WARNING This game contains graphic and explicit descriptions, violence, gore, and language. Discression is advised.





August 1st/Saturday Evening Aldoris/Northern Thollin
Brownleaf Inn
Night had come, shrouding the deep valleys, and the feet of hills in thick shadows. Bright, glimmering stars dotted the black canopy of night, and hanging like a silver lantern over the dark peaks to the south was the newly waxen moon. The forests slept peacefully at the roots of the mountains, and the serene pools mirrored the silver specked sky. The air was warm and rich with the scent of summer, laced with the music of countless night birds.

Twinkling at the foot of sleeping hills were the lights of the village of Aldoris. By now, however, most of the evening lights had been extinguished and the inhabitants asleep. They were hard working, the people of Aldoris. Woodsman and farmers, they made a living by the bend in the back, and the sweat on the brow, and dusk was welcome for the sleep it granted. But they were also a friendly people; warm, open, and very giving to wanderers and strangers. And why not? This was a peaceful nation, of course, and they had never been given a reason not to trust people. At least, not civilized people. They knew a barbarian when they saw one, and THOSE people weren’t treated so warmly.

But as it was, the wanderers who came together that night were NOT barbarians, and so they were treated just as warm and open as one would like on such a fine evening.

The Brownleaf Inn was an old, but well tended and homelike place, and the same could be said for its keeper, Jon Barlibake; a fat man with a red face and only a few tufts of grey hair. He was as friendly as he was fat, and so, was well liked by the residents of Aldoris. So that night, six weary travelers were greeted with proper condolences for a long road, and the promise of a fine day to follow.

The sun hadn’t quite set yet, when the first of what would come to be a heroic group entered the inn. The common room was ablaze with the golden rays of a setting sun that shone brightly off polished wood. The inn was empty, save the fat, balding man behind the counter, and a small gnome with tufty, blonde hair and large blue eyes who sat, spinning at a bar table.

Looking up, they beheld the traveler with wide eyes. His clothing had the sewing and detail of what would seem to be that of a well paid entertainer, though it was all black. Draped over his shoulders hung an equally black cloak, and on his back was a black, silken backpack. The setting sunlight leaped and danced off a rapier that hung at his side, and in his left hand was a lute.

(You never specified if you have a lute or not. I assumed you did, but if you don’t, then well say that you found it outside the tavern, and carried it in. Also, you never specified what the “special design of your outfit is, so you can do that when you post. I expect everyone to detail their appearance anyways.)

The man was tall and thin, but well built. His skin was horribly pale for such a warm summer, and seemed even paler in such black clothing. His free flowing, shoulder length hair was black, but strangely, streaks of crimson strands highlighted it. He was handsome, save the strange scar that ran beneath his jaw.

“Good Evening stranger!” Greeted the old man with a toothy grin as he stood up straight and tugged at the white towel that hung at his shoulder. “Menames Jon Barlibake, and this here’s Garm.” The Gnome hopped off the stool and waved. “I daresay I haven’t seen you before. But come now, to the table, and the ale! Im sure you’ve had a tiring day.” The strangers gray eyes flashed over the two, and, with a graceful swagger, he made his way to the bar. “My names Damien LeBlaque, and yes, my day has been a tiresome one.” He says as the keeper gets him a drink. “I see you have a lute!” Peeps Garm, staring wide eyed at Damien from the stool beside him. “You must be a bardic performer! You wouldn’t mind playing a bit later on, after sun has set and moon has risen?”

Nearly an hour later, 4 others came to the inn, but they were local commoners. And they sat, chatting with Garm and Barlibake after a friendly howdoyado to Damien. The traveler took the time to move to a corner of the inn where he could rest and watch the others.

Night had fallen, and the inn was filled with firelight and tobacco smoke when others started appearing. One after the other, as if planned, though none knew one another.
The door was flung open, and a large, almost fat man tramped in, and headed straight for the bar, where he ordered a large ale, and larger dish of food. He looked as if he had just come from the front lines of a war. Gleaming, polished scale male shone over his clothing., and on his back was a very large bastard sword. His face was unshaven and grubby, and his dark hair was greasy, and very messy.

The next guest must have snuck in, because none noticed him until he hopped lightly onto a barstool, causing others to scoot over was a little kender. His blonde/gray hair was pulled into a topknot, and on his little nose sat a pair of glasses. In his hand was a strange staff that branched into a two pronged slingshot. He ignored the suspicious glances he received…either that or he never noticed them. To one looking at him, it was impossible to tell if he was 60 or 6 by the way he looked and acted.

