The sun shone down from amidst a scattering of clouds, giving the town of Lanburg a cheery feel. It was still morning but late enough that the dew had long since dried and the townsfolk were well into their daily errands and rituals. Tannis Merican strolled leisurely down the lane, smiling faintly as he watched the people of Lanburg—his people—go about their lives.

The town was not large, though in truth, other than in stories and tales, Tannis only had Ghal and a few outlying hamlets with which to compare. Still, there was a homey feel to it that warmed the heart. It was nice to walk the streets and realize that one knew nearly everyone, in name if not overly well.

For example, there by the Plowman’s Rest, Marissa Errald leaned against the rail fence, watching the people walk by as she idly honed the knife she kept at her belt. She obviously waited for someone. Her russet-colored hair glinted in the sunlight and he noticed how tall and strong she'd become. Her smile was still a rarity, but it set her face aglow when it showed.

She frowned slightly as members of The Knitting Circle passed by, obviously making disparaging remarks about her father again, wondering how he could let his daughter turn out the way she did. They tried ensuring her sister didn't turn out the same way and kept throwing eligible women at Nathan whenever he was in town. They believed if he'd only marry again, it would "civilize" the youngest and maybe provide another boy or two, as well. With great strength of will, Marissa's jaws clamped shut and she put considerably more attention on her knife than she did before.

As the members of the Knitting Circle passed him they smiled politely, several of them offering greetings. Tannis didn’t know the whole history behind Marissa and her father, but then again he’d never bothered to ask. It wasn’t in him to gossip, and since no one had wronged him directly he was of a mind to allow for lapses in judgment and mistakes made. It was simply his way.

He nodded to Marissa as he walked by but he wasn’t sure she saw him. She didn’t react in any case, and with her fondling the knife and glaring after the Knitting Circle he wasn’t of a mind to call attention to himself just now. Maybe at one of the town socials he might ask her for a dance. She was comely enough, that was a certainty, but built almost like a man. Many of the younger kids teased her because of that—that and her prodigious strength—but Tannis saw someone who was simply following her nature. He was content with that.

Outside the cooperage, a tall young man with pale blond hair crouched down in front of a child maybe five years of age. The girl was grubby, her homespun shift tattered, her shoes little more than sacking tied around her feet with frayed string.

She was holding up a struggling scrawny chicken, its bawking and squawking echoing across the dusty square. One wing was missing, and Tannis could just make out spatters of fresh bright blood on both the bird and the girl.

"Mamma says for you to mend this here bird, ‘kay?" the girl demanded. "She says you do that, and be eggs for you and yours next eight day." The child's brown eyes were bright and fearless, her arms scratched from the birds terrified (and pain-driven) struggles.

The young man--Oran was his name--smiled and nodded, and lay one hand upon the bird, another on the girls tiny shoulder. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and drew very still. The girls scratches faded, the wound on the bird closed and scarred over. Oran's eyes opened and one eyebrow went up. "Be better now Delila, and I'll be lettin’ the family know about the eggs. Our thanks to you."

The girl examined the now silent chicken critically, then nodded. She darted forward, pecked the young Druid swiftly on the cheek, then dashed off down the lane with her now squawking chicken. Oran rose, rubbing his hands together as he watched her go.

"A handful, that one will be one day," he said to Tannis with a grin.

Tannis nodded, returning the smile. Oran wasn’t around town as much these days. He spent a great deal of time in the woods and the fields, studying this bird or following that stream. Periodically he made an appearance when, as just demonstrated, someone needed help with livestock or crops or some such. He was a handy fellow to have around, to be sure, but Tannis didn’t know him all that well, even if they were of a similar age.

Opposite the cooperage, Tannis spotted Garrick, the blacksmith’s son. He was a tall young man of perhaps twenty summers, stocky with muscle from long hours at his father’s smithy. At the moment he was outside the smithy, standing over the rods of iron they used as stock. He picked one up—Tannis was sure he would have grunted with the effort, himself, but Garrick used a single hand—and swung it gently, presumably to test it’s mettle. The big man glanced around and, spotting no one watching (or missing those who were, like Tannis), swung the bar of iron in a two-handed fashion. In two or three swings Tannis realized he was acting as if the span of iron was a sword. The blacksmith’s son attacked his imaginary foe with gusto, his muscled arms bulging with each swing, until at last, it seemed, his enemy was defeated.

