08-01-2010, 12:34 PM
((Made slight change to the storyline as Lily is changing her past, changed the referances to Lily to an NPC Esilt.))
The silvery light of the moon filled the little glad. Nardor had waited for this moment, when Elune would show herself. He bent to one knee, lowering his head. Anger marred his face as his mind turned to the thoughts of Esilt, taken from him. His heart ached and pained as if it could not find release. He had traveled to the barrens, went to their land and blooded the ground with their corpses.
He faded from the jungle, his cat chasing the orcs down, pinning them to the ground with the knife like claws, ripping their flesh. Then the arrows followed, they slipped easily into them, and Nardor was the last thing they saw as he was sure to pierce their heart with an arrow. He did not know how many he killed, he stopped counting. No matter how many he killed it did not fill that void inside him, that peace he felt when with Esilt.
He had the chance to fight for her, but failed. Because of that, her father had taken her, and he could not be with her. Now even his dreams of her were gone, he could not even dream of touching her soft skin. It was as if she had been stolen from his very mind.
“Elune, please, give me peace.†He whispered, each word growing harder to say. He did not like to admit he was not strong enough. Now he needed to admit to his goddess he was weak.
He had said earlier in Goldshire, he would not spare the life of a orc child, even they needed to die. Today he was hunting, tracking down a group of orcs headed across the barrens. It lead to a small house with a windmill. He paused, just at bow's length. His keen eyes watched as his pet Razorclaws panted next to him in the heat. Two boys played around the windmill, hitting sticks like swords. He frowned, they were children, and he could not help but feel a slit tug on his heart. They were like him and his childhood friends so long ago. The sharp voice of an older orc, she had to be well in her years barked at them and the boys shoulders hung as they left their wooden sticks to move bags of grain.
In his mind he knew they would someday be warriors and he would have to kill them then. So why not kill them now? He lifted the bow, and Razor crouched, looking ready. The arrow tip shook as if it did not wish to take aim. He lowered the bow, suddenly knowing he was feeling Esilt from someplace distant. She would not wish him to do this, and he knew he did not want to. He was not a warrior, a killer, like his mother and all those lectures he had about males not being the right “sort†for battle came rushing back.
In the glad he clenched his fists. “Elune, please calm these fires, this hate, this…. Hunger for battle.†He prayed softly, waiting to feel her calming presence.
-----------------------------------------
He never received a voice in his head, or any calm washing emotion. He only had the peace of the night. His sleep was dreamless and his morning he woke without any messages or avatars of the Goddess visiting him. He collected his things and went to patrol the woods for the demonic infestations.
Over the next few days, his dreams were free of Esilt, in fact his dreams were not there at all. He went through the forests feeling more and more empty. His hunting grew more and more fierce. He stalked not just the fel creatures but started to kill the humans he found in the woods with the demonkind. The green haired night elf would slip through the woods like a shadow.
It was while he slipped through the woods that he paused. A familiar black cat hunkered low in the brush. “Esilt?†he asked softly. The cat shifted shape and the druidess stepped from the woods. “You are back?†Suddenly his heart was swelling, it was as if a long blackness had the light of the moon.
She shivered, looking at him confused. “Where did you go… I could not find you anymore.†She whispered. “You left me, alone.†She looked at him accusingly, her amber eyes filled with pain.
He blinked. “I… did not do that. I could not.†He stepped closer, reaching out to embrace her. “But that is not what is important, you are back, we can be together now.â€Â
She took a step back, her head shaking. “The rules are still the same. I cannot be yours unless you can beat me.†She said in a pained voice.
He could not move, he could not speak. She still wanted him to fight her and beat her. “No… no no no…†He could not, last time he fought her she almost killed him, and he knew in his heart he could not harm her. Fighting the demons, or even cultists was one thing, but her, he loved her. He turned “I cannot do this, I will be in Darnassus if you wish to find me.†He took a step and he felt everything inside him twisting up. His heart felt as if it would burst and he would die as he started to run from the spot.
