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Two small children raced against their shadows in the dying sun, almost running into a woman hanging her clothes up to dry. The woman scolded them sharply, telling the two youngsters to settle down or go play somewhere else.
A man sitting by the fire, the Gyptian Story Teller, had been watching the boys race. When the woman stopped her scolding, he stood up and stretched. "Gather round, children," he called out. "Gather around, so I can begin tonight's tale."
Immediately, most of the children and some of the adults ran towards the Story Teller, scrabbling for a seat close to him. One of the woman remained standing however, and started to speak. "Shame on you, Wyann, promising the children a story before they've had their dinner! Wait until they've eaten, then you may begin your silly tale."
A few stifled groans were sounded, but no one really minded. The woman who had spoken was the Story Teller's wife, and they all knew she was providing a delay. Dinner would allow all of the Gyptians to gather, and everyone knew the best time for a story was when it was truly dark. Sure enough, after everyone had eaten, both requirements had been filled.
As Wyann settled himself to begin the story, the Gyptians shouted out their requests. He looked thoughtfully over at the two children who had been racing their shadows earlier, and shook his head. "No, I do not think I will take any requests tonight. Instead, I shall tell a story I have never told before, a true tale and one our ancestors played a part in."
"This story tells why young children chase their shadows," he said, pausing while the two youngsters squeaked and hid behind their mothers' skirts. "But before I begin, I shall provide some background behind the story. A long time ago, many shadows became displeased with their partners and began to break away. Most people became sick when their shadows left them, and fell into a deep sleep from which they would not wake. Of course, this caused great havoc in the world, and many different kingdoms began to blame others out of panic."
The fire crackled as the Story Teller's magic took hold on it. "The past is an uncertain thing, listeners, perhaps even more uncertain than the future. Decisions made in the past affect what happens now, and if even the tiniest thing should change then, the world now changes with it. This is one of those times where such things are most likely to happen..."
And as the story began, a picture began to form in the fire.
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Rules:

1. Normal role playing rules apply. So go read 'em, if you haven't already.
2. Please be active! Try to post at least 1-2 times a week, but more often would be preferred. If you are going somewhere or something and will not be able to post for awhile, please be sure to tell me.
3. Correct spelling and grammar is appreciated. No chatspeak allowed.
4. As this is a slightly medieval RP, no modern or futuristic weaponry is allowed. However, magic is.
5. Your characters can be any species (robots/androids/any other futuristic species excluded) you want -- yes, you can have Furres.
6. I'm limiting each person to two characters; however, I'm not limiting how many people can enter. Unless it gets too crazy with people joining. But I'll decide when that is.
7. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.
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Other Information/Plot Summary:
Denatou:
The Denatou are a nomadic tribe of desert Elves. Their main form of surviving is trading. They are a peaceful people for the most part; most of the other desert tribes leave them alone. Most of their customs and beliefs are not known to most of the outside world: for this reason, they are accepted, but not trusted. They all have horses -- perhaps the best ones in the land, and it is very hard to have them get rid of any one of them. The Denatou love music greatly, and they are able to make a variety of strange instruments. Their form of government is part monarchy and part democratic, as they have one main leader (At the moment this leader is Kisani Alanine Chance), and a Council of Nine.

Gyptains: Gyptians are groups of nomadic humans. Some are thieves and scoundrels, however, most are pretty calm. Their main form of surviving is by telling stories and predicting peoples' futures, however most of their predictions prove to be false, and thus Gyptians have gained a bad name. Like the Denatou, the Gyptians love music. Their family ties are complicated -- children are often sold to families of another Gyptian tribe. This makes the many tribes closer to each other, and helps prevent war between them. They have one main leader, which is usually the firstborn/oldest adopted of the leader before (At the moment this leader is Temius Damaitov), and a small council within each individual tribe. The size of this council usually depends on the size of the tribe.
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Bio forms:

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Species: (Include tribe/people if needed)
Appearance:
Personality:
Magic: (Not required)
Weapons: (Not required)
History:
Other:
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My Bios:


