That will be useful soon. The final item I grab is a piece of board. Humble to look at, but turn it over and a world opens. I don’t often mark maps, far too easy to lose, but in this case... well it makes me smile.

The Siren and I have a relationship not many understand. That of Captain and her Ship is a relationship born of trust and adventure. I promised to Try not to be terribly reckless, and she tries to stay in one piece when things go horribly wrong. At times I feel she can read my thoughts, perhaps she can, I talk to her often enough.

I left the crew at the harbor without a word. They earned some rest and a chance to make a mess of the local pub. To be honest, I didn’t want them knowing where I was heading. It is a secret location where many of my ilk hide precious items. Why would I tell Hobbits about that?

Almost a day’s journey out the narrow island chain could be seen. They are so well hidden that only those who have been there before know its location. Some say the islands are charmed only allowing certain ships pass or enter. At times I have wondered at the validity of this. How many times did I hide in those rocks only to emerge and confound the ones I ambushed? That’s another story.

The waters here are deep allowing for ships of all sizes to move freely. The tricky part are the narrow channels of sheer rock faces perfect for hiding things of great value. Moving slowly into the narrows I climb the main mast and perch on the outside edge. A dangerous place, of course, but how else am I to reach?

The sails are tied not taking any wind forcing the ship to bob with the small tide. Slowing almost to a stop gives just enough time to find my rock and release the trap. Removing the chest within and lowering it to the deck by thick rope, I replace the rock without the trap. Now that my items are gone, it can be used by another.

Dotted throughout the length of the cavern are many such nooks and crannies. All, if in use, are booby trapped. Some are more dangerous than others, depending on the one who hides the items. The trap does not always indicate the value of the loot, but more tells the malevolence of the captain hiding it. Some of mine had been rather gruesome, but I grew tired of finding innocent creatures trapped. All they wanted was a safe place to wait out a storm. So I started making mine easier for birds to escape, but humans not so. And I also move whatever I hide each time.

Back on deck the chest sits taunting any who wish to break its lock. Yes, it too has a trap. The contents are broken and destroyed if the lock is not solved. I, as a rule, hate puzzles. But this is a necessity to secure the contents, especially against pillaging Hobbits!

This is also why I did not want to bring anyone with me. Hovering over the chest, careful to hide the combination from even the stones, I open the chest.

“Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum,” I whisper to the ship as I remove the bottle and the recipe.
Greyylene
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re: Capt'n Greyy's Ship's Log

Who Stole Greyy's Rum!
/sos
Well, well, well!
What have we here?
/laugh
Ye be thinkin to rob me of my finest Rum are ye?
I dare say! That shant be.
/fight
I tell ye true, the Rum is well and rightly hidden.
How about I regail ye with a tale instead?
Perhaps to distract from the mission.
/wink
T'was a right stormy gail which had "The Wailing Siren" turned all about.
My crew tis a good lot, most times.
The sky was harsh and grumpy, the sea equally so.
But we, in the midst of their argument, did keep our heads.
Ye see, regardless of the rumors, there are ports we must tend.
/agree
Friends far and wide add to our collections of all manner of fine goods.
Most is quite legal.
/chuckle
And, I tell ye true, that which isnt ye cannot tell one from the other.
/shrug
But that is neither here nor there.
/laugh
This voyage was for some silks and fine leathers to make furnishings.
I dont ask, tis merely a way to earn our keep.
The storm threw us far off course and we were in hostile territory.
Finally finding a small cove between high cliffs
we could inspect for damage and make repair.
Scally rat was the first to find the traps laid.
They were to set to ensnair large beasts, the likes of which we were well and truly
hopful ne'r to meet.
Yet Meet we certainly did!
The shadows are good to hide, and we have employed them often.
But this night, the Shadows were Not our friends!
/cower
A low growling rumbled under our feet.
To this day, I know not what it may have been.
We dared not gaze on the creature that now threatened our errand.
We are, however, a clever lot.
Our female wiles are legendary!
/laugh
Still needing repairs, we made great haste to ready ourselves.
Sometimes the better part of valor is retreat!
As we were making final preparations another noise came from the mouth of our cove.
We were trapped, in manner of speaking.
The shadows were finally becoming our allies!
/cheer
I had seen notices posted about several towns around Dol Amroth.
Dreadful brigands making a nuisance of themselves.
I tell you, its bad for business!
Even if that business is less than... above board, shall we say.
We pulled the sails tight so the white sheets would not reflect the lights.
A new moon helped to hide our presence.
Riding with the pull of the tide we quietly moved out to open ocean.
The other crew was far too loud and heard nothing from us,
Or the creature on the shore.
The foolish crew rode in as if they were to lay claim to the whole of the cove.
I doubt very much they had any clue what attacked.
By the time they saw us, they were reduced to rubble and ash.
/mourn
None diserve that fate.
Yet, all the same, I am glad it was not us.
Once we were back on course, I called the lasses to quarters.
We were well and truly in need of some celebration.
/cheer
I examined the bottles as I took them from my personal stash.
/sigh
The bottles were...
Not right!
They were missing their special mark.
/tantrum
Well, I could not very well withhold celebration after such a narrow escape.
So we celebrated.
/cheer
Yet it made my heart sad to think my crew would deminish the stash on board so obviously.
I daresay, there was a thief aboard my pirate ship!
Is no one safe??
/sigh
We will investigate this theft further, but that will be for another day!
Fear not! I will get to the bottom of this madness!
/rude
Take heed, ye who dare to lay hands on my bounty!
There shalt be consequences!
/fight
Until next we meet!
Beware!
/cheer
Greyylene
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re: Capt'n Greyy's Ship's Log

Roll Call

It seems to me there may be a new rivalry building. The group of giggly Hobbits lead by one Freemark Nest.
Why should this surprise me so? They have been after my Rum from the very start.