He made his way to Darnassus, he had not been home in some time and as he walked through the street. There was a cry behind him causing him to spin around. “Dor?†Fenraras, his sisters widowed husband ran up to him from the bank. “Dor, you look like hell, where have you been?†He asked looking the hunter over. Dor could only shrug. “Well, I have good news, I am getting married again.â€Â
Dor turned to him, grabbing the druid by the collar. “You cannot do that, you are married.â€Â
Fenraras pushed Dor back. “Your sister died over 30 years ago Dor. We never had children. It is a different time, and I need to help our kind.†The druid spoke and wind swirled around the edges of his robe. “Sometimes we must do what must be done, even if it makes us uncomfortable.â€Â
Nardor stepped back, shaken his jaw slack and his eyes wide. “Some of us just do not have it in our nature.â€Â
“Then perhaps your nature needs to change.†Fen said. “You are welcome to come to the wedding tonight, you are family.†He smoothed out his robe and looked at Nardor's hand that held a blade. “Really?†He turned and walked back to the bank where others appeared to be waiting for him.
Dor looked down and noticed the weapon he had drawn. He did not recall pulling it out. Perhaps he did need to change. He needed to find a way to steel himself, chill his heart when he needed it.
The hunter turned and headed out of the great city, he had more hunting to do. Not demons anymore, he was going to hunt down the humans. He was not going to let his code hold him back anymore. The hunter took to the woods and the beaches. His arrows filling the bodies of the warlocks and the humans who protected them. He was not going to be made a fool of again. He took special care to look at their faces, to let their images chill him, pausing a moment to watch as their last moments left them.
He felt something changing inside him, when he walked through the woods he no longer saw the lush green world. He was in a place of death and decay, a place where life was cheap, and the weak were to die. It was not a place where life was nurtured but a place where only those who were strong lived and the weak were food.
The next time he saw his Esilt he would make her his. It would be his strength, his force, his dominance that would put her at his side. Love was a fading after thought, a dim star slowly getting lost in the dark reality he was coming to accept.
-----------------------------------------------
The slice to the neck left a fan of blood from the orc. Nardor did not like to fight close in, but you can only keep them from charging so long. The red dirt of the Hellfire Peninsula scraped under his boots as he turned and moved to the next orc, the cat following him, hamstringing his foe. The Sentinels who followed him to the realm were cleaning up the orcs he dropped behind him.
He had to keep a head of them, had to prove he could fight just as well. He was in the thick of things, and this had caused his body a few wounds. His goal however was the large orange skinned satyr standing behind the orcs. The beast held a wicked looking sword in it's hand.
Nardor twisted around, facing the demon, his green hair caught in the hot wind of the red desert. “You have outrun your help.†The creature pointed out.
Looking over his shoulder Nardor saw the Sentinels were well behind him still fighting the orcs. “I do not need them to kill you.†Nardor said lifting his bow to start shooting. The arrows found their marks as the creature rushed him.
He was able to get his swords out just in time as the thick blade hit his sword. The demon hammered him with each blow, the block shaking him with the sheer strength of the creature. He had never seen a demon so strong on Azaroth. The orange skin of the beast rippled with muscles as it swing the large blade.
The female elves fought harder seeing the son of one of their sisters being kicked around like a rag doll across the desert sands. “Dor back off, fall back!†The Captain called to him.
Nardor coughed up some blood kneeling on the ground, he lifted his sword to block the blade as it came hammering down. His sword shattered as they met, throwing him to his back. He slid in the dirt and sand, the grit grinding into his wounds lighting them on fire with pain. He held fast to the shattered sword on his main hand. A hoof pressed to his chest holding him down. The beast reveled in the anguish the women had in watching this. He lifted it's eyes to laugh at them. This is when the hunter took his chance.
The broken blade sunk into the thigh of the creature. Nardor twisted his body pulling the hoof of the creature to trip the beast. The sword it held drop to the ground as it landed on it's back. Nardor was quick to take up the Fel creature's weapon. “You do not want to do that.†It warned.
Nardor lifted the blade and thrust it into the chest of the creature. It reached up the claws slicing through the armor on his side. There was a burning and a sizzling of the elf's flesh as the claws ripped his body. The creature shuttered and fell back, dead. A Nardor pulled the blade out, the blade burned with a golden fire.
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Sitting up Nardor hissed. The claw wound still had not healed, it had been days. The Pristess who saw him when they returned to Shadrath said it was infected with fel magic, but it would pass and heal with time. He felt like it was taking forever to heal. The blade rested at the side of the bed, and he got a little comfort from seeing it. It was an effective weapon and it had helped him more then he had thought it would. Already it had taken the lives of several warlocks, it was a tool of good, not evil.
