Tem spent the first few days after arriving in Center by getting his bearings and a feel for the local power structure, noting the coming and going of travelers and becoming familiar with the ones who frequented the shops and camp fire just off the intersection in the main road.
Initially there were some odd jobs that needed done, a few errands that took him from Center to fort Llast and Hlint, and once, south to Fort Vehl. This put a little coin in his pockets and more steady meals than he'd had in quite some time, although it seems that most of his monetary gains this far have gone into reams of parchment for his maps and notes.
Recently one morning Tem was at the community camp fire, poking through the warm ashes and selecting promising pieces of charcoal from the fire pit, flaking off the loose bits and salvaging several longer sticks that would make decent utensils for drawing and writing, when he found himself wishing he could make a trek to his parent home in Kheldell just long enough to grab his leather working tools and be off again before his father could fix his disapproving gaze on him, or his mother could arrange for yet another parade of young acolytes from the temple to visit the house every day, hoping he's take a fancy to one of them and settle down there, binding books and providing her with grandchildren...
Tem turned from the fire, unconsciously massaging the small pouch that hung from his neck by a leather cord as he tucked the cloth wrapped bits of charcoal deep into one of his many pockets with his other hand.
He could hear the Dwarven brothers, Flint and Copper coming down the road with their ox, Flint cursing the stubborn beast.. no doubt on their way to gather some more gems for Copper to tap at...
"Perhaps i should go with them.." though Tem "Gods know they are about as subtle as a box of spare parts being kicked down a stair...Its a wonder there isn't an ambush around every corner in those caves when those two arrive.."
"Yes, I think I shall!" he says to no one in particular, then glancing around, gathers his pack and gear and heads in the direction of the brothers stubbornly bellowing Ox, just out of sight.
Random bits of paper and rolled parchment protruding from pockets and from beneath flaps on his road weathered pack, sword strapped awkwardly on his side and charcoal smudged fingers resting on its hilt, he kicks up a small dust cloud with a long limbed, lanky jog down the dusty road in front of the Inn.
