Solvistania looks to Chops, and there is an echo of the passion Ilona displayed earlier in her eyes for him. She walks to him and puts her hand in his, allowing him to squeeze it protectively. She turns back to Kiron, standing under Chops, demonstrating she has beem claimed by another of Kiron's packmates, and simply nods her head, saying "We are now packmates, Kiron. should you wish to betray us, you betray your own."
Chops caresses her cheek with the back of his rough, calloused fingers. His dark eyes lock with hers for an instant, and Chops sees a purple hew in Solvistania's own eyes as the dark blue from Chops is reflected in them.
The shadowed skeleton next to Chops watches ragnar pass, it's boney face unreadable, but obviously thinking something. it looks at Ilona and nods once, just as it did while alive.
Then it turns to Chops, slapping a large pair of tongs into his hands and gesturing with bony fingers back to the smelting table, it's shoulders and chest lifting and shaking with silent laughter.
Leaning close to the skeleton, Chops whispers, "Your brothers head looks like a bearded tomato."
"Is there anything that needs doing?" His eyes scan the room taking in his new companions,He expected variety but he didn't expect quite the menagerie before him.
"Well," replies Chops. "If you can hunt, some nice venison would be much appreciated. ...oh, and my friends call me Chops," he smiles displaying those big teeth that gave him his namesake.
Leaning close to the skeleton, Chops whispers, "Your brothers head looks like a bearded tomato."
The skeleton nods, still shaking. Distant hollow laughter comes from somewhere, like an echo that finally caught up with this place.
"Is there anything that needs doing?" His eyes scan the room taking in his new companions,He expected variety but he didn't expect quite the menagerie before him."Well," replies Chops. "If you can hunt, some nice venison would be much appreciated. ...oh, and my friends call me Chops," he smiles displaying those big teeth that gave him his namesake.
"That's a good idea. I also need to go and collect herbs and roots as my supplies are low. So we can go together."
Solvistania looks to Chops, and there is an echo of the passion Ilona displayed earlier in her eyes for him. She walks to him and puts her hand in his, allowing him to squeeze it protectively. She turns back to Kiron, standing under Chops, demonstrating she has beem claimed by another of Kiron's packmates, and simply nods her head, saying "We are now packmates, Kiron. should you wish to betray us, you betray your own."Chops caresses her cheek with the back of his rough, calloused fingers. His dark eyes lock with hers for an instant, and Chops sees a purple hew in Solvistania's own eyes as the dark blue from Chops is reflected in them.
Solvistania looks into his eyes for a moment, entranced by how beautiful they are. She says nothing, allowing her emotions to flow from her gaze only. She then says, to him, "I must return to my studies, but I have heard the call of my spirit companion and felt a strange presence with this. I wish to investigate this further, and would like your company along, once your duties here are completed."
The tiny pin-pricks of light sitting inside the skeleton's empty skull roll inside the sockets as it stands next to Chops watching his star-crossed gaze with Solvistania.
Rubbing it's boney forehead it turns and walks back to the forge.
Chops nods at Solvistania, then she goes back to her studies. Then he turns to the midgardi.
"Oh, shut up." Chops says to the skeleton as he goes back to helping Ragnor and his minions with the heavy labor, acting as an assistant and following orders, or just picking up something the Eyvindr points at and brings it to Ragnor.
Kiron hopes up as quick as he sat down, Deer is on the menu then, Chops. He leaves his backpack, tent and rations there, pulling his quiver onto his back and his sword off the ground.
His eyes the n flick to Gillian. Of course, you must tell me what herbs we are looking for and I will help with that too.[b] His eyes glance around the room once more taking note of the weapons that are used. [b] I am no smith, not that we are missing one, but I am an old hand at fletching, I will collect materials for more arrows, does anyone need a bow? if not I won't bother looking for anything to make one.deer bone makes fine shard arrows.he says the last thoughtfully.
Once on the trail for game, Kiron is going to hunt everything that moves, He once a feast for his pack mates, hoping to prove that they came to the right conclusion.
Ragnar throws himself back into his task with relentless single-mindedness. He listens carefully to Sorok's instructions, as well as instructions unheard coming from the Dornish dead. When he asks for tools, they usually drift unaided to his hands, and he develops a habit of simply casting tools away when he finishes them. The unerringly drift back to their places on the shelves and racks.
