Winds of Change

A Merchant sell's his wares

Mahoud the Merchant observed the latest crisis to trouble the Clan with bemused concern. "Aye", he thought to himself, "this too will pass". Most things in families usually did, whether in a week, a month, or even a year. And no matter what one would say of the Clan Brell, for all of it, they were at heart a family. Perhaps not one of blood, but one of heart, and that was the clan’s strength.

An older man was he, at least old by Derethian standards. A man whose age had far outpaced his dreams. But a man who in sacrificing his dreams had been compensated with some wisdom and a gruff demeanor. His family name had long ago given way to the title accorded to him by the Aluvian tradesmen with whom he conducted business, his surname proving too rich a taste for their unrefined tongues. During his many travels, he met a young woman, at once spit and vinegar, and again, meek and fearful. Despite his most dire foreboding, the desire for a daughter never had won out over his misgivings, and he gave his heart, loyalty, and care to this youngster named Moira.

As time passed, Mahoud’s business took back of the wagon to Moira’s affairs, and though the old man would constantly grumble about this state, in his heart he would have had it no other way. Even when his trading partners first called him Moira’s Merchant, as a joke, and even when that "joke" had caused his own name to became lost to all but himself and a few closest friends. It was simply Merchant he was called now, as members of the Brell clan had decided that precluding Merchant with "Moira’s" was simply stating common knowledge, and that, was simply a waste of words.

"Aye, this’ll pass…mark me words", Merchant chuckled to himself. "Tis a good Clan, with good people, Brell, Falcon, Nina….ah Nina…now that…."

Merchant paused in mid-step and moved quietly into the shadows. In a dark, secluded corner of the Hall, sitting with hands wrapped tightly about her knees and head resting upon them was Moira. "Aye…this too shall pass….ye silly ole nitwit, aye perhaps not….perhaps not". He waited a moment longer, and then Moira stood, and moved quickly, quietly down the corridor leading to her room. "smells of a ill wind this" Merchant grumbled to himself. He followed, silently and at a distance. Watching the door of her room for what seemed like hours, his vigil completed as Moira suddenly appeared and rapidly strode in the direction of the great room. Merchant hastily moved to the door and with a deft movement unlocked it. Once inside, a quick glance showed him all he wished to know. He stepped from the room and went to find the others.

Some time later, Merchant found himself struggling to drag a rather overburdened sack down one of the main hallways. So intent was his focus upon the task, he fairly started when the booming voice of Ice Falcon resonated behind him. "Merchant!, let me give you a hand with that." Merchant turned to face the looming figure in red plate. "Aye!…umm…I mean nay…" Merchant hastily blurted out. "Nay…milord, I am sure ye have more important matters at hand…just leave this ole merchant be….I be fine good sir". "Nay indeed!" laughed Ice Falcon as he reached with one hand to grab the sack. It took all of Merchant’s years of trading savvy to maintain his guise of harried servant when confronted with the look of total shock on Falcon’s face when the pack did not move. Ice Falcon grabbed the sack with both hand and hefted it to his shoulders. "By the gods Merchant! What have you got in here?". Suddenly, Falcon dropped the sack and pulled it open. "What are ye up to now ole man?, Falcon’s voice thundered, "If ye be stealing from the Lady, so help me!". Merchant scrambled back in feigned terror. "But milord!…I only help the lady!". Falcon lept towards the old man and grabbed his arm. "And how is this helping?" he demanded. Merchant leaned close to the warrior and whispered. Ice Falcon stepped back, "No! by the gods no!". Falcon wheeled and ran quickly down the corridor. Merchant absently straightened his shirt and reached a hand into his belt pouch. He rolled the small orb contained within between thumb and forefinger while muttering words in an odd tongue. Next he pulled a silver ring from another pouch and slipped it upon the ring finger of his left hand. The magics slowly layered upon each other ‘till the old man felt the strength of the Lugians flow throughout his body. He reached down and picked up the sack, casually slung it over his shoulder and strolled in the direction opposite to Ice Falcon’s travel. "Aye now" he chuckled to himself, "that’ll be stirring some things up. Aye, and if the Lady ever finds out ole man…yer hide be made into armor".

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Last modified: November 14, 2000