The Sun shone down on the throng of people in the city square, bringing refreshing warmth to an otherwise frosty reception. Elves weren't so much hated within the confines of the city, but they weren't exactly trusted. Luthiriensis-Co-Dubastienel didn't mind. She loved the place and had already met, and become fast friends with, practically everyone that was anyone in the city. It was so vibrant and full of people, so unlike the forests of Fenestri. Luthiriensis had come to expand her knowledge of the world and this felt like a good place to start.

Since her childhood, she had heard tales of the great city, only a few leagues from Fenestri, as the crow flew, but so different that Luthiriensis could imagine she had stepped through the Void to another world entirely. The buildings. The people. The smells. Well, the smells were difficult to endure, but she did so. And she had learned not to curl her nose in distaste.

Among the crowds, she noticed a large number of burly warriors, weapons at their hips, or on their backs, or held in calloused hands that looked as though they had all seen their fair share of battle. All quite exciting! She saw other races, too. A couple of halflings, gazing with avaricious eyes at coin purses dangling from belts. A dwarf, too. He leaned upon an axe almost the same height as himself and did his very best to appear imposing and gruff.

That he only stood a head taller than the halflings, and head and shoulders shorter than the surrounding humans did little to diminish his fierce countenance. If anything, it made him bristle with undisguised anger as people completely failed to see him beneath their noses, bustling past as they tried to reach the fountain in the centre of the square where someone prepared to address the crowds. A cryer, bearing the official hat and everything.

Soldiers to either side of the cryer stared out across the crowds, guarding the overweight, ring bedecked man who looked as though he had rather a lot to do elsewhere and having to stand there, waiting for the crowd to quiet, was at the very bottom of his preferred tasks for the day. He raised his hands above his head, wide sleeves falling to his armpits, and the crowd completely ignored him, which appeared to annoy him even more.

"Shut up you disgusting, vile commoners!" One of the soldiers roared out to the crowd, veins throbbing in a thick neck. "Pay attention to the cryer or I'll beat the lifeblood from every single ..."

"That's enough Birt." The cryer patted the soldier on the bulging bicep. "They aren't 'disgusting', or 'vile', or 'commoners', they are valued citizens of Carpancia! Or so we're told. Now, please, ladies and gentlemen and ... whatever you are ... Hark! For I have news from the King!"

"Is it about the price of eggs?" One old woman raised a gnarled walking stick toward the cryer and the soldier, Birt, almost leapt from the fountain to tackle her, only for the cryer to stop him. "Only, that swindling bugger, Gathnar, has put up his prices four times in the last month. He says it's market forces, but I think he's a thieving wretch. And don't get me started on Bellvij and the state of her eggs! I tell you ..."

"No. It's not about eggs. Birt! Calm down. Valued citizens, remember?" The cryer stepped in front of Birt who looked as though he wanted to kill the old woman, which Luthiriensis thought a little aggressive. "No, harken to the words of the King, who wishes it known that ..."

"Can you say, with any certainty, that the King intends to compensate the Honourable and Ancient Order of Goatherds, Shepherds and Other Like-minded Herders of Various Species, for the wilful and deliberate destruction of the grazing fields out past Hognir's Farm?" A man, who looked as though he slept nightly with any number of those species, waved a hoe in the direction of the cryer, sparking another attempt by Birt to deal violence, once again, stopped by the cryer. "Oh, you can beat me, big man, but I know it was you and your clodhopping brutes that's as trampled all over those grazing pastures. 'We're doing exercises', he says. Don't feed my goats, don't exercises."

For a moment, it looked to Luthiriensis that the cryer considered allowing Birt his freedom to dole out excessive punishment against the irritated goatherd, his eyes narrowing, along with his lips, which were already narrow in the first place. The cryer carefully adjusted his sleeves, allowing them to fall toward his knees, and appeared to take several deep breaths. Then a smile spread across his face as he looked toward the man, talking slowly and deliberately, with not a little condescension evident in his words.

"No. And you know full well that such disputes are dealt with on Thursday afternoons, right after the King's tapestry lessons." The cryer gave the goatherd a squint-eyed scowl, daring him to say anything else. Birt straining to unleash his preferred brand of diplomacy. "Now, as I was saying, harken ye to the the words of the ... what is it?"

"What? Me?" Another man looked around at the faces that now turned to him. He lowered his arm, sheepishly, and hugged himself. "Sorry. I have this rash, see, in my armpit. I've been meaning to visit the apothecary, but old Yagnult gives me the creeps. I'll try to be a little more discreet when scratching. Sorry. Sorry. Please, go on. Sorry."

The cryer sighed, rubbed his eyes, his sleeve falling to the crook of his forearm, and then gave Birt a nod. In a flash, Birt leapt from the fountain and, though Luthiriensis could not see what happened through the gathered crowds, she could certainly hear the screams, yelps and repeated 'sorry's' that came from the rash-afflicted man. After a while, Birt clambered back up to the fountain, looking rather pleased with himself, adjusting his helmet, and returned to the cryer's side.