Name: Emberlynn Alanine Chance (Nickname: Ember)
Age: 15 in Denatou years
Gender: Female
Species: Elven; of the Denatou tribe
Appearance: Ember has a very odd appearance. Her hair is mostly black, with a few red streaks. Surprising as this is, it's natural. Her eye color is a dark grey with red flecks occasionally showing. Her skin is normal: a natural tan coming from travelling in the desert. Her tunic is red, and her pants are black.
Personality: Although most of the time she is calm, she angers fairly easily. She's friendly enough, however it isn't certain whether this is because this is how Kisani wants her to be or if it is her own choice, as she can be highly sarcastic just as often. She doesn't show it, but she is slightly insecure with herself -- she knows there is something she doesn't know about herself, but no matter how hard she tries, she can't figure it out.
Magic: Fire.
Weapons: An Elvish bow and a quiver of arrows, as well as a short sword.
History: When Ember was seven, an attack was made on the Denatou camp. She was playing with her parents (Alanine and Kolan Chance) inside the tent, and her older sister Kisani (who was nine) was riding with some friends. A fire arrow hit the tent where Ember and her parents were. Ember made it out safely, however her parents were not so lucky: they were killed.
No one else was killed in the attack, however there were many injuries. Kisani and Emberlynn helped for days with the healing, and then the Council of Nine decided that they would live with an old Elf until Kisani was old enough to take on her duty of leading the Denatou.
Other: Emberlynn's magic is strong within her, but she doesn't know she has it. As such, she is a potential danger -- should it decide to reveal itself at the wrong moment, great damage could be caused.

Name: Trystan Damaitov
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Species (And tribe/people if needed): Gyptian
Appearance: Trystan has slightly long dark hair. His eyes are a mysterious blue: adept at hiding his feelings when he doesn't wish them to be known. His skin is light, and he is slightly tall. His tunic and pants are a dark purple, and he wears a thick black leather belt. Most of the time, he also wears a black traveling cape with moons and stars sewn in all over it.
Personality: Trystan is light-hearted, and loves to pull jokes on people. He loves to talk, and has a great sense of honor and duty to his fellow Gyptains. He is bright and alert, and pays attention to all he can.
Magic: High-quality Illusion through his voice, which is mainly directed through a source (smoke, fire, water, etc), but can also be done in thin air. As he puts his entire soul into this magic, on occasion the magic will reveal to him the nature (personality) of someone else's soul: mostly in the form of some animal. This, however, happens very, very rarely.
Weapons: Two daggers: one on his belt, the other in his boot
History: For as long as he can remember, he has been the son of the Gyptian King, Temius Damaitov. This doesn't necessarily mean he's the biological son of him, however.
From a young age, many attempts have been made to calm Trystan down (as he will one day be the Gyptian King), however none have succeeded. Trystan has pulled countless tricks on all of the Gyptian tribes, and some of the towns they were passing through as well.
Just about the only thing that he will calm down for is Story Telling. He found out about his ability at a young age, and has been using it to tell lifelike stories ever since.
Other: He is the Gyptian Prince. He tells many stories, sometimes using many fireflies as light sources while he tells them. He also has an adopted sister, Sarayana, whom he cares very much about.
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I'll start the RP when three or four people join, just so we can get the story started right away.

Ooh, I'd like to join!

Name: Tamia Nonda
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Species: Gyptian
Appearance: She has long, wavy, medium brown hair, and green eyes. She has tanned skin because she likes to spend a lot of time outdoors, surrounding herself with wilderness. Currently she is wearing a brown leather vest top with a dark green, short jacket and loose green pants made out of a light material.
Personality: It really depends on how well she knows you. To strangers, she is somewhat shy, quiet, and keeps her distance. With friends, she is very friendly, helpful, and comforting. She loves to laugh and have a good time, but she can be serious when she needs to. She prefers to walk alone in the forest to being surrounded by a crowd of people.
Magic: She knows some nature magic, but still has a lot to learn.
Weapons: She has a dagger on her belt, but she doesn't like to cause harm. If she's threatened, she will most likely try to use some magic to distract and find an escape.
History: She comes from the Lemora tribe of the Hespian Forest. There she was taught nature magic under her mother and the other female elders. Her mother was the head of the tribe and after turning 18, Tamia was sent to the main Gyptian tribe, lead by Temius Damaitov, to become aquainted with the Gyptian leader and learn more from the people of his tribe.
Other: She has a small, brown cat named Tristan that follows her around everywhere. He was named after a dear friend that gifted her with him when they were younger, but has since mysteriously disappeared. He wears a green collar with a small oval pendant made from amber.