Next entered a strange man, whose garb and appearance where uncommon to these temperate lands. He was tall, and well built. His hair was straight, black, and glossy, and his eyes were a pale brown. His skin was smooth and olive colored. Across his right cheek ran a strange scar. His clothing was baggy, and light, like those worn by the people of the deserts (Detail). Infact, it seemed that was where he had come from. On his back was a composite longbow, and at his side was a strangely glimmering longsword. Seeing only to open stools at the bar (one on each side of a kender) he decided to go to a table, and chose one near the dancing fireplace.

The next guest to appear caught some astonished glances when he slipped in. He was of average height, but that might have been the only detail unmarred. His build was thin, almost elegant, and his skin was smooth, nearly hairless, and fair. Though his head was shaped like that of a mans, his eyes seemed larger than normal, blue, and slightly slanted almost like an elfs. His hair was a strange, blondish gray, but the grey was not from aging. No, it gleamed and shone in the candlelight in a way human hair didn’t. His ears were slightly longer and more pointed than a normal mans. He had have some of the blood of the fair folk running through his veins. His way of dress was odd as well. Though they were green, streaked with brown, he wore the robes of a monk. Over his shoulders, a dark green cloak was slung. And tucked into a green sash around his waist was a set of nunchaku. Their smooth wooden surface was etched with strange runes. After briefly surveying the contents of the common room, he decided to sit with a strange looking man at a table near the fireplace.

Lastly, but only about 2 minutes after the entrance of the half elf, the door opened, and, to almost everyones surprise, a strange creature appeared. Her kind was known. Every so often they could be seen in the wilderness, but rarely did any care enough for men to visit their villages. She was a Satyr. One of the jovial races of the wild. Though she stood the average hight of a woman, she could not be mistaken for human. Yes, her tan face was pretty. Blessed with pale, green/brown eyes, and long, glossy auburn hair. And yes, she was slender, and curvely built, but that was the extent of it. She did where the shirt of a commoner, but her lower body was very much revealed. She had the legs of an auburn goat, and from the sides of her head sprouted two, black, curving horns. Around her neck hung strange, reed carven musical pipes. Despite her out of place appearance, she stepped in boldly, and stood in the doorway, surveying the inn.

Mahou stood silently in the doorway for a long moment, her Hazel brown eyes taking in all that was in the common room. She was rather use to the strange looked given by those who didn’t know her, and the usual occurrence didn’t seem to damper her mood any. A muffled grunt sounded from her leather bag at her shoulders and she smirked slightly cooing to the bag in soft tones.

Making up her mind Mahou set off across the common room floor her shinny goat like hoofs making a clip clop sound as each struck the floor. Rather then sitting Mahou slid between the stools next to the small kender and leaned her rum against one of them, her small tail flickered up out of her way as she did so.

“Greetings everyone.” She announced, more to those around her then to the whole bar. Her captivating eyes landed on the bar keeper and she smiled shaking the main of auburn hair from her face, a stray hand was brought up to tuck the locks behind the curse of her horns.

“Might I trouble you for a nice drink and a fine meal… preferably something on the flavorful side.” She said with a smile. The leather bag behind her jumped a bit and more grumbling could be heard. Mahou shook her head and muttered something to herself. Pushing herself up onto the stool a deep breath was drawn in though her nose as if she was trying to catch the sent of something, her eyes traveled the length of the bar before landing back on the kender who sat next to her. “Care for a drink my short friend, it’s terribly boring to drink alone, and food tastes so much better when it is shared with good company.” Mahou’s mouth almost watered at the thought of a hot meal, and she closed her eyes a moment imagining what the tender might bring her. Her question to the kender almost forgotten by now.

Standing there on that barstool, Elandor takes his time to absorb every detail the quickly filling inn has to offer: the various kinds of beer, the red face of the bartender, the wart on the cheeck of that loudly laughing woman, the rustle of shoving feet on the inn's floor and the scent of fried meat meandering out of the kitchen.

