Now let me tell you tales of high adventure…..

DaddyBear the Minivandian leaned back into the cushion upon which he sat, reflecting on the events of the past few days.  He had travelled with Jack the Mad Holy Man across Mordor to meet with other members of the Guild of Armaments.  Together with his compatriots Jay the Maroune, The Ancient Mariner, and AyDee the Lifesaver, he had gazed upon and tested many items of both stabbiness and blasting.  He had met Kathy the Feline Warrior, with whom he had conversed many times on the magic elf box, and whose writings he hoped would be good guidance to his wife and daughter.  He had even met and hailed Mas the Ayoob, Oliver of the North, and The Gunny, honored warriors who had also gathered in the City of The Saint.

He had considered the merits of the latest wares from many craftsmen, as well as admiring the work of John of Ogden, may he enjoy his time in the hall of heroes.  Of particular interest to him had been the throwers of pellets and the wizards who made devices that made distant items seem to be directly in front of the warrior.  Many artisans of cloth and leather were also there, showing off the fruits of their labor.  DaddyBear had purchased several small tunics emblazoned with subtle symbols that signified his membership in the Guild and an owner of weapons.  Some of these he would wear himself, some were gifts for friends, and one special one would be given to his daughter, Listener of the Firetales.  She had remained at home to assist the Woman of Eire with the Young Prince, as he was having to learn to master the great strength and energy that came with his heritage of the North Men and could be a handful.

He had also listened to the utterances of leaders and those who wished to lead, and his heart was heavy with dread for the future.  Those who wished to lead after the revolution of voices in the coming autumn all lacked anything that made the Minivandian want to gird his loins and wade into conflict against those who wished to oppress the free people.

He had watched Oleg the Wizard work his particular brand of magic upon the young women who came into contact with him.  The Minivandian had come to believe that Oleg had more of an innate magic of enchantment, such as can be found among the elves, instead of a learned skill.  When he had seen women held in thrall by the wizard, he had seen no evidence of a charm, incantation, or potion in use.

DaddyBear was at that time surrounded by friends, both old and new.  Mistress Squeaky was seated across from him, and she was singing songs of both joy and sadness with Mistress Fatale of the Phlegmoix.  Canis the Lawman, Mistress Fatale’s mate, sat and discussed the issues of the day with Jay the Maroune, Matt the Giant, and Rick the Brave.  Awelowynt the Wookie sat among the group also, offering drinks of his elixir from the bottom of the world, which went well with the liquor of corn that DaddyBear had brought with him.

The Minivandian drank deeply from his glass of amber liquor and smiled to himself.  He was far from home and hearth, but he was among fellow believers in freedom and truth, and that was almost as good.  In all his quests, he had never known such good company.  Even though he was far from the lands of his family, he was with his tribe.

Tomorrow he would travel back across Mordor to the land of blue grass, fast horses, and strong drink.  But tonight, he could bask in the warmth of good companionship.

As he grew grayer and age began to rob him of his strength, he would often look back on that evening and remember the talk of his companions and their friendship, and that would bring a smile to his lined face.  But before he reached that state, he had many quests and adventures, sometimes with other members of his tribe, and sometimes as a lone warrior.  But those are tales for another day.