[littlemanpoet]

Târik made his way through the market square, looking for the center, where lord Mabalar's friend was shopkeeper. It did not take long to find it, and whatsisyap jingled his coin pouch in his hand to give the impression of a ready buyer, dressed though he was in Temple Guard regalia.

He was not long in finding the place. "Monôizindu's Pottery and Hermetics" read the sign. Târik went inside. Pots of all shapes and sizes lay stacked and scattered here and there. Hermetic scrawlings lined just about all of them, as well as scrolls and scraps of parchment hanging from hooks on the walls. The owner stood behind the counter, an implaccable smile on his face.

"May I help you?"

"Yes," said Târik. "Are you Monôizindu?"

"I am. I see you've heard of me."

"Your reputation is known far and wide."

Monôizindu smiled again. "What may I do for a respected member of the Temple Guard?"

Târik looked around him before he spoke. "I have an urgent message for you from an old friend."

Monôizindu frowned briefly at the secretiveness of Târik before saying, "What old friend might this be?"

"I was told to say this: Mabalar Melethroch has sent me to say that it is time to pay the weregild he has never held you to but to which you have held yourself."

Monôizindu's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"Learn what you can and see what you can do to aid Mabalar's escape from the dungeons and doom of Sauron."

Monôizindu Igmizadan's eyes widened in horror, but he quickly hid his emotion and eyed Târik suspiciously. "How do I know whom you serve?"

Târik produced a piece of jewelry from a pocket. "You know this, I believe."

Monôizindu's eyes widened again. "That is an hierloom of Tar Míriel! I have seen her with it!"

"It is she whom I serve and am loyal to."

Monôizindu nodded. "Mabalar Melethroch is to be sacrificed?"

Târik nodded. "But not if I can help it."

"When?"

"Possibly this midnight."

"Then our task is more difficult and desperate than you may yet know."

"How is that?" Târik asked.

"Just moments ago, I saw Inzillomí, the wife of Mabalar, taken prisoner into the Temple."

Târik's eyes lit with alarm. "I must go tell Mabalar!"

"Meanwhile," said the shopkeeper, "I will spread word and bring what aid I may to the house of Melethroch. Namarië! And may the light of Elebereth go before you!"

"So may it be with you as well!" Târik left, rather amazed that the entire time he had been in Monôizindu's shop, not a soul had entered. Except that he was wrong. Someone had been hidden in the shadows, unbeknownst to either Temple Guard or Shopkeeper; this someone snuck out of the shop and became lost in the crowd.