He is so overwhelmed by the fact that this is the first inn in a long time where he hasn't been thrown out of just because of his nature that he doesn't notice the newcomer untill the clip-clopping stops and the satyr woman pushes herself on the stool next to him. Elandor's eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he realizes what a wonderous creature has just walked into his summary of experiences. Scratching his head he takes his time to study this amazing humanoid. It is only after several seconds that he realizes that he has just been invited to sharing a drink by his object of study.
"Oh...ehm, yes of course! I would like to share a drink mylady." Still keeping his eyes focused on the satyr's legs he stretches out his hand and waves for the innkeeper. "Bartender, two glasses of wine, please."

When the glasses of wine are put down before him, Elandor shoves one of them in front of the satyr. Very hesitantly he adds: "Ehm... I don't want to scare you, so I will introduce myself first. I'm Elandor Underhood, a traveling traveler... ehm... trying to see all the exciting things in the world. I just noticed that something is the matter with you... Do you know you have goat-legs?"
He empties his drink in a single draught and slides the glass absently in one of his many pouches. He then takes some money out of this pocket and lets the copper coins fall rattling on the wooden surface of the bar. He then notices the moving bag on the Satyr's back. He jumps into full attention on his barstool and points at the bag...
"You have a moving leather bag, how exciting! What's in it? What's in it!"

"A long, hard road merits and nice, long rest..."

That is what my father used to say when he returned, usually weary, from his ranger patrols that the village sent him on. He would come home from the forest trails, fall down into one of the chairs we had in the house and call for a drink of tea. Then he would say this when I begged him to play or to tell stories or something he was obviously too tired to do. I badgered him anyways.

Always was I asking about the red stains that littered his garments, his sword included, when he returned from many of these excursions. They would never really get around to telling me what it was though I asked nigh every time.

They never had to tell me. Now I know.

I sit here reminiscing the past as I watch the final rays of sunlight pass beyond the horizon because I feel the winds of change on me. I can feel their power and the winds are guiding me towards the town not far from here, Aldoris, I belive it is called. So here starts the newest chapter, and quite possibly the last. For those who find things, continue with your own musings and use for good only for good.

-Exerpt from the journal of Vilyamar Disentrio, monk

The silver-haired monk looked up from his musings in time to truly see the last rays of sunlight peep beyond the horizon and as his eyes adjusted to the growing darkness, he put away his book and quill and ink, and resumed his march down the road towards Aldoris.

True, the winds of change were blowing, but not even the wisest mort prophetic mortal could have forseen the changes coming to the world. Only the gods could have known what was to come.

With darkness fallen, the monk moved to the gates of the town of Aldoris and proceeded along the main street in the town to what looked like an inn. The sign promised warmth and good food, and so Vilyamar hoped, as it had indeed been a long road.

Upon entering the inn, Vilyamar turned his from side to side, surveying the situation at hand. A homely atmosphere, the inn had already attracted many patrons that were sitting either at the bar, on the stools which were completely occupied, or at the tables. Seeing no room at the bar, the monk pulled back the hood of his cloak and watched as the heads turned to see this wonder in their midst. And a wonder he was. Few joinings of elf and human were there in history, and fewer still were the offspring of humans and mist elves. Without the shine of elven blood, Vilyamar would almost appear to be gaunt, and deathly. But the elven shine of the fair one's did indeed flow through his veins.

The monk saw many eyes go to his dress and weapon which was tucked into a sash at his waist. It should not be strange for one raised in the woods to dress as would the rangers, though this man was trained as a monk. The clothes he wore were dark green robes, streaked with brown and were meant to camouflage him into the underbrush, the cloak he wore was of no magical properties and was just dark green. He wore a sash about his waist that was also green. Tucked into his sash was a nunchaku, and it WAS magical. But not in any sense of the magical properties of a wizard, or even a cleric.

The nunchaku had been inscribed with many runes, all interconnecting, balancing and strengthening. Even the links were etched with these runes. There was a difference though, one side had octagonal shaped runes, while the other had hexagonal shaped runes. Each set had a different pattern in place and had different runes marking each pattern and spot. It seemed as if they were just two languages saying the same thing. Or nearly.

With almost no sound, a trait picked up while hunting in the woods, the monk moved to sit with the warrior that had ordered himself a drink already. Vilyamar was not one to drink dwarven spirits or any alcohol at all.

“Do you mind sir, me sitting here? Good, I didn’t think so,” the monk asked with a slight incline of his head. Upon taking up a seat, he inquired about the man’s name, profession though it was obvious he was a knight or warrior of some kind, business in the town of Aldoris, etc. He also ordered himself a glass of water and watched about the tavern about the actions of the other patrons.