I would like to join. This would also be my first roleplay if thats ok. I feel this will help with my writing skills needed for next year.

Name: Damien Larce
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Species: Gyptian
Appearance: He has long, straight, jet balck hair with pale skin and red eyes. He has a skinny athletic sort of body. He is wearing brown pants and a white shirt made from light material.
Personality: He is very shy and prefers to stay away from people. But with friends he trys to be very tough
Magic: He does not know any magic
Weapons: Long Sword, Bow and Arrows.
History: His was abandoned by his parents at the young age of 3. No one knows why he was abandoned it seems to be unknown. After many years of living alone, fending for himself. He has found himself in the Gyptian tribe where he has been training to become a skilled warrior.
Other: N/A

That's fine, StuMan. Everyone has to start somewhere! ^__^ But if you want your character to be a warrior type, Gyptian may not be the way to go. They deal more in small weaponry like daggers, for basic self-defense, and magic. You can be anything you want -- I just put the Denatou and Gyptians up in the thing to give more of a background on them.

Name: Krista Storm
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Species: Half-Elf / Gyptian
Appearance: Beautiful long velvety black hair with natural purple highlights that glimmer in the sun like the waves in the ocean. Bright royal blue eyes that twinkle. Her smile is as warming a as noon day sun. She wares a green leaf like shirt with brown pants. Her feet covered with knee high moccasins. Her quiver is made with secret compartments to hold necessary items.
Personality: Very cautious, cheerful and fun to be around.
Magic: simple magic using nature and rhymes
Weapons: sword, bow and arrows
History: Elves are a deeply kind, caring passionate people who guard their forested lands using strong arrows from only the best the trees. she comes from a close family. Krista grew up in the forest using the skills and powers that her grand parents and parents have installed upon her. She was taught to be conservative and resourceful.
Other: Krista has a pure white Horse

TWIZ. I haven't roleplayed in years, or really been on PPT in years for that matter. But this looks interesting enough to draw me in.


Name: Ayven (like 'haven', but without the H)
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Species: (Include tribe/people if needed) Gyptian, as far as we know.
Appearance: Deep brown eyes, slightly olive skin, and straight black hair,sheared to just above her shoulders and pinned back from her face. She wears a slightly loose, dark brown tunic, belted with a wide black belt. Her pants are black.
Personality: Ayven is quiet and withdrawn, but with a fierce streak that comes out when necessary. She has a hidden aggressiveness that differentiates her from the rest of the Gyptians.
Magic: She has no obvious magic, but possesses a kind of animal magic. She has a male ferret named Meeno whom she carries in a specially sewn pouch sewn into the chest of her tunic. Ayven is closer to Meeno than she is to any of her own kind. At times she seems able to communicate with the animal.
Weapons: She carries a set of throwing knives on her belt, and is expert at throwing them at targets.
History: Ayven's earliest history is completely unknown. She was found at the age of four by the Gyptians. It is unknown whether she was a displaced Gyptian child, or of some other tribe. She was raised as one of their own, but has always kept herself somewhat separate from them. She doesn't remember her parents, and is secretly very curious about where she came from. Her true history is known only to the Gyptian elders. The others know that she's different and withdrawn, but don't know why.
Other: Though withdrawn, Ayven is accepted by her Gyptian peers, and does interact with them on a semi-regular basis.

((Haha! I wasn't aware that the Gyptians would be such a popular people. Ah well, it makes things easier, I assume. XD We don't have to work really hard to gather everyone together. And I wasn't aware this would be so long when I first started it... it just sort of came out that way, lol.))

Trystan Damaitov leaned forward against the fence lightly, watching the horses with amusement. The horses inside the pasture looked content, slowly grazing on the strange plants inside or drinking out of a large container holding water. It was not, however, the horses that amused him. Rather, it was the location they were in.

“I wonder why,” he commented lightly, glancing at a brown-haired girl standing beside him, “someone would go through the trouble of making a pasture for horses inside a desert, when there's perfectly good grass not fifty feet away?”

The girl frowned and shifted feet nervously. “I don't know, Trystan, but we aren't supposed to be here. Papa told us we were supposed to help the others unpack the wagons. Let's go back, please? I don't want to get in trouble.”