Yet, the dreams were getting more intense. Dreams of hunting down others, not just warlocks, but the lust to hunt and kill seemed to call to him in his dreams. Sitting in an inn in Stormwind only made him more anxious, and when he was not sleeping he was pacing the room. He could not even sit to focus on a book. He needed to be out there, to be hunting, even if he was wounded.
Alexas said the blade was fel touched, this caused him to pause, and look at the blade again, the weapon was large, much larger then a sword should be, but Nardor could handle it with one hand, and handle it effectively. The Axe he had picked up was a different story, he took that from a warlock who had it sealed in a protective box with marking all over it. When he held them together they seemed to balance each other out.
He lifted his shirt to look at the wound, the four claw marks went across his skin, no longer looking as red and infected, but still open and seeping blood when he touched them. He took some bandages wrapping his chest, the old bandages crumpled on the floor, the blood was fresh at least, and did not stick of foul infection anymore. Perhaps his time swimming in the ocean was a boon.
That was another issue entirely, Who was it that had sent pirates after him, and who was it that wanted the blade so badly? He could not focus on the question at hand long before the urge to hunt to get out of the city and find something to kill… better yet, someone to kill.
---------------------------------------
Faster, stronger, harder, he had to be all of them. Nardor had twisted and the burning blade sank into the felsworn behind him as the axe split the skull of the imp. He was starting to wonder if it was wise to come to their camp, but Desolace was the only other place the Satyr lived and if he was going to find Gladstone, and the Circus it was a good lead. The Felsworn and he met up completely by accident, and with twelve of them and one of him this was looking bad.
The wound on his side was healed, the wound was infected with fel poison, Annabelle and Arina had removed it and healed his flesh. This had him hold up in Stormwind for almost a week, the first half stuck in bed. Alexas had ordered him to take a rest. He despised the rest, he needed to be out fighting, and he could not prove anything resting in bed except his own weakness. In his mind, nothing was going to kill him, not anymore.
She was gone, he found out from the Druids who said she was no longer in the dream. His only reason for living now was to bring death to those who sought to destroy his home, his world. The thought filled him and the fire on his sword flared with heat as he pushed it into the body of the felsworn orc, it sizzled and hissed like a demonic choir. When it was pulled free the wound on the cursed one was burned shut.
He felt the cold chill on his soul as the shadow bolts hit him, and the fel fire that was rained down. His mind focused on movement, side stepping the attacks, like a dancer he moved, following the dances he learned as a boy in his homeland of Ashenvale.
The fire sword he name Deamon Tongue and the axe he called Eagle Wing moved together though they sought different targets. The axe pushed aside a blade as the sword pushed into the human's chest. He stopped looking at them, only looking through them.
As the last one sank to his feet he panted, cuts and burns marked him, his armor tattered and bloody. A sense of rage and satisfaction pumped through his veins and he roared. The silent ash grey Desolace only replied with silence. “I will hunt all of you to the twisted nether!†He yelled as if to warn the ghosts of the dead.
Sagi then came to mind, the traitor to his race would have to pay for the deaths of innocence he caused. He needed to get to Shattrath, to hunt down the abomination. He should leave as soon as he made sure Gladstone was not here.
He should also say something to Aliana.
The stray thought gave him pause. He had just met the wildkin, why would he need to say anything to her. She was so much like Esilt, preferring her animal form to any other, elusive and free. He saw so much of his love in her, and it was such a comfort being around her. Was it her similarity, her familiarity the draw or was it something else. Part of him wanted to just attack, hunt and claim, but there was a sane part of him that knew he could not do this whenever the urge attacked him. That was the way it was with Esilt, but, was that the way with all night elves?
He looked at one of the dead at his foot and swung the axe slicing off the head of the human woman. “No, I have a new purpose.†In the forest of Ashenvale he went to heal from the empty pit he felt learning his love was dead. It was in the shade of his place of Ancestors he felt the calling to hunt down the source of all their pain, the demons. It was the demons who brought the orcs, it was the demons who corrupted his land. He needed to destroy them, send them back to the pit they came from. As he thought of this, anger washed over him, giving him the power to ignore the wounds on his body and make his way to the ruins the satyr lived in. He would kill them all to find out if Gladstone was there, and he would make sure they talked.
