Breaking Ground

There are some that may very well considered my recent meeting with the local builder a dismal failure on so many levels, both professionally and personally. Granted what started out as pleasant conversation took a rather bitter unexpected turn. I shall not give relevance to his rather accurate assumption of my character and motives, suffice it to say, it wasn't pretty.
The burden of blame rests entirely upon my own shoulders.
Although I didn't openly agree to his verbal reprimand, I did clearly underestimate him.
It will not be a mistake I shall be prone to repeat anytime soon.
The lesson a good reminder to adhere more closely to that fragile line between freedom & slavery.
I am however confident that damage can be restored, after all beneath that golden tunic & impressive insignias he is just a man, driven by the same predictable appetites of all men.
In an effort to restore peace, I shall openly concede this round to him.
Unwilling & unable to allow the past events to linger within his mind I dispatched crumb with a basket of freshly baked honey rolls to his home after noting that he had at least enjoyed that aspect of our meeting, along with a brief note, vaguely assuming responsibly for my part in our unproductive meeting.

As crumb was overseeing the delivery, I set about renewing old acquaintances, receiving word that Brosbius, current proprietor of 'Tinker Toy Shop' was recently released from Hawthorne Clinic after sustaining minor burns associated with the recent string of fires. The quick response to the flames resulting in only minor damage. I was apparently not the only one that was interesting in speaking with Brosbius, I base this simply on my own assumptions, for as I was left standing in the foyer, I caught sight of the rather tall cloaked figure moving down that hallway vanishing behind the polished panel doorway. Silently moving to have a better look in hopes of getting a better look at who proceeded me, my attempts however would be halted by the arrival of the anxious acting house slave. A woman I had seen during the course of my acquaintance with Brosbius. Her behavior strange, even for a slave, quickly ushering me to the front door, apologetic voice cracking as she carried out the wishes of her Owner. The attempt to reschedule the appointment would be met with deaf ears as the door would be soundly slammed in my face, I was left standing on the stoop, no doubt looking bewildered and shocked. I thought briefly of returning to the Inn, however my outraged curiosity prevented it, opting instead to wait across the street at the cafe, hoping for a chance obtain a clear look at the mysterious stranger that had commanded the Toy builders rapt attention.
Yet again my patience would be tested as I waited, ordered cup of tea growing cold from neglect before my diligence would be partially rewarded.
Quickly proceeding out beneath the awning to the City streets did little to assist me in getting a good look at the cloaked man, the hood pulled downwards I assume purposely to hide his identity from prying eyes such as my own. It worked. His long strides no match for my own, brief sight of the wrapped parchment seen shoved into the deep pocket of his cloak before losing sight of him within the crowd.


The cold chill of winter has passed, opening up to the thawing of rich soil, perfect for digging.