Trystan shrugged. “Neh, with all the other Gyptians there for the gathering, they have plenty of hands. Papa will find someone else to help. 'Sides, it'll be me that gets in trouble and not you, Sarayana. I see a gate over there – think I can get one of those horses to follow without a rope?”

“Trystan...” Sarayana said softly.

“No worries! It'll only be for a day or two. I'll bring the horse back, I promise. I always do, don't I?”

“No... I think we should go back. I'm not feeling so well,” Sarayana told him. Trystan glanced over in time to see Sarayana give a shiver, even though the air was warm.

Frowning, Trystan nodded. “Cold? We'd better go back then. I don't want you getting sick.”

As they returned to the camp, Trystan noticed that Sarayana seemed to be getting weaker and weaker. When they came into view of the multicolored Gyptian wagons, a quick moment of relief came over Trystan, only to be replaced by panic when Sarayana fell down beside him. Quickly he stopped, and knelt down by his sister. She seemed to have fainted, and her skin was cold and clammy.

“Ai! Someone!” he called out. It was then he made an odd realization – the sun was behind him and he could see his shadow quite clearly. However, of Sarayana's, there was no sign.
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Emberlynn Chance watched as the two left the pasture, making sure they were well on their way before following. She had heard every bit of their conversation and if the boy had tried to go into the pasture, she would have had to stop him. Though Sentou, the lead mare, would have kept all the horses in line, Emberlynn didn't want any strangers bothering them. It would have led to complications she did not need. The tribe knowing that she was gone, for example. Oh, they would find out eventually, and would be angry, but she had left a note for Nahnee, the old elf she and Kisani lived with explaining what she had done.

She was tired of waiting for something she knew would not happen on its own. Kisani had been in that strange sleep for a week now, and when other Elves had fallen into the deep sleep as well, Emberlynn couldn't stand it. Something needed to be found to cure them, and it wasn't going to be done while the Council of Nine stood around yattering on about the state of the tribe. Back there, what use was she? Though she was next in line for leadership if anything happened to Kisani, she didn't really have any power until it was certain Kisani wouldn't be awakening. She would just have been waiting. Waiting for what? To fall into that deep sleep as well?

Frustrated, the young Elf tutted her horse into moving faster. She had never seen anyone that close to the desert, let alone the pastures, and she was curious to see what kind of people they were.

As soon as the wagons had stopped, Ayven had snuck off by herself. It wasn't that she didn't mind helping with the unloading, but she just preferred to be alone. They'd parked near where the desert began thickening with plantlife. A small pool of water stood nearby, among the first trees Ayven had seen in days, but she didn't turn that way. In moments it would be overrun with thirsty Gyptians and horses. Instead she headed off toward a deeper cluster of trees.

Once beneath the shadows of the trees, Ayven felt more relaxed. She scooped Meeno out of his pouch and allowed him to nuzzle her neck before sitting him on the ground. He immediately took off, digging his tiny paws into the fallen leaves as he scampered between the trees. Ayven wasn't worried about him. She knew he'd come back to her when she whistled for him.

Ayven walked slowly between the trees, eying them carefully. Finally she found the perfect one. Taking a waxy stick of red pigment from her pocket, Ayven drew a rough target onto the tree. She backed up about twelve feet, and took the first knife from her belt. Planting her feet firmly, she eyed the target and throw the sword. It made two perfect resolutions in the air, before piercing the tree, directly in the center of the target. Pleased, Ayven threw the rest of the knives in quick succession. They all made their mark perfectly except one. One knife had bounced off the hilt of a prior knife, and lay shining in the grass. The rest formed a tight cluster at the center of the target.

Ayven pulled the knives out and returned them to her belt, and was just bending over to pick up the fallen knife, when Meeno returned to her. Deftly, he climbed up her arm and settled on her shoulder. Wordless communication passed between the girl and the creature. A feeling of fear came over Ayven. Something was wrong.

I think Twizz wanted me to join. So, Twizz, this character creation is your fault. >:] I rest my case.