The silvery light of the moon filled the little glad. Nardor had waited for this moment, when Elune would show herself. He bent to one knee, lowering his head. Anger marred his face as his mind turned to the thoughts of Esilt, taken from him. His heart ached and pained as if it could not find release. He had traveled to the barrens, went to their land and blooded the ground with their corpses.
He faded from the jungle, his cat chasing the orcs down, pinning them to the ground with the knife like claws, ripping their flesh. Then the arrows followed, they slipped easily into them, and Nardor was the last thing they saw as he was sure to pierce their heart with an arrow. He did not know how many he killed, he stopped counting. No matter how many he killed it did not fill that void inside him, that peace he felt when with Esilt.
He had the chance to fight for her, but failed. Because of that, her father had taken her, and he could not be with her. Now even his dreams of her were gone, he could not even dream of touching her soft skin. It was as if she had been stolen from his very mind.
“Elune, please, give me peace.†He whispered, each word growing harder to say. He did not like to admit he was not strong enough. Now he needed to admit to his goddess he was weak.
He had said earlier in Goldshire, he would not spare the life of a orc child, even they needed to die. Today he was hunting, tracking down a group of orcs headed across the barrens. It lead to a small house with a windmill. He paused, just at bow's length. His keen eyes watched as his pet Razorclaws panted next to him in the heat. Two boys played around the windmill, hitting sticks like swords. He frowned, they were children, and he could not help but feel a slit tug on his heart. They were like him and his childhood friends so long ago. The sharp voice of an older orc, she had to be well in her years barked at them and the boys shoulders hung as they left their wooden sticks to move bags of grain.
In his mind he knew they would someday be warriors and he would have to kill them then. So why not kill them now? He lifted the bow, and Razor crouched, looking ready. The arrow tip shook as if it did not wish to take aim. He lowered the bow, suddenly knowing he was feeling Esilt from someplace distant. She would not wish him to do this, and he knew he did not want to. He was not a warrior, a killer, like his mother and all those lectures he had about males not being the right “sort†for battle came rushing back.
In the glad he clenched his fists. “Elune, please calm these fires, this hate, this…. Hunger for battle.†He prayed softly, waiting to feel her calming presence.
-----------------------------------------
He never received a voice in his head, or any calm washing emotion. He only had the peace of the night. His sleep was dreamless and his morning he woke without any messages or avatars of the Goddess visiting him. He collected his things and went to patrol the woods for the demonic infestations.
Over the next few days, his dreams were free of Esilt, in fact his dreams were not there at all. He went through the forests feeling more and more empty. His hunting grew more and more fierce. He stalked not just the fel creatures but started to kill the humans he found in the woods with the demonkind. The green haired night elf would slip through the woods like a shadow.
It was while he slipped through the woods that he paused. A familiar black cat hunkered low in the brush. “Esilt?†he asked softly. The cat shifted shape and the druidess stepped from the woods. “You are back?†Suddenly his heart was swelling, it was as if a long blackness had the light of the moon.
She shivered, looking at him confused. “Where did you go… I could not find you anymore.†She whispered. “You left me, alone.†She looked at him accusingly, her amber eyes filled with pain.
He blinked. “I… did not do that. I could not.†He stepped closer, reaching out to embrace her. “But that is not what is important, you are back, we can be together now.â€Â
She took a step back, her head shaking. “The rules are still the same. I cannot be yours unless you can beat me.†She said in a pained voice.
He could not move, he could not speak. She still wanted him to fight her and beat her. “No… no no no…†He could not, last time he fought her she almost killed him, and he knew in his heart he could not harm her. Fighting the demons, or even cultists was one thing, but her, he loved her. He turned “I cannot do this, I will be in Darnassus if you wish to find me.†He took a step and he felt everything inside him twisting up. His heart felt as if it would burst and he would die as he started to run from the spot.
