Syn trudged dutifully through the snow, head bent. He wished that he'd never joined this fool's venture. The harsh climate was gaining the upper hand easily; all the years spent in Nikeah's coastal weather had softened him to the effects of cold temperatures and blasts of ice. "I haven't ever met this girl we're looking for," he grumbled to no one in particular. And even if it had been directed to a specific audience, there wasn't any chance of them hearing it. Conversation was kept to a forced minimum. Only Driel and Alcan spoke when huddled momentarily behind a building or finding refuge between drifts. All started to yearn for the safety of the cave. But they also knew that the journey was inevitable. Yet the merchant's voice managed to reach Cal's ears, perhaps carried on the swift air currents. In any case, the ex-Imperial turned to him and shouted, "Neither have I. But doesn't it arouse your curiousity? Those up front certainly seem intent on finding her. Must be someone immensely important." Syn faintly nodded in acknowledgement. -- A tall man stood on a hill facing Mobliz. He bore a grim look on his face, accompanied with a numerous collection of scars. His armor was tarnished and had several score marks, but it would surely shine like new if polished. They made him look dismal and extremely weary, the latter probably evident no matter what state his clothes were in. The hunter that looked up from tending his hounds called out, "What is your business here, stranger? I know every local face, and we don't get many travellers 'round here." "Not to cause trouble, if that's your query," the man returned, equally mistrustful. "I seek considerable healing. If you'd kindly tell me of a good bed, I'd be much obliged." "Well," the hunter said carefully, "the inn on the eastern edge of town has respectable rates along with comfy beds." After a moment, he added, "Or so I've heard." He knelt down to return to grooming his dogs. Nobody else seemed to notice the arrival of the man. Most tended about their work without skipping a beat. The children took at least a fleeting interest in him, but were quickly reprimanded by their elders. The stranger made his way through the small village until reaching the inn. The building appears large and proportion. Tempting aromas wafted to his nose from what he quickly surmised to be the kitchen. That would have to wait, however. He stepped into the front office. The woman behind the counter eyed him warily. "Good day, sir. Will you be staying in 'The Lion's Mane' tonight?" "Yes. For three nights." She quickly scribbled something on a thick parchment. "Ok. We have many rooms open. Oh, and what's your name again? Need it for the records, of course." The man grinned. "Of course. I'm Aren Unne." -- "You once lived here, correct?" "Yes, when I was young. Most likely changed it a lot since then, though. Built new buildings, mined a bit more; stuff like that. And even the memories that exist of this icicle are faint. Don't count on me as a guide." Syn gazed doubtfully into the storm. He could barely see a few yards beyond the shelter of the cliff. "You should still have some idea where we are," Locke said. "Supposedly. My best guess - keeping in mind what I mentioned before - is that we're roughly south of the mines. Bunch of hills coming up that eventually lead to some houses. Follow the path down, and you enter Narshe. Do we even know if this girl is in the city?" Driel replied dryly, "She's in the area. I know it." Cal shouldered his pack. "What are we waiting for?" "Let's go," Locke said. "Onward!" Alcan said. Syn sighed. -- He carefully removed the heavy helm. It had gathered a large amount of dust on his journey. Now he took time to run a liquid on it, shine it up with a cloth, and replace some inner cloth that had stained. His armor still was terribly dirty, but he didn't want to tackle that problem just yet; it was in the shower, since he had no other idea where to put it. "Uh, oh. That'll be the death of me if an arrow penetrates it." His attention was focused on a large hole on the back of the helm. "Better get it fixed." Immediately Aren walked out of his room and across the central greene to the center of town. Shops were scattered in seemingly random placement. Tapping a passing man on the shoulder, he asked, "Do you know where to nearest smithy is? I need to get my-" "I do not care about your armor. Leave me alone." He quickly walked away. "But-" Aren said in protest. Other tries to inquire the location of a blacksmith also proved futile. "Guess all there is left is to search every shop." Upon entering the first, he recieved a broom in the chest. Apparently a grocery. The second appeared to be a hardware store from the outside, but he learned it to be a cobbler when getting a shoe thrown at him. The third was right. A large man was hammering a thick chunk of metal on the forge. Sparks flew everywhere, yet he seemed to ignore them. "WHAT ARE YE DOING 'ERE?" he shouted over the tremendous clash of metal against metal. He darted back as another shower of sparks flew at him. "I want..." he paused, realizing that there wasn't much chance of the blacksmith hearing him. "I NEED SOMEONE TO PATCH UP MY HELMET!" The smith laid down his hammer. "I'd be glad to. Let me see it." He grasped the small help. Aren swallowed nervously when seeing how small it was in comparison to the big man's huge palm. "Ok. Are you sure that you wouldn't rather get a whole new one? This one is kinda... small. It'll probably break soon." He scowled. "It's held out long enough. Besides, I don't have time for this." "Truly. It's ready to fall apart." He studied Aren for a moment. "Actually, I know of a certain one that would fit you extremely well. Go well with your build, and compliment your eyes." The other raised an eyebrow. "Plus, I could get it sent directly to you. Only 15,000 GP." "WHAT?! That's crazy! I could easily get a better helmet just for..." But he knew that no one else would even let him in. "Agreed. Can you get it to me in two days?" The smith nodded confidently. "Good." Turned swiftly, he left. -- "On and on," the merchant grumbled. "Will there be no end?" "Wait a minute. Something's there, on the ground." Locke knelt on one knee to inspect the crimson drops on the ground. Large feathers also were scattered across the ground. After a moment's hesitation, Locke concluded, "Blood. Been here for awhile, most likely." The only sound following this was the harsh wind. Suddenly, Driel froze. "It... it has to be Lola's! She probably came wandering here. Maybe the bird..." She couldn't bear to finish the thought. Cal looked away in shock. The otherwise lively treasure hunter stood resolutely, staring into space. The girl collapsed on the ground. "We found her," Syn whispered.