Name: Javilastair Kavmarit (I had to make it ridiculously complicated to rival Twizz’s. >:] Call him Javi though)
Age: 20 (in fairy years)
Gender: Male
Species: Ickle Wickle Fairy-kins
Appearance: Javi is about 3 inches tall and has randomly changing hair colors depending on his mood. Unfortunately, Syrill rarely cares about writing in hair colors so you’ll just have to imagine. He wears some blue clothing. I’m really descriptive about the clothing I never talk about, don’t you think? Yeah. I don’t really know that much about Javi. You guys can make it up.
Personality: Javi is a personable sort of fellow. Unfortunately, he believes he’s as formidable as a giant, so he tends to flitter about acting as such. More often than not, he’s swatted aside accidentally. He’s zany and heroic and kind of pompous at times. Obviously, it would not be in one’s best interest to call him tiny since … things have happened. Imagine them because I haven’t yet thought of them. If I can without getting attacked by a giant Twizzler wand of OMG YOU’RE BREAKING THE RULES, you shall see it too. Oh, and there’s this other thing that I don’t think is really personality so I’ll stick it in later.
Magic: Ice
Weapons: Sabre (The fact that it’s the size of a toothpick makes it very formidable.)
History: Javi suddenly poofed into existence one fair summer day and the world has never been quite the same. Actually, it really only changed because the world naturally changes over time. Anyways, one day Javi while valiantly saving an innocent civilian (Read was ignored and got caught in a magical crossfire) was hit by a strange combination of spells that causes him to start talking to some figment of his imagination at random times. I'll figure out the rest of the history later.
Other: I don’t think he has a significant other.

The day had started out like any other. It was a bright sunny day and Krista was out chasing rabbits just for the fun of it. Not paying attention, she wandered farther then she should have. When Krista finally looked up she realized she did not know were she was. Suddenly something caught her eye. Horses in a pasture were not what she expected to find. One horse in particular stood out. It looked like her horse.

"It couldn't be," she seemed to say out loud.

Climbing the fence to get a closer look her quiver got stuck. Losing her balance she fell inside the pasture bumping her head on the fence post. Knocking her out on the way down. . . .

It happened to be a dark, cold day. Damien was walking in a deserted area of sand, bushes, trees and the occasional tumbleweed. He was looking for this mysterious scroll. This scroll is rumoured to grant the owner a magical power. A chilling breeze blew every now and then, causing him to wipe his face of the sand that covered. Damien walked and walked and still could not find what he was looking for.

He decided to take a rest under a nearby tree. “I will look for the scroll later. Yawn.” Damien slumped down under the tree and fell into slumber.

[Javi was such a boring person that the author couldn’t be bothered to give him an exciting introduction. Caution: Reading the following will send you into a deep sleep. I kid. I kid. ]

Javi woke up to a bright, fresh, early morning…in an uncomfortable jar, though honestly jars weren’t made to be comfortable or else more jars would be beds and they’re obviously not. He immediately scowled as he realized that somebody had yet again abducted another wee “ickle wickle fairy-kins” to sell at the market. He conveniently forgot that the reason he had been unconscious in the first place and an easy target was that he had challenged someone to a duel, only to be swatted aside like an annoying pest, which he obviously wasn’t. However, unfortunately, due to the natural and wonderful laws of reality, he couldn’t conveniently ignore the fact that he seemed to be bruised all over, which really put a damper on things. He could deny all he wanted that he hadn’t made the brightest of decisions, but, actual physical injuries were hard to disprove. Apparently, being slammed or crashing into walls doesn’t do wonders for one’s health. Who knew?

He attempted to have a massive hissy [What? It's not a word. That makes me sad.] fit where he sat and sulked. Unfortunately for him, glass is not exactly known for its traction and the person who carried the jar was on the move. Therefore, he obviously had a merry time spending quality time embracing the sides of the jar with various soft, delicate parts of his body, not to mention all the lovely bruised parts as well. After several minutes of this wonderful therapy, his wings were looking the worst for wear…not to mention the rest of him. As he slammed into the glass sides of the jar for about the 78th time, he suddenly remembered he had magic.

Breathing a sigh of relief that nobody he knew was around to see him at his “finest,” he gently set his hands upon the glass so that he could perform an instant freezing spell. Then, he could just break free. Luckily for him, such spells take at least several long, agonizing moments, which he did not have as he was being jostled about merrily. After only about 238 unsuccessful attempts, he finally admitted that he was defeated. Rolling his eyes, he sat back for the rest of the ride. Who knows where I'm going? For all he knew, he could be halfway to the land of the Really Really Big Fairies, who just could not be described otherwise. I mean they were at least 7 inches tall, for goodness sakes. What did their parents feed them?