He made his way to Darnassus, he had not been home in some time and as he walked through the street. There was a cry behind him causing him to spin around. “Dor?†Fenraras, his sisters widowed husband ran up to him from the bank. “Dor, you look like hell, where have you been?†He asked looking the hunter over. Dor could only shrug. “Well, I have good news, I am getting married again.â€Â
Dor turned to him, grabbing the druid by the collar. “You cannot do that, you are married.â€Â
Fenraras pushed Dor back. “Your sister died over 30 years ago Dor. We never had children. It is a different time, and I need to help our kind.†The druid spoke and wind swirled around the edges of his robe. “Sometimes we must do what must be done, even if it makes us uncomfortable.â€Â
Nardor stepped back, shaken his jaw slack and his eyes wide. “Some of us just do not have it in our nature.â€Â
“Then perhaps your nature needs to change.†Fen said. “You are welcome to come to the wedding tonight, you are family.†He smoothed out his robe and looked at Nardor's hand that held a blade. “Really?†He turned and walked back to the bank where others appeared to be waiting for him.
Dor looked down and noticed the weapon he had drawn. He did not recall pulling it out. Perhaps he did need to change. He needed to find a way to steel himself, chill his heart when he needed it.
The hunter turned and headed out of the great city, he had more hunting to do. Not demons anymore, he was going to hunt down the humans. He was not going to let his code hold him back anymore. The hunter took to the woods and the beaches. His arrows filling the bodies of the warlocks and the humans who protected them. He was not going to be made a fool of again. He took special care to look at their faces, to let their images chill him, pausing a moment to watch as their last moments left them.
He felt something changing inside him, when he walked through the woods he no longer saw the lush green world. He was in a place of death and decay, a place where life was cheap, and the weak were to die. It was not a place where life was nurtured but a place where only those who were strong lived and the weak were food.
The next time he saw his Esilt he would make her his. It would be his strength, his force, his dominance that would put her at his side. Love was a fading after thought, a dim star slowly getting lost in the dark reality he was coming to accept.
-----------------------------------------------
The slice to the neck left a fan of blood from the orc. Nardor did not like to fight close in, but you can only keep them from charging so long. The red dirt of the Hellfire Peninsula scraped under his boots as he turned and moved to the next orc, the cat following him, hamstringing his foe. The Sentinels who followed him to the realm were cleaning up the orcs he dropped behind him.
He had to keep a head of them, had to prove he could fight just as well. He was in the thick of things, and this had caused his body a few wounds. His goal however was the large orange skinned satyr standing behind the orcs. The beast held a wicked looking sword in it's hand.
Nardor twisted around, facing the demon, his green hair caught in the hot wind of the red desert. “You have outrun your help.†The creature pointed out.
Looking over his shoulder Nardor saw the Sentinels were well behind him still fighting the orcs. “I do not need them to kill you.†Nardor said lifting his bow to start shooting. The arrows found their marks as the creature rushed him.
He was able to get his swords out just in time as the thick blade hit his sword. The demon hammered him with each blow, the block shaking him with the sheer strength of the creature. He had never seen a demon so strong on Azaroth. The orange skin of the beast rippled with muscles as it swing the large blade.
The female elves fought harder seeing the son of one of their sisters being kicked around like a rag doll across the desert sands. “Dor back off, fall back!†The Captain called to him.
Nardor coughed up some blood kneeling on the ground, he lifted his sword to block the blade as it came hammering down. His sword shattered as they met, throwing him to his back. He slid in the dirt and sand, the grit grinding into his wounds lighting them on fire with pain. He held fast to the shattered sword on his main hand. A hoof pressed to his chest holding him down. The beast reveled in the anguish the women had in watching this. He lifted it's eyes to laugh at them. This is when the hunter took his chance.
The broken blade sunk into the thigh of the creature. Nardor twisted his body pulling the hoof of the creature to trip the beast. The sword it held drop to the ground as it landed on it's back. Nardor was quick to take up the Fel creature's weapon. “You do not want to do that.†It warned.
Nardor lifted the blade and thrust it into the chest of the creature. It reached up the claws slicing through the armor on his side. There was a burning and a sizzling of the elf's flesh as the claws ripped his body. The creature shuttered and fell back, dead. A Nardor pulled the blade out, the blade burned with a golden fire.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sitting up Nardor hissed. The claw wound still had not healed, it had been days. The Pristess who saw him when they returned to Shadrath said it was infected with fel magic, but it would pass and heal with time. He felt like it was taking forever to heal. The blade rested at the side of the bed, and he got a little comfort from seeing it. It was an effective weapon and it had helped him more then he had thought it would. Already it had taken the lives of several warlocks, it was a tool of good, not evil.