It takes Ilona and Solvistania no time to realize that this trick of Ragnar's is no magic they have ever heard of. Magic, which this obviously is, requires concentration, focus and willful direction. It is also inherently taxing, so much so that even the blood-magics of the elves and halflings end up taking minutes or hours to repeat if done in succession. Ragnar is doing none of these things, and is seemingly undrained. This strange telekinesis must be coming from another source.
He seems blissfully unaware of this strangeness as he takes the long, newly smelted steel bar, snaps it into five shorter lengths and begins pounding them and folding them with practiced strokes.
While he shapes the steel, the skeletons work the bellows and the forge, heating the next one. The fiery ghost keeps watch and directs them all like a foreman, keeping the routine efficient and steady. Even the air inside the forge room seems to cooperate, maintaining an otherworldly chill that keeps the mortal workers refreshed.
When not needed at the forge, the dead take on more grisly tasks. The skeleton of Eyvindr takes his own severed head from his brother's pack and cleans the gore from it. Anvinder does the same with his, and the hands as well. Muni hops down from the perch to sample the eyes, commenting on their "ripeness". The firey ghost completes the work, searing away the excess bits of flesh and blackening the bone. Then they proceed to sit around clicking their jaws as if speaking and polishing their own skulls.
Ragnar ignores all this, as if it is normal shop-behavior, even making occasional comments of his own, which often make the jovial skeletons shake with silent laughter, but make no sense to anyone else. What would normally take days takes mere hours and by the time Ragnar is forced to rest, being pushed out of the chamber by the burning hands of his father which scald his skin, he has expertly braided three of the lengths of steel into one solid piece.
He seems perturbed that he is not allowed back inside, and stands awkwardly for a time before eventually wandering back to the table in the library to sit. he looks across the empty table and says "That is true. Now you will not have to compete with everyone else for my attention. Please continue."
In his absence the dead continue their labors.
Ilona left the forge invigorated, the intense expression of emotion like food to her, her soul savoring every moment. This was what it meant to live, this is what the shadow couldn't take away. Somehow in her defiance of the shadow, she had inherited a pack and she loved it.
Somewhat overstimulated she decided to meditate.
As she sat quietly she could hear the sound of the forge, the hard work being done by her pack mates, the thought bringing a smile to her lips.
We all pitch in where we're most needed. We do what we're best at and it makes all of us better.
She focused on that thought, on the very concept of making others better, supporting, encouraging, inspiring. She could almost feel it welling up in herself, a part of her that wanted to reach out and show each and every one of them just how amazing they really were. An overwhelming urge to...enhance all of those would stand with her.
Especially Ragnar.
One of these day's he'll realize he's every bit the hero as the stories he was raised on. She'd be damned if he didn't get it through that thick Dornish skull.
Of course that thought brought back the memory of his flushed face, making her break into a smile.
The energy she could feel inside her was practically singing to get out, and opening her eyes she realized that she had been focusing internally for hours, a meditation where she had trancended the physical on a wave of pure emotional thought.
She had to try this, she wasn't quite there yet but she felt as if a few more hours of focus like this, and she just might.
She rose, the pins and needles in her legs telling her just how long she'd been at it, and decided to go see what the others had been up to.
Working with Ragnar at the forge felt refreshing to the Dwarf. The continuous pounding of metal, the heat of the forge, the spray of the sparks. As he worked the secrets he had learned long ago returned to him. With every stroke of the hammer, every breath, he bent and shaped the metal one step closer to the desired outcome. Slowly, methodically, perfectly. He didn't think about the spirits Ragnar commanded to aid them in their work, he didn't think about the newcomer Odrendor strange though he was, he didn't think about Dorzar or that he was almost sacrificed to bring about the return of the Progenitor. He thought only of what shape the metal would take as he worked long into the night.
Solvistania returns to the library to finish her studies, and then reads Dorzar's journal one more time. Something strikes her as out of the ordinary and she feels uneasy.
The sense of urgency grows, and she returns to the forge where Ragnar and the assistant are working.