Almost as soon as he had started conversing with the man, another, and evidently final patron to enter, entered the inn. This was even more interesting than the half-elf coming in because of the race of this visitor, and, indeed, her legs. The satyr were among some of the more or less mythical creatures of stories, yet here one was and she was clip-clopping her way to the tables nearby. The monk studied this newcomer with as much interest as he had studied all the others in the tavern. It seemed to him that none of this was coincidence. Not at all, as there were few ways such adventurers as were sitting in this tavern could have been brought together by chance. Not many ways at all…

Mahou’s attention was brought back to reality by the Kender speaking. Mahou turned her brown eyes to him with bright smile.

“Oh good. Wine? Nice choice.” Mahou said hastily pulling up the glass from the bar and bringing it to her lips. Mahou sniffed deeply in hailing the sweet sent of the wine. Mahou held the glass up inspecting the wines color before finally bringing it go her lips. As she brought the glass back down her eyes set on the kender who had now introduced himself, Elandor, he said his name was. Mahou looked over his face watching his eyed travel down her body to her legs. She Smiles and laughed a little as Elandor asked her of her “problem”.

“Really?” she said almost shocked and looked down at her legs. Her eyes mock widened and she looked back up to Elandor. “my gods? What happened to me!” Mahou faked worry for a good long moment before leaning back and laughing. “you certainly are perceptive Elandor. But yes, I am aware of my legs, they have been that way all my life.” Mahou leaned forward tilting her head to let the firelight catch her long curved horns, as she looked the kender over once more. “Had horns for as long as I can remember as well.” Mahou leaned back slightly.

“ I should introduce myself. My name is Mahou Varelse, a Musical Druid by trade seeker of fine food, fine drink, love and romance… and good company of friends…” Mahou trailed off as Elandor’s attention seemed to be caught up on her backpack. Mahou lifted the bag from her back and brought it around to her lap. “oh, this is Gemi… don’t mind him he’s a bit of a grump cause I won’t let him out to run free.” Mahou pulled the drawstrings letting Gemi peek his small triangular noise out. The Wolverine grunted and squirmed to get free, before Mahou’s hand was placed on his head and the beast was forced back into the bag.

“he’s a trouble maker… I’d like to stay in this town for a while before he gets me kicked out” she said with a smile as she slung the bag back over her shoulder. Mahou took up her glass of wine, following the same process before drinking again. Her eyes flushed slightly from brown to a mixture of brown and green as she set them on Elandor.

“So Elandor, what brings you here? You said you where a traveling traveler eh? You quit an adventurer then? Seeking out some brilliant treasure? Or just looking for a good time?” Mahou questioned as she tapped her hoof on the bar waiting for her meal. She hoped it’s be as good as the wine, but understood it’d take some time to prepare if it would be.

A human is viciously knawing away at his food as if he was starved then sent a plate to satisfy his hunger. He has a mug of ale next to his plate that has parcialy chewed food runnuing from the brim where he had a full mouth sip from the mug. He is ravagly scooping up beacon,jerkey, and ham with his cupped hands and shoveing them into his mouth. He is lost in his eating, as if he were alone he gobbles the food up without any hesitation of others thoughts. It is as if he were a lion ripping the organs from its dead prey. Food runs from the corners of his mouth however you cannot tell what is what dripping from its mouth, it is so chewed,mixed,and mangled that it looks like a chunky soup is coming out from within him. He finishes off the last of his plate by licking it clean. He swigs down the last of his ale, that too drips from the sides of his mouth runs down his jaw to his neck then dissapears down his shirt. "ahhh that was good! Nothing like the taste of bacon to start off a man's day eh buddy" his says loudly while nudgeing somebody next to him with his elbow, not really paying attention to who it was that he was bumping. He wipes some of the food residue off with his stained undershirt collar and smiles at the bartender, not knowing that food particles where stuck between his teeth. He throws the empty mug on the clean plate and slides it down to the bar tender. "thanks buddy....that was good" he then scoops up his napkin which is as white as snow, slides his bastard sword out from its resting place on his back and wipes the blade. He grins into the reflection of the sword and throws the napkin back onto the bar and sheathes his sword .He slaps his hand together and rubs them for a short moment then spins around in his stool. He rests his elbows on the bar behind him and aimlessly scans the room.

Teros looked around the room. His eyes moving from one person to the next, studying them with a small, friendly smile on his face. He was shy by nature, and preferd to get a general view of everyone before someone started talking to him.