Name: Tikkel ('i' as in 'Twizz')
Age: ?
Gender: Male
Species: ?
Appearance: Four foot two, tanned skin, long black hair and full beard. Rich burgundy clothing with small charms in all shapes and sizes hanging from it in seemingly random places. Sturdy black walking boots made of the hide of some unknown animal, decorated with gold brocade ribbons. And of course, a black cossack-style hat. Because no adventure is really an adventure if you don't have a hat.
Personality: Generally upbeat and helpful, always seeking a solution for the problem at hand. When someone tries to pry into his deeper emotions, motives, or his past, however, he will become taciturn, sullen, and withdrawn.
Magic: Has a deeper understanding of what he calls 'the circle of life and death'. What this means is that he can sense the vital energies in a person and, to a certain degree, direct those energies. A sick person will find hidden sources of strength helping him, or could, in a reverse situation, find every bit of strength he has left cut off from him, hastening his demise. It is really not known to Tikkel or anyone else what the extent of this power is. The use of this 'magic' (he is extremely reluctant to call it so) requires at least several hours, however, and leaves both the subject as well as Tikkel immensely drained afterward.
Weapons: A small sword whose purpose seems more utilitarian than military - though he knows how to defend himself with it if cornered. In one of his sleeves, a small blowpipe is hidden, and Tikkel always carries a small supply of poisonous darts. He knows how to make more, though the plants required are exceedingly rare.
History: Tikkel is short. He's also fun to be around with. That's the most almost anyone knows about him, and that's how he prefers to keep it. He has been travelling the world for a long time with caravans and travelling shows, helping out where he can in return for protection. When people ask him where he's going or why he's on the road, he quickly changes the subject or retreats into his sullen self. He definitely seems to have a purpose, however, but he seems in no rush to get to it.
Other: None, or to be added.

Apologies for note posting this. I will try to become more active.

Waking from a musty slumber, Damien glanced around. He was not under the tree any more. He was somewhere else in the desert and was covered in spec of sand all over his body. "Ugh" Damien cried. "Where am I? And where is that scroll I am searching for? Damien picked himself up, dusted himself off to find his weapons had gone. Damien looked and looked but no luck. He started to worry a little and wondered if a sand stron may have blown him away.

Damien wanted to get back to the market but he was stranded out in the middle of the desert. So he picked a direction and began running in hope he will end up somewhere.

Tikkel had entered the desert five days ago now. He had heard from the caravan he had left on the edge of it that it was elven country. He did not much care. All that mattered to Tikkel was getting across and being left alone. Neither seemed to be a problem as of now. He had no problem crossing the desert on his own, as uncounted years of experience had made him a very skilled survivalist indeed. The only thing Tikkel worried about was inadvertently crossing into elven lands. He knew from experience that the race of elves, as a rule, did not much care for outsiders, and, introverts though they generally were, he had been chased more than once by angry elves whose boundaries he had crossed without even knowing it.

Still, this journey had so far passed without incident. The strange thing was that the lack of incident actually worried him this time. He had twice now crossed over a dune to find an elven camp no more than two hundred yards away. Both those times, he had quickly turned around, but both times, he had been sure their patrols had spotted him. Tikkel had not been chased, however. And introverted though elves were as a rule, he had yet to meet a single one who didn't want his head, so to speak, for crossing into their lands without permission. But the elves had left him alone. Did they have no interest in him? Were they, perhaps, nomads? Or had they not seen him? No, Tikkel was sure he had been spotted. And while nomadic elves were not unheard of, it would be impossible that they would have offered no interest in him. It was almost like they could not be bothered with him. Like something else, something worse than a simple intruder was occupying them at the moment. But what?

Tikkel stuck a new cactus needle in his mouth to suck on while he thought. He had almost reached the top of the dune he was currently climbing, and was quite curious of what he would find there. For sure, when he had reached the top, another camp of elves, this one quite large, was set up three hundred yards away from where he was standing. Tikkel stood there, sucking on his cactus needle, and weighing his odds. While walking into a camp of foreign elves was probably one of the last things he would advise anyone to do, he was intrigued. Intrigued enough that his natural curiousity kicked in. The same curiousity that had led him into trouble many a time before.

Letting out a small sigh, Tikkel started walking.