I can blame only myself for the grave oversight. Fear not, this will most assuredly be addressed, swiftly.

It would seem she builds her own crew. My concern is how many of mine will she take? Time will surely tell, in short order. Already I fear Scally Rat to be taken, perhaps others.

This rivalry, promises to be...
Entertaining.
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It never ceases to amaze me the number of shenanigans that woman and her crew can get into. I have tried to keep my eyes turned away since the arrival of the Wailing Siren. The ship, larger in size than the Saucy Vixen and yet swifter and more maneuverable than the smaller craft, had been designed to be manned by a mostly Hobbit crew. This has been the make up of her crew since her arrival in Belfalas bay, and I had hoped that their stature would be an impediment to getting in too much trouble.

But ah, Greyylene is a resourceful lass, and determined to do her amount of rum running and marauding up and down the coast line. Even when we are spending more time in our home in Rohan, she has managed to pilot small crafts along the many waterways in her constant mission to hide and deliver rum. It has not been unusual for me to hear the giggles of hobbit lasses, followed by a sudden shush from Greyy as they worked down along the stream doing Eru knows what,

She has her business, as I have mine. And I resolve to keep my nose where it belongs and allow her the freedom to enjoy her crew, ships and rummy delights. After all, she is as she was made to be, and I would have her in no other fashion.

Recently, I have seen Corbee sneaking about the yard as well, and could not help but chuckle when she planted a small flag in the middle of the lake claiming it in the name of Greyylene’s crew. The appear to be building something out there, but if I get close enough to the edge of the yard to see, they quickly cover up their work.

I am curious about one thing though. The past couple of days Greyy has been muttering about the house, and the only thing I have been able to make out are the words blasted, rum, and the name Freemark. I suppose time will tell all, but for now, I will stick to my garden and allow the pirates and their captain their space.

Something is coming.


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Well, well. I must say there seems a great need to re examine my crew. Evidence shows someone in My ranks has, indeed, broken into the ship's stash of rum. It is a small stash, but the fact remains, they Took It!

One would think they would be more careful in replacing battles. Not even the slightest care to compare that which was pilfered. These are missing the distinctive Mark.

That Mark is special to me. I keep it on my favorite bottles to remind myself of simple times, long past. Fondly, I remember days of no care. Where running in the forest was my biggest adventure.

I suppose even as a youth I was destined for Piracy! My sister's garden would surly agree. the tall walls lined with ivy, and thick vines put up a formidable challenge. In the end it was still no match for my sheer force of will.

Her garden was the first place I learned the art of cooking, and eventually Brewing! It is her secret ingredients that make my brews, special. Even now I use the same mix in the favored rum. I suppose they cannot be faulted for desiring it's magic so completely.

Enough of that, there is a thief to catch!
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re: Capt'n Greyy's Ship's Log

Corbee:

There was something to be said bout' being a pirate, we had a code. Well a code of sorts, but a code nonetheless. But all loyalty was crushed when a rusted set of Mithril cups became overflowing with stolen rum! When Cap'n Greyylene called me over to her side, I knew something was a miss. The beautiful, yet rugged Cap'n spoke lowly and even knelt so her eyes were level with mine. That is real respect to a hobbit you know. We conversed late into the night. 

As instructed by the Cap'n, I had set off to fulfill a few errands. Truth be known, it was something a little more involved than that; it was a secretive and dangerous escapade in the making. If you wanted to add scrupulous, by all means then do so. As we are talking about the Lil Firecracker: also known as "The Bywater Barber", "The Shire Stylist", and last but not least my favorite" The Hobbit Hair Hacker." Sadly these plans were between me and the Cap'n; so I had to go it alone.

Before anyone sets a plan in motion, you plan, you plot, and then you succeed. This Rum stealing ELF knew what she was doing, how smart she must think she is. I kept repeating this over and over again until it became a little jingle. 

A thief you are - plotted you did
Drank the rum, and tossed the lid
Drunk as a dwarf, greedy you are, 
Freemark Nest, shall get the tar

It kept me strong and motivated. Because in the end, I really did like Freemark. I packed carefully: Provisions (a separate horse for this of course), Weapons, Tar, Feathers, Rope, and the one thing I thought I retired - my scissors. These rum sisters were going to pay. 