He tugs a little at the thin white clothing on his upper chest, making sure its nice and loose, and old habbit from his days in the south. He was doing this when the man with the strange weapons approached his table. Upon the startling decsion that it was ok to sit there, which it was, he gives a quick, uneasy smile. "Yes of course it is ok to sit here. I'm Teros Razorsun, might I ask for your name? Ah, excuse me for a moment, do you want anything to eat?" He brushed his scar while his hand moved to his turban. As it touched he gave a shudder, as if it brought pain. His hand quickly unwrapped his turban, setting the wrappings on the table. His eyes remained fixed on the half-elf sitting at the table, while his warm smile was also fixed on the newcommer. He finally finished the wrapings, and set it in the corner of the table. He then followed up by taking off his backpack, composite longbow, and arrows, and setting them on the ground as well. During this his energetic light brown eyes left the elf so that he may stack the items neatly. Once he finished stacking he closed his eyes and put sent up a quick prayer under his breath "Lavuria protect my items so that I may further wonder under your light, protecting all those who are in need under you light." He quickly brings his happy eyes up again.

Damien stared at the lute in his hand momentarily before looking up to see a strange creature, a seeming hybrid, standing in the doorway. Half-deer, half-woman, apparently. Satyr. He thought, and set the lute down on the tabletop before him, leaning back in his booth seat and thinking to himself while the others in the common room conversed amongst themselves.

The bard recognized one to something similar in nature and appearance to an elf, though it he carried the traits of a human as well. At his belt was a strange weapon that resembled a flail, only it had two striking ends similar to the haft of the flail, connected by a short length of chain. “Interesting, but not something that I care for. Rapier is my own, and none other.” Damien muttered quietly, looking around a bit more.

The satyr had taken a seat at the counter next to a kender that had entered. Damien disliked kender, but made no move to harm the thing. They had robbed him several times in the past, and this stirred up a rage in the creature. Damien was agile, alert, and very fast on his feet, but even he could not keep up with the damned creatures that filched his belongings from him.

Shaking his head slowly, he looked down to the lute once more. He had found it outside of the inn just before he entered, and though his real talent was in his harmonious voice, he was able to play the instrument rather well, and could perhaps peddle it for some extra golds. So far, however, he had not received the opportunity to trade the thing. He did not like to travel with anything more than he required, and his voice far outmatched the talent he possessed with the strung instrument.

He reached forwards and placed a fingertip onto one of the strings, dragging across it and creating a low, grinding sound. Sighing, he pushed the thing away and reached up to scrub a hand through his shoulder length black hair. A few of the strands fell before his face, and one of his few crimson ones was present among them. He admired those dark red strands of hair amongst his mess of raven black. An unusual trait, but then, he was an unusual person in his own respect.

Damien shifted around in the booth, listening absently to those around him. The strange one with the flail-like weapon at his waist was seated at a table almost right next to him, but he did not interest the bard a tremendous amount. Instead, he placed a hand on the hilt of his rapier, the blade he had employed for so long by means of his agility and finesse. A true gentleman’s weapon. Damien thought, and almost laughed at this.

August 1st/Saturday Evening
Aldoris/Northern Thollin
Brownleaf Inn

The night went into full swing, and the Inn was nearly bubbling over with guests. Some were regular visitor’s, others were traveling woodsman, farmers, and merchants; and still others seemed to have unknown purposes.

Sitting at the bar, the unnaturally charming Kender ordered wine for himself and Mahuo, who gladly accepted his invitation to a drink. With a wink, the red faced Barliman fetched some of his good wine for the two. Setting the two, ruby gleaming glasses before them, he turned his attention to the large man that sat a stool away to Elandors left. Good ol’ John had seen many folk in his day, both beautiful and ugly, but this man nearly made him lose his lunch, the way he devoured his food like a dog. Perhaps the worst part was that half of it didn’t go down his throat after he chewed it. “Oi mate. Careful ye don’t choke yerself. No good eating if it don’t reach yer stomach.” He said, in an attempt at slowing the mans eating. It was useless though, the man kept at his work, unhearing until the plate was completely clean. Barlibake grabbed the dishes and accepted the compliment that the man gave by starting conversation. “So what brings ye to these lands?” For a moment he eyes the giant, gleaming sword that the man was polishing. Turning back to the kender and satyr, he amended himself. “What brings the three of ye ta these lands! We aint had such a full inn in a long time, and that’s saying something! If ye get my meaning.” As the three conversed, He grabbed a hustling, pale haired gnome, attired in an apron by the shoulder. “Garm, fetch two servings of the house special for these two, weary travelers.” With a nod and a bolt, the gnome was in the back kitchen. Within minutes he was back with two plates full of roast beef, potatoes, carrots, and spiced bread. After noting the appearance of the female, however, he quickly spun around and headed back to the kitchen. A moment later he reapeared with one plate of the original, and another piled with grapes, melons, berrys, jam, and bread.