"Anyone else?" The cryer looked across the crowd, Birt's eyes mirroring the sweep, and, when no more hands or voices raised, the cryer gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Hark ye and hear the words of your King! ... It is now the third month since the heir was stolen from the castle during the night and the King misses his heir greatly. The reward is now increased to five hundred gold Crowns and, as an extra special incentive to get off your arses and rescue a poor, frightened child, the King offers a one-time only chance at owning your very own fiefdom, within reason, with all the trappings, profits and concubines such a position entails. Only! Only if the heir is returned, unharmed, within the next fortnight! Applications and entry fees will be taken at the Horse and Satyr pub. Bribes welcome."

It all sounded absolutely marvellous to Luthiriensis. Marvellous and exciting. Well, apart from the whole 'kidnapped child' part of it, but everything else certainly. Now she understood why the square had so many burly and dangerous looking warriors. Why the city had practically ignored her coming here when, in all modesty, her appearance, when not stoking distrust and hatred due to her being an elf and all that, usually caused quite a stir. She was, many, many people had proclaimed to her, ethereally beautiful. It was a curse. Few treated her with anything but desire, ignoring her other significant features. Such as her lavish dress sense, her ability to tell where any cloth came from in the world and her wonderful singing voice. Among other talents that appeared to manifest whenever she needed them to.

The dwarf didn't look happy. Every time he tried to head toward the Horse and Satyr pub, some other overly muscled man or woman would step in front of him, or over him, or barge him out of the way, and, beneath his impressive beard and moustache, Luthiriensis could see his face turning a particularly vibrant purple colour. When someone managed to tip his helmet over his eyes, the resulting roar from the dwarf had the crowd taking several steps away from him. Which was good, because he started blindly swinging his fists in every direction at just the right height to ruin anyone's plans for raising a family.

Which was all rather inconsequential to Luthiriensis. It was all very entertaining, and who didn't want to watch a dwarf fight a crowd of people that weren't there, but she had other things to do. Such as find someone here who knew how to braid elven hair. That was important, as elven hair, due to its silky, shining, fine nature, didn't take kindly to the normal, human, brutal methods of braiding, but required a far more delicate touch. A delicate touch that few outside elven lands had. But she was in dire need of professional hair care. Dire need!

Something brushed against her and Luthiriensis snapped her hand to her waist, checking her coin purse and scowling, beautifully, at the halflings that hovered not too far away. Her coin purse still sat at her hip, holding more gold coins than most of these people, combined, would ever see in their lives. Gold coins, and something else. Something that she couldn't remember putting in her purse.

Looking around, she saw no-one near as she lifted the purse, opened the drawstring and pulled out the thing she had felt through the delightful material only created on the Northern slopes of the Kuritch mountains. Usually, that material was only used for sensuous undergarments, but Luthiriensis had always been a bit of a rebel. Regardless, she lifted the object from the purse, closed it and allowed it to hang limp at her hip, scowling, once again, at the nearby halflings. It was a piece of paper.

How anyone could manage to place a piece of paper in her purse, and then draw the string tight again, with only a passing brush, Luthiriensis could only imagine. A thief with the lightest fingers in the world? A wizard, transferring the paper by magic? A pixie? She discounted that last one. Pixies knew well not to play games with her and her family any more. They knew what they did. Still, it was, indubitably, a piece of paper left in her purse. She wondered what it was for?

With great care, she began to unfold the paper at arm's length. Some pixies, that didn't know when to quit, had, in the past, placed written spells on pieces of paper, only for those spells to explode in people's face. Funny as you watch it, not so funny as one fought to stop all one's hair from burning to the scalp. It wasn't a spell, but it did have words upon the paper. Thin, scratchy words that looked as though someone had taken great care to write them, but had failed on a fundamental level by only having a passing knowledge of letters, words, or what a pen was for.

"I no ware th hair is. Meet me att t gaytes off thuh liffin flyme in wun owwer. Comm alown."

Quite, quite fascinating, no doubt, but not something that Luthiriensis had any interest in whatsoever. She started to crumple the badly written letter, ready to throw it to the ground, and paused. Although, she supposed it wouldn't hurt to see what the letter writer had in mind. If nothing else, it seemed only polite to let them know that they had inveigled the letter into the wrong person's coin purse.

There was, also, the matter of the fiefdom. It would be terribly funny if she, an elf, held a position of authority within a human kingdom. She could have literally hours of laughter at that. It couldn't hurt to see what the mysterious letter writer had to say. Decision made, she folded the letter, broke the fingers of the halfling that thought she hadn't noticed him trying to rob her, and returned the paper to her purse, leaving the halfling writhing in pain on the ground.

At the Gates of Living Flame, an ancient ruin some distance outside the city, Luthiriensis soon became bored waiting. She twisted her luxurious, white hair around her fingers and wondered whether she could get back to the city in time to find an expert hairdresser. When the dwarf she had seen in the city appeared, she almost clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh! It's you! I wouldn't have thought those chubby fingers could have moved so deftly!" Before the dwarf could protest, Luthiriensis had already drawn him into a tight embrace. "But, I have to say, I think you made the offer to the wrong person."

"Offer? I didn't make any 'offer'. Wait. You got summoned here, too?" The dwarf hefted his axe, almost dropping it due to its sheer size. "Then if you didn't invite us here, and I certainly didn't, who did?"

"Me!" Another voice joined the conversation and Luthiriensis and the dwarf could only stare. "Hello!"

"Stragenarr's beard!" The dwarf stepped back, adjusting his helmet. "It's a dragon!"