She approaches Ragnar, and Chops and says, I have learned more of this place, Ragnar. He came to this valley with a larger group of Oruk bodyguards in order to release the Progenitor from his bonds. In his youth he discovered that Progenitor has risen as a Fell after his death and that he was linked to the powerful nexus of necromantic energies in his forge. The nexus is keeping him in his unlife. If the nexus is somehow destroyed, mighty Progenitor would degrade into ordinary of the basest sort. Dorzar insisted that something like that must not happen, since Progenitor is ancient enough to have knowledge of the greatest dwarven defenses and secret ways into Kaladruns. Oruk bodyguards have been left waiting near huge black dolmen carved with images of treas while he and his apprentices and underritualists came into Progenitor's prison-tomb to unleash him.
Solvistania returns to the library to finish her studies, and then reads Dorzar's journal one more time. Something strikes her as out of the ordinary and she feels uneasy.
The sense of urgency grows, and she returns to the forge where Ragnar and the assistant are working.
She approaches Ragnar, and Chops and says, I have learned more of this place, Ragnar. He came to this valley with a larger group of Oruk bodyguards in order to release the Progenitor from his bonds. In his youth he discovered that Progenitor has risen as a Fell after his death and that he was linked to the powerful nexus of necromantic energies in his forge. The nexus is keeping him in his unlife. If the nexus is somehow destroyed, mighty Progenitor would degrade into ordinary of the basest sort. Dorzar insisted that something like that must not happen, since Progenitor is ancient enough to have knowledge of the greatest dwarven defenses and secret ways into Kaladruns. Oruk bodyguards have been left waiting near huge black dolmen carved with images of treas while he and his apprentices and underritualists came into Progenitor's prison-tomb to unleash him.
Sorok slows in his work. "Oruks you say. Those are larger and far stronger than most Odrendor. Not sure how long they've been there, but if they don't hear anything they'll either leave or come to investigate."
Ragnar does not sleep. He does not eat. Only rarely does he rest, taking time to roll out his neck and shoulders or lie on the ground to allow his spine to release it's tension. It has been subtle before this, but it soon clicks into his companion's heads that other than the trance he was in when they first met at the ruined tower, he may have never slept. he was always awake when the watch changed, and was always awake when morning came. He may not have ever eaten in the entire time they have known him.
He is not tireless like his skeletal helpers. He is not even as relentless as Sorok and it soon becomes clear that his skeletal helpers are kept around by draining off his own strength, but his stoic determination keeps him working long after he should stop, driving him to the point of collapse more than once. He ignores those who tell him to rest, only allowing the silent words of his father keep him from his work long enough to allow his body to recover. At the end of each day he slices his wrists and drains his own blood into the barrel where Anvinder's corpse had drained it's. Every day he bleeds himself until he can no longer stand and then the skeletons drag him to Gilian. He says nothing of why, simply saying it is necessary. While he is resting, he is speaking to someone that none can see, while carving away with tiny tools at his brother's skull, inscribing strange runes and symbols across it's surface. Occasionally the shadowy skeleton of Anvinder joins them, clicking it's bony jaws together as if deep in conversation.
He will not reveal what he is doing. He asks for no input about what people would best like, nor does he allow observers in the forge. He simply tells anyone who wants repairs or alterations to their equipment to put it on the rack near the door and to stay out of the way. The only exception is Ilona, who he allows a stool near the anvil, but she soon realizes with a smile, that he's placed her somewhere that, while she can watch him work, she is completely unable to really see what he is doing.
He keeps Chops and Kiron run ragged trying to provide enough wood to maintain the forge for the speed and intensity that he works. He mentions to Sorok that he is glad for Dwarven craftsmanship. A human made forge would have long ago cracked under the continuous heat.
At one point he retrieves a bag from his pack and hands it to his brother. The skeleton proceeds to empty a double handful of finely cut gems, like a rainbow waterfall, into an earthenware bowl. He holds up a ruby to Ilona and sets it aside. The two of them separate out a good forty of the tiny red jewels, one nearly as big as a robin's egg. Then they did the same with amethysts.
While the mortals rest the skeletons grind the bones of Anvinder and Eyvindr's corpses into a fine powder. Thankfully, no one sees what they do with the rest of the remains. Ragnar takes the large hourglass he has always carried and carefully scrapes and breaks the glass. He pours the fine powder within into the mixture of powdered bone, then magically mends the hourglass. It sits empty on a shelf while he works, strangely metaphoric. The powder, the bones of his people, slain before him and bourn in an hourglass for more than a century, becomes the temper that he folds into the braided metal he slaves over.