Meanwhile, at a table near the fireplace, the strange half elf and desert man conversed lightly. A tall young woman with glossy blonde curls, and eyes as clear green as spring appeared with a tray of morsels. Flashing a pretty smile, she said “We thought such weary travelers might be hungry.” With that she set down a plate before each of them, along with two glasses of water, and a small pitcher of frothy, golden ale. “Eat up! Roast beef, potatoes, carrots, and spiced bread. It’s the house special!”

In a booth, leaning against the wall, watching this, sat the bard in black. He had sat here for nye on several hours. He had already eaten, but a half empty mug still sat before him. It was as he was sitting in a candle light/tobacco smoke endused daze that two men approached, and slid into the booth, across from him. Starting, he noted that they both appeared of the farmerly type. One, a rather burley man, had dark, curly hair that flowed over his shoulders, and a bushy beard. Bits and pieces of hay lay, intertwined in both. The other was a tall, skinny man with a goatee, and long, straight blond hair. “Oi mate.” Started the burly man. “Me and me bud here noticed ye ta be the musical type. Why its been ages since this inns been blessed with a melody. Wont ye play something?” The other man sat silent, but it was obvious he shared his friends hopes. Glancing about, Damien caught the sidelong glances of several other people. There eyes gleamed in expectation.

ooc:I was holding this for when I got reply to my conversation, but I figured that I might as well posts as it seems that no one else is going to today.

Teros gave her a warm welcoming smile and nodded at the food. "Thank you very much. It looks very good." He reaches in his Gold pouch and pulls out 20 fairly worn gold pieces. "This should suffice, if its too much go ahead and keep the extra."

He quickly moves for the water, dowining half his glass in a matter of seconds. He moves on to the rest of his food, moving much slower, as if to make each bite last for a long time.

While eating his eyes move to the back of the room, where it seemed someone with musical talent was sitting. Entertainment sounded very good to him after his hard day of traveling. He gave him a quick glance as if to suggest that it would be a good idea to play before looking around the bar inbetween bites.

The strange small person, which people seem to call Kender in these lands, seems to be very interested in everything. The lady he sits by is also new to him. "Hmmm....fascinating." he says under his breath before putting the glass of water back in his mouth. The two looked like a happy little couple, of course not in any wrong way as it would seem, but they seemed to get along well.

His eyes then moved to the man eating. He didn't learn much, as his eyes quickly moved back to his own food before he lost all his own will to eat it.

Derak was more than pleased to accept the 2nd plate of food. He pointed at it with his index finger and said to the bartender "is this on the house" but before he could give him time to answer he had already dug in with his hands. He listened to the tender ask questions concerning their business at the bar. He looked to the two odd couple next to him with his mouth full waiting to see if they would reply first. "ME! Oh.......i've been away from home for 3 years now!.....would you believe it....3 yuurs. I thought I audda jus drop by say hello to the folks. Show them what i've accomplished since i've been away" he says while talking breaks inbetween his words to fill his face. "I love my momma ya know.......even more than I love Jilly over here on my back (referring to his sword)" ........he continues to cram the food into his mouth "the only bad thing that dissapointment me is papa......he's a drunk, and momma sa-oorts him, I used to have to drag his limp body from out of the bar, papa was small and couldn't old 'is ale to well....HAHA" he loudly laughs causeing some small food chunks to jet out of his mouth. "well i used to watch him sip away at his ale....but what papa didn't know was that he wasn't sipping the ale....the ale was sippin' him away....his life, that's why he got so darn limp after every ale....hmmmmmm is'a crying shame.........it really is a goddamn crying shame." He says stareing into his new mug of ale sippin it gentle then sighing after the sip. "ahh life is good to me.....sometimes I do believe there is some gods smileing down on us.....somedays they shine the hevenly glow of sunshine down on us....and other days they piss rain on us....WHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" He says nudgeing the person next to him saying "eh yea get it buddy! Yea get it!" At this point Derak is making a spectale of himself, screaming and hollerin about gods and drunks in the middle of a bar. But it doesn't bother the big teddy bear, the tought doesn't even go though his head that others might be offended "ahhh, life is good eh buddy" he says with a toothy smile. "ahh life is good" he says while sighing and scratching his belly. He's finished up his food by now and has slid the plate and mug to the tender. "eh ten'er...that sure was good...thanks pal." His large calassed hand reaches deep into his pocket jingles around some silver and tosses them to the tender. He gives the tender a thumbs up and burps, but he surpresses it down by holding his breath then slowly letting it out. He barges threw the crowd and out the door. Slamming it kinda hard on the way. He goes outside and looks at the newborn sun, "ahh she's a buuety" he leans his back up against the wall. With his heavy duty hand that has many cracks which dirt has made its way into, calaases and scars he slides his sword out of its place. Light from the sun gleams off the shiny blade and throws a golden light into his face. He observes the scars on the sword recieved from past battles. He rubs them a bit with the tip of his finger ans mumbles "ahh Jilly....you're a buuety too darlin'" he snickers a bit the gazes the outdoors with a grin seemenly frozen to his face.

