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He demanded Farjadis to retreat to the Raehl for there was a chance he would’ve been sought out in his homeland. If he had failed at this, his bloodline would have been lost. Gantis told him more than his own fate depended on hiding the existence of the Wisebeards, and saving the bloodline.

But he was done with hiding, he knew the purpose of being a Wisebeard, and not even he had the chance to live up to it. Balamor was the only option, even if he was far from being as great as his ancestors; time was wasting away at the opportunity. His grandfather nudged Balamor as a child to read books and spend time in the library. Hoping one day he would discover the true purpose of their bloodline.

The young cartographer sat quietly in his chair slightly rocking himself and his thoughts. Farjadis studied him, waiting for something from his grandson. Balamor peeked up as he felt himself being watched. Then suddenly he remembered what he had come for and reached for his pack. Pulling it to his lap, he searched its contents until he found his rune and the red book. He pulled the items from the bag and began to speak.

“I came here to ask you something, do you know anything about runes and rune words?” As he displayed the book and the stone to his grandfather, one eye rose in curiosity, and the old man replied.

“Ah, just what I was hoping you would ask next, let me see here.” He smiled and nodded as he put his glasses on. “So I see you’ve been reading? What is it you would like to know?”

Balamor quickly summarized what he found in the book the day before, explaining how the symbols might be words from an ancient time, how he couldn’t find any source which translated them, and how they might have even been used to do magic. The old man nodded along silently listening to his grandson. Finally the nervous hobbit’s question came forth.

“I was...trying to figure out what this rune is for and if it might be useful to me on my travels” he searched his grandfather’s eyes for any sign of an answer.

“Well, where is it you plan to travel?” Farjadis replied with a half smile on his face.

Balamor was reluctant to tell him, but the old man’s eyes seemed to already know what he was about to say. He fumbled his words trying to piece them together.

“I said a Wisebeard should travel and learn as much as he can.”

He fetched his map from its case and unrolled it slowly.

“Well, I would like to go here.”

His finger landed amongst the uncharted land; a blank spot on the map. Farjadis sat quietly, his wooden pipe hung from his lips down to his boney fingers.

The End

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