A week passes. He carves moulds, smelts metal, hammers and folds He grinds and files and bends and shapes and sharpens. He carves bones and etches steel with diamond-tipped tools. He inlays gold and silver and slowly empties small bowls of gems.
Finally, the ringing of the hammers and pumping of the bellows and the roar of the fires ceases. After a short silence, the harsh hiss of heated metal being plunged into cold water fills the forge. Ragnar stands with his hand plunged to the wrist into the barrel of Dornish blood and cools a beautiful, terrible blade. The air around him howls and cries and the figure in the fire nods and fades away.
When he pulls the blade from the barrel, all that remains is cool, clear water. The blood is completely gone.
Ragnar, noticeably lighter, muscles more clearly defined from the weight he has lost, brings a rolled canvas to the library table...
As the week drags on Sorok is constantly amazed by the sheer willpower and intensity which Ragnar shows while working at the forge. He watched as the huge Dorn worked longer than even he did, and drove himself to the point of exhaustion, possibly even death. Yet he never once faltered in his work, never was a stroke missed, never was the metal left too long unworked. He worked like a grandmaster on his prized creation. When Ilona began offering words of encouragement or merely sat nearby he worked as though possessed by a demon. At times Sorok's fatigue caught up with him and he was forced to rest while Ragnar and his spirits continued to work. When the sword was near completion he turned to Ragnar with a clap on the shoulder.
You may look like a Dornsman Ragnar, but you have the spirit of a Dwarf in you.
You may look like a Dornsman Ragnar, but you have the spirit of a Dwarf in you.
Ragnar had glanced about, surveying the invisible world around him, and obviously missing the metaphor in Sorok's words replied "Not yet, I don't. You can volunteer when the time comes."
The week is one that falls into a new yet comforting routine, a few hours of meditation finds Ilona infused with the gift of instilling her new family with a greater sense of purpose, an awareness of their own unique greatness that seems to bring out the best in them.
Yet nothing compares to the inspiring yet fearsome display of intensity that is Ragnar. As unceasing as the passage of time he works, a fitting symbol that hourglass of his.
The specter of his assistants was as surreal as it was heartbreaking, cursed with the eternal presence of those he had lost, yet blessed with the gift of their continual guidance, and support.
Barely a man by Dornish standards yet bearing an older soul than that of any she had ever known. A man of contradictions, complications and layers beyond layers. Driven, focused, haunted and halfway in the world of the dead, yet possessing a fire of life that was,....intoxicating.
She still remembered the intensity of his words to Kiron, felt the same fire ignite in herself as she watched him work.
Even as she lay down at night, concerned by his lack of a need for sleep, she found the sound of the forge comforting, a steady reminder of a man who was like a mountain, continuous and eternal, ignoring time as easily as the wind and rain.
His work was truly amazing, not only in the quality off the weapons he improved for his allies, but for the manner in which it brought them together. Already Sorok felt as if he belonged, doing what he was born to do. It was as if while he forged weapons, he was also in some way forging them, their pack.
Her pack.
Each night she fell asleep with a smile on her face.
The Shadow had no idea what it had created.
But it would soon find out.
|
Kiron hopes up as quick as he sat down, Deer is on the menu then, Chops. He leaves his backpack, tent and rations there, pulling his quiver onto his back and his sword off the ground.
His eyes the n flick to Gillian. Of course, you must tell me what herbs we are looking for and I will help with that too.[b] His eyes glance around the room once more taking note of the weapons that are used. [b] I am no smith, not that we are missing one, but I am an old hand at fletching, I will collect materials for more arrows, does anyone need a bow? if not I won't bother looking for anything to make one.deer bone makes fine shard arrows.he says the last thoughtfully.
Once on the trail for game, Kiron is going to hunt everything that moves, He once a feast for his pack mates, hoping to prove that they came to the right conclusion.
"Wow, I thought wolves were supposed to be savvy hunters... Or is stomping around all over giant, obvious tracks some kind of secret technique that us scavengers aren't taught?"
Kiron grins at muni. I see a tasty tid bit on my shoulder. We will tell the others, these are strange tracks, finding them isn't the problem, knowing what they are is, they aren't anything I recognize.
if not here is my roll[/b]
Look like hobnailed boots t' me. Like orc soldiers, only bigger. Oruk, maybe? And what is it with you beast-people and wanting to eat me? We jus' got rid of that damn halfling, an' now you show up. Someone out there's got an awful sense of humor."