Finally ready, I headed out. Nearing the edge of the lake, my eyes glanced at the flag that had been planted earlier. The Greyylene Crew owned these waters now, it brought a naughty grin to my stuffed cheeks, as I was gnawing on rum-soaked lembas bread. I could denote noises, groans, and obvious movement. I paid no mind, as lookie-loos were also dealt with quickly. As Red stood guard, I felt content. Off I went, my scissors dancing playfully along with the jingle I was singing.
Aedon Durreah
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Posted for Greyylene.

It was a routine supply run. Essential items, ingredients and a new crate of Marked bottles were on the list of inventory. The catch, none of the ports were close. This was going to be an extended trip.
With the Mark newly revealed, my priority was to hide and re-secure the few bottles left in my personal stash To that end. I packed and loaded the bulk of the cargo alone. Any of the crew not prepared were left behind.
It makes me curious to know how close Freemark Nest is to knowing secrets to the Rum. At this point, it is more on principle than any­thing more. I suppose the best kept secret is still that of the "hard" brew. Even I am unwilling to make that one. the recipe is however. in the book. If that gets even a hint of being revealed I will destroy it.
The Hard Brew is an old recipe, not thought of for a long time. Knowing how freaky and her crew react to almost any new liquor, I am confident in the knowledge the results would be disastrous. The initial response is euphoric, but the escalation of aggression comes on quickly. In the end, madness sets in. If the victim stops drinking, the effects can be reversed. However, the nature of the drink is that it is highly addictive. After one drink, it is almost impossible to stop. the ultimate result is a violent death.
Some day I should really destroy the more dangerous recipes. There are far more aggressive ones that I am honestly unwilling to admit I have. Perhaps this trip will be the excuse I need to clean up the Book. It has only been recently where having to consider these consequences. Never before have I had any on my crew so eager to take any secrets and put them in the open market. Some changes are at hand.
The crew knew of the impending voyage. So any who came early and prepared will be included. When we hoist anchor, any not aboard will be left.
As expected Scally Rat and the firecracker were already hard at work. the few crew- members made quick work of securing the cargo in the hold. I half expect there is at least one hiding spot set aside for the Li'l spit fire Corbee keeps for company.
The time came to heave to, whispering to Scally Rat, I let her yell the order. Her voice carries well enough to be heard on board but not so far as to carry into town. this was. indeed, much more of a secret.
Moving out of port I saw Aedon waving from the shore. I can only guess the sort of trouble he will find in my absence. I know we will miss each others company, but the return will be most welcome. I waved my blue sash as an answer to him. There was Some degree of hesitation to this trip and seeing him on the hillside was a great comfort.
"Capt'n there be someone on the dock. Do we wait?"
"We do Not", I said taking the long glass and seeing Wingut waving frantically on the shore. I feel certain she will try to raid the
stash at the barn. All she will find will be a large room of empty kegs and barrels. the mini is in charge of stacking supplies and re hiding the few Marked items left in the stores.
Finally underway the cloudy morning gave way to crystal blue skies and joyous waves. fish and dolphins acted as escorts as we made way into open ocean. It felt good to be on the waves again.


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Standing just up the hill from the docks, Aedon watched as the Wailing Siren slipped silently away from shore. This was to be a short voyage really. Lasting little more than a week if all went well. But the sea is a tricky thing at times and the winds not always on the side of the sailors. And having spent much time aboard the Celtic Tide Aedon was well away at the speed with which a storm can blow in bringing peril to ship and crew.
But Greyylene was a seasoned captain, with many voyages to her credit. But for some reason, Aedon always feared that when called upon in need, the seamanship of Captain Greyylene might elude her, and skills once ready and waiting, might slip from the grasp of the one piloting the ship. This, he knew, was always a possibility, and a fear he had learned to live with.

"Trust your instincts Izzy." he whispered.

He watched until the lantern in the window of the cabin in the back of the ship faded to a dull glow before turning and heading up the hill, and into the house along Belfalas Bay. Closing the door, he picked a book up off the table and headed to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.
The silence of the building and the stone wall served to echo his footfalls through the room, each step seeming to slowly fall in lie with the beating of his heart. Taking the cup of fresh brew, he walked to a chair in the corner, sat down, placed his coffee on the side table and opened his book to read.

It is unknown how long he sat, staring at the same page. The words written seemed to shift and move like the swaying of a lantern on a ship a-sea. As he sat there, he thought he could smell the salty sea spray, and hear the faint sounds of the crew working on the deck. Closing his book, he rubbed his eyes, and stared at the cold stone walls of the room. He missed his large reading chair which set before the hearth in Connemara. He longed to smell the heather that grew against the walls of the House and inhale the scent of Yew logs burning in the fireplace. But that was a lifetime ago, and many miles from where set in the cold discomfort of this dwelling.

This was not the first, nor would it be the last time his thoughts turned to home. Life here, with Greyylene had been good, and he enjoyed watching her directing her crew aboard the ship, or helping our friends an kin in the city of Bree. But in his mind a moonlit glade filled with the graceful movements of wisps, and a woman dark of skin with silver hair drew him within, and willingly, he followed.
A week is not a long time for a voyage, and in reality, he knew the days would pass swiftly by. But for now, he found solace and peace as he lingered in the glade, under the moon , and watched her dance.


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