Yet, the dreams were getting more intense. Dreams of hunting down others, not just warlocks, but the lust to hunt and kill seemed to call to him in his dreams. Sitting in an inn in Stormwind only made him more anxious, and when he was not sleeping he was pacing the room. He could not even sit to focus on a book. He needed to be out there, to be hunting, even if he was wounded.
Alexas said the blade was fel touched, this caused him to pause, and look at the blade again, the weapon was large, much larger then a sword should be, but Nardor could handle it with one hand, and handle it effectively. The Axe he had picked up was a different story, he took that from a warlock who had it sealed in a protective box with marking all over it. When he held them together they seemed to balance each other out.
He lifted his shirt to look at the wound, the four claw marks went across his skin, no longer looking as red and infected, but still open and seeping blood when he touched them. He took some bandages wrapping his chest, the old bandages crumpled on the floor, the blood was fresh at least, and did not stick of foul infection anymore. Perhaps his time swimming in the ocean was a boon.
That was another issue entirely, Who was it that had sent pirates after him, and who was it that wanted the blade so badly? He could not focus on the question at hand long before the urge to hunt to get out of the city and find something to kill… better yet, someone to kill.
---------------------------------------
Faster, stronger, harder, he had to be all of them. Nardor had twisted and the burning blade sank into the felsworn behind him as the axe split the skull of the imp. He was starting to wonder if it was wise to come to their camp, but Desolace was the only other place the Satyr lived and if he was going to find Gladstone, and the Circus it was a good lead. The Felsworn and he met up completely by accident, and with twelve of them and one of him this was looking bad.
The wound on his side was healed, the wound was infected with fel poison, Annabelle and Arina had removed it and healed his flesh. This had him hold up in Stormwind for almost a week, the first half stuck in bed. Alexas had ordered him to take a rest. He despised the rest, he needed to be out fighting, and he could not prove anything resting in bed except his own weakness. In his mind, nothing was going to kill him, not anymore.
She was gone, he found out from the Druids who said she was no longer in the dream. His only reason for living now was to bring death to those who sought to destroy his home, his world. The thought filled him and the fire on his sword flared with heat as he pushed it into the body of the felsworn orc, it sizzled and hissed like a demonic choir. When it was pulled free the wound on the cursed one was burned shut.
He felt the cold chill on his soul as the shadow bolts hit him, and the fel fire that was rained down. His mind focused on movement, side stepping the attacks, like a dancer he moved, following the dances he learned as a boy in his homeland of Ashenvale.
The fire sword he name Deamon Tongue and the axe he called Eagle Wing moved together though they sought different targets. The axe pushed aside a blade as the sword pushed into the human's chest. He stopped looking at them, only looking through them.
As the last one sank to his feet he panted, cuts and burns marked him, his armor tattered and bloody. A sense of rage and satisfaction pumped through his veins and he roared. The silent ash grey Desolace only replied with silence. “I will hunt all of you to the twisted nether!†He yelled as if to warn the ghosts of the dead.
Sagi then came to mind, the traitor to his race would have to pay for the deaths of innocence he caused. He needed to get to Shattrath, to hunt down the abomination. He should leave as soon as he made sure Gladstone was not here.
He should also say something to Aliana.
The stray thought gave him pause. He had just met the wildkin, why would he need to say anything to her. She was so much like Esilt, preferring her animal form to any other, elusive and free. He saw so much of his love in her, and it was such a comfort being around her. Was it her similarity, her familiarity the draw or was it something else. Part of him wanted to just attack, hunt and claim, but there was a sane part of him that knew he could not do this whenever the urge attacked him. That was the way it was with Esilt, but, was that the way with all night elves?
He looked at one of the dead at his foot and swung the axe slicing off the head of the human woman. “No, I have a new purpose.†In the forest of Ashenvale he went to heal from the empty pit he felt learning his love was dead. It was in the shade of his place of Ancestors he felt the calling to hunt down the source of all their pain, the demons. It was the demons who brought the orcs, it was the demons who corrupted his land. He needed to destroy them, send them back to the pit they came from. As he thought of this, anger washed over him, giving him the power to ignore the wounds on his body and make his way to the ruins the satyr lived in. He would kill them all to find out if Gladstone was there, and he would make sure they talked.