Kiron walks a small circle around the print in question. " Oh. that makes a bit more sense. Oh did I push a button bird friend? No more talk of putting you on a kabob and eating you, I promise. Kiron kneels down and looks in the appropriate direction. or we could go find this creature and bring it back instead of the deer. you might be better at tracking, but then I can show you where I truly excel. He takes a deep breathe in threw his nose trying to follow the scent.
"I don' think anyone but you's goin' t' wanna eat fresh Oruk. Why don' we just try t' wipe out the group's tracks in the area. They're all 'bout as safe as they can be right now, what with that big ol' talkin' rock in between the world and them. "
After a moment the bird continues, as if he's had an inspiration.
"Hey! How're yer actin' skills? Wanna go talk to 'em? Think you could convince 'em you were a scout for another Legate?"
I could convince them, but that doesn't mean that we'd be any better off, my kind is as likely to kill one another as anyone else, if they thought the legate I was working for threatened the pride of the one they worked for, well we'd be in the spot if I did anything else. I'd just as soon sneak up on em and kill em. A dead Oruk tells no tales.He puts his boot up to the boot print of the hobnail, and whistles low." he is a big fella, that's for sure. I'll let you call it, we can try to gather information or hide our trail or kill them. he pauses. what big talking rock guarding the entrance do you speak of?"
"Wait? You didn't talk to the rock? Ok, that's bad."
Muni lifts off and lands in a tree a short ways off.
"When we go back, we talk to the rock. I don't know how the blazes you got past 'im. As for the Oruks, I think it's better they stay blissfully ignorant of us for the moment. We kill 'im, other's 'll come looking for 'im later. Just wipe out the tracks, see if we can snag some food, and let's get back. I'm going to scout around while you get to work. If you hear me start makin' noise, lie low."
And then he is gone in a burst of black feathers.
"No,I didn't speak to any rocks. I've seen Gillian's talking rock, but that is hardly a big rock, though perhaps you and I have different perceptions of big." He nods to the plan as Muni flys off. muttering under his breath after muni is out of ear shot. " That is what I get for letting the bird make the plans."
Kiron grins wolfishly. wondering for the briefest of moments if the Oruk is part Worg, like he is part wolf. Something worth fighting might be a breath away, killing such a champion of the shadow would be very much worth the trouble.
Kiron pulls and notches an arrow, hoping to find deer or Oruk meat.if it is both Oruk and Worg however, things could become a bit more complicated and fun.
"Indeed. When Prey catch on that a hunt is a foot, they hold their piece in silence waiting til the first move to conflict occurs and then they roar to life in a crescendo of noise and violence."
Kiron un-notches his arrow, slides it into his quiver and draws his greater vardatch. he slowly moves towards gillian protectively turning in a small circle studying their surroundings calmly. His breath steadies and flows in his nose and then out his silently. smelling and tasting the air around them.
" I rarely find my self in the position of prey, it will be thrilling to destroy the fool who tracks us."
Gilian puts her back against a tree, scanning her surroundings.
"Prey or not, I don't like that, this is the sign of a big predator."
Besides her, Pebble plants his feet in the ground and listens closely to the earth vibrations
"ANYTHING THAT WALKS, I SENSE"
Solvistania finishes her studies, now she has determined there is little she can do about the Nexus for now. After seeing the familiar summoned by Gilian, she feels an emptiness in her soul, and thinks, Perhaps one could be helpful to fill the void in my soul, ompanionship is a rare thing to find. My spirit companiom needs to be called to me.
She spends time meditating for hours, and feels the elf in her body calling for an elfin cat, also she feels an owl also offering to join her and merge with her soul. But none of these spirits have quite connected with her, and she is not sure why.
At first, she thought it was due to her orcish blood, but the more she mediitated, she felt an odd sensation in her blood, she could not tell what it was. as far as she can tell it was magic.
Only after studying the library more thoroughly, she found references to legendary creatures called 'dragons' who were said to have magic in their veins. Could it be she had dragon blood in her? Her 'Father' never mentioned this to her, neither did the Queen. She would have to find out on her own.
One bright morning, she finds Chops, when he is not busy, and says to him, "Would you like to join me on my quest for my spirit companion?"