Garrick gave one more perfunctory swipe of his ‘blade’ and, satisfied, carried the rod into the smithy with a lopsided grin. “Here,” Tannis’ father would say, “was a man too big for this small town.” He said that sometimes, and often he was right. Folks did find Lanburg too limiting at times, but Tannis never understood why. Why traipse off to the cities with all the people and crime and war and everything else? Why not stay here where you knew your neighbors, got help in the lean times and offered help in the bountiful times?
He shook his head with a small smile. To each as their nature dictates, he recited, a proverb of Rector Schenwar’s.

As Tannis turned down the cross road—east-west, it ran, as opposed to the main road with ran north to south—his attention was grabbed by an unusual sight.

"How ya doin' Grissom?" Ash's voice was heavy with exertion as she looked over at her well muscled friend. He was heavier than her by at least fifty pounds and had proven on many occasions that he was stronger than her. ...but today she seemed bound and determined to best him.

They were both flipped upside down, standing on their hands with their feet propped against the outside wall of the Inn. Their faces were both beet red and nobody knew for sure how long they'd been like that. By this time they had a handful of spectators, patrons from the Inn that had been told that they, "Just had to see this!".

Grissom was sweating heavily from the exercise, and just glared wordlessly back at her.

Ash beamed an impish smile at him, her hazel eyes dancing in delight. "My as well go'an give. Ya know I'm gonna beatcha. Longer ya wait the more people that'll see ya lose." She made a show of bouncing her feet against the rugged wall of the Inn, swaying dangerously back and forth as if she was going to lose her balance, but they both knew that she far outmatched him in skills of dexterity.

Tannis laughed and shook his head. This, he knew, was what a “handful” really was. Whoever Ash’s father was, he’d long since left town. No one knew who he was. Or if they did, they weren’t telling. Ash’s mother, on the other hand, was well-known and not particularly well-liked. Tannis gathered that she drank more than she should, and was a bit freer with her attentions than most of the townsfolk preferred. The Knitting Circle had tossed more than a few judgmental sniffs in her direction, of that he was certain. Again, though, she simply followed her nature, and if that sometimes got her into trouble with the other townsfolk, well…everything could be forgiven. Besides, she was cute, even if he’d never so much as asked her for a dance at the spring festival.

His feet carried him past the spectacle and towards the edge of town where his teacher, and mentor, Rector Schenwar, could be found at the temple.

Up ahead he saw Lucas, the teamster’s son. He was walking away across the fields next to St. Autrus’ Cathedral. He rarely used the roads when he could take a direct path, Tannis knew, just as he knew it was because the boy didn’t relate well to others. Rector Schenwar called him “Gromwell’s apprentice”, and he always said with a touch of disdain. Tannis knew less about Gromwell than he did about Lucas, but he knew what everyone else said: the man was a veritable hermit, and some said he wielded strange and dangerous magicks. Tannis had little enough experience with magic, though Rector Schenwar had assured him it existed.

Chances were he was leaving the Cathedral on an errand for Gromwell, or perhaps having completed one. As much as the two men appeared to stay out of each other’s way, Schenwar and Gromwell had some contact on a regular basis. It was as if they were two sides of the same coin, one teaching about the power and glory of The Creator, the other teaching the mysteries of the world. It seemed to Tannis that there should be a way to reconcile the two schools of thought, but he was far from understanding his own lessons, much less that of a purported practitioner of magical arts.

As The Cathedral filled his vision all thoughts of the town and the people behind him faded. Here, then, was where he would learn more of The Creator. Hopefully his teachings this day wouldn’t involve dusting the archives again. His nose still itched.

Thanks to everyone for sending me input on their respective characters. Much appreciated.
~~dave