Gilian puts her back against a tree, scanning her surroundings.
"Prey or not, I don't like that, this is the sign of a big predator."
Knowledge Spirits
Knowledge Nature
Gilian's eyes suddenly open wide. "No, I'm wrong. There is something else... There is a spirit here, a trapped spirit. Can you sense it, Kiron?"
I sense little of the spiritual realm.". The large orc paces his circle once more. Even so the bird is scanning above their heads. So,he is not quite as tense as he might have been.
One bright morning, she finds Chops, when he is not busy, and says to him, "Would you like to join me on my quest..."
The bestial features of the dworgs face light up. Finally. She wants to confide in me. Wants to take me as her protector.
"...for my spirit companion?"
"Huh?" Huh! "Uh, I uh thou...uh.." He gains a more serious, less jovial expression. I thought I might be.... "Yeah, I can go with you."
Solvistania looks at Chops for a long moment, after his reply, trying to guage his mood. She looks directly into his eyes, her eyes gleaming, and murmers quietly, "I sense disappointment in your voice, does my company no longer please you, would you like me to see if Ilona or Gilian will accompany me?"
Solvistania looks at Chops for a long moment, after his reply, trying to guage his mood. She looks directly into his eyes, her eyes gleaming, and murmers quietly, "I sense disappointment in your voice, does my company no longer please you, would you like me to see if Ilona or Gilian will accompany me?"
"No. Gillians out and Illona's....busy. I can help you find your," What the hell is a... "spirit companion." Chops looks at Solvistania. He tries to keep a neutral expression, but a longing is betrayed in his eyes. "I thought..., uh. I was feeling that we shared a bond. That our spirits were intwined. But if you seek another companion. Well. By our bonds, I will..." What the f++$. I thought this girl was...Verdant. He squares his shoulders and his resolve is clearly evident in his expression. The dworg hangs his new urutuk opposite his inherited one, and stands strait and with pride says. "Let's go get your companion. If it will help our conquest of the dark one, I will be your defender till to the death." Happiness is meant for the beautiful.
"No. Gillians out and Illona's....busy. I can help you find your," What the hell is a... "spirit companion." Chops looks at Solvistania. He tries to keep a neutral expression, but a longing is betrayed in his eyes. "I thought..., uh. I was feeling that we shared a bond. That our spirits were intwined. But if you seek another companion. Well. By our bonds, I will..." What the f~*%. I thought this girl was...Verdant. He squares his shoulders and his resolve is clearly evident in his expression. The dworg hangs his new urutuk opposite his inherited one, and stands strait and with pride says. "Let's go get your companion. If it will help our conquest of the dark one, I will be your defender till to the death." Happiness is meant for the beautiful.
Solvistania smiles at him, a rare smile few have seen, a smile she has been afraid to show, murmering, "We do share a bond, our lives are intertwined, Chops. This is a necessary step to keep growing as a person. You speak of conquering the Shadow, but this is not the purpose of my quest. It is to find and complete myself, which, should I fail to find my companion, will still be a success." She touches his face with her slender fingers, exploring the scars on his face, and looks into his eyes. He sees the longing now reflected in her reddish eyes, and she hugs him tightly, allowing his warmth to complete her.
|
|
Kiron paces his circle, now defensively of Gillian and Pebbles tree. HE idl thinks, that he really didn't expect his pak to include little rock people and intelegent birds.
Solvistania smiles at him, a rare smile few have seen, a smile she has been afraid to show, murmering, "We do share a bond, our lives are intertwined, Chops. This is a necessary step to keep growing as a person. You speak of conquering the Shadow, but this is not the purpose of my quest. It is to find and complete myself, which, should I fail to find my companion, will still be a success." She touches his face with her slender fingers, exploring the scars on his face, and looks into his eyes. He sees the longing now reflected in her reddish eyes, and she hugs him tightly, allowing his warmth to complete her.
Chops returns her embrace. She seems to disappear within his arms that have a circumference roughly twice the size of her waist. He is careful not to crush her. Suddenly he begins to shake and make a strange, gurgling sound. Then releases her, throws back his head and roars in laughter at his misunderstanding. "I though...haha...I thought...hehe..." He tries to compose himself. "You..you are looking for a pet rock or a talking bird thingy. Ho-ho-ho! You magicians and your pets...he he. Let's find your familiar then, shall we?"