(OOC: Nobody laugh at the song. I had to force it out. I am not a songwriter, nor a good poet. What was I thinking choosing bard? Haha, a challenge, thats what.)

Loud fool. Who in their right state could devour such amounts of food in a disturbing spectacle like that? A warrior though, I can tell from the blade he carries on his back. Amazing he isn’t dead yet. It truly is. Damien thought as he watched Derak eat the meal set before him in a great, messy display of a hungry man. He was going on about a strange amount of events and parts of his life, interrupted by a great, heart-filled laugh that made the bard shut his eyes momentarily. The warrior bothered him, and he did not want to have to pay attention to him any more. He breathed a sigh of relief when the man rose and stepped outside of the inn. “Sure seems to be a friendly one.” Damien said quietly, to himself, as he was joined by a pair of men who strongly appeared to be farmers from the surrounding area.

Asking for a performance from him, Damien shuddered slightly. He did not wish to perform in such a place as this, but, glancing around the common room, the bard saw many sets of expecting eyes staring at him. He had been noticed by all of the other patrons, and he suspected that things might get unfriendly if he denied them all the chance to hear him perform for them.

With a sigh, Damien looked at the lute, then to the farmers. Slowly, he extended a pale hand towards it and clutched the neck of the instrument in long, delicate fingers. Why someone would leave such an instrument lying around outside is beyond me, but it now belongs to me. He thought as he nodded to the pair across from him and rose to his feet, taking the lute in hand, and walking towards the far corner of the common room.

Hopefully they can pay me a few gold or silver pieces for my time here. He thought as he plucked a string softly, listening to its tune, and twisting the appropriate tuning peg slightly, repeating until the instrument was entirely in tune. Satisfied, he held the instrument at his waist, and reached up to brush a few strands of hair away from his well-toned face, and licked his lips quickly.

“One performance, just one. I will give you a song I have composed in the past, though it was sung without instrument to compliment it, I can turn something out to go along with it.” He said in a loud, clear voice. People from far away had gathered in the past to hear the voice of Damien LeBlaque, and once again, he would leave a memory in the minds of those who would listen.

Plucking at the strings of the lute with careful fingertips, Damien began to pour forth a haunting melody, though he had not yet put words to it. This song was not exactly an uplifting one, more, a tune of sadness that followed him across the lands as he wandered. After a few moments, he added his voice to it, releasing the words from his heart as the notes rang out from the lute in his hands.

“I hold my breath as fate unveils itself,
I hide behind this mask of darkness,
watching you all run your lives,
as the gods you believe pull your puppet strings.

I’ve woken up, I’ve changed my fate.
I’m free from the strings once attached.
I find only shadow, only lies,
but I find myself, after years of searching.
I’m free.

Lost in time, always running,
fleeing those who think different than I.
I am different to them, they laugh at me.
But I am free to believe what I wish.

I’ve woken up, I’ve changed my fate.
I’m free from the strings once attached.
I find only shadow, only lies,
but I find myself, after years of searching.
I’m free.

My own gods, they let me go.
They turn their backs to me.
With a smile, with eagerness in me.
I turn my back to them as well.

I’ve woken up, I’ve changed my fate.
I’m free from the strings once attached.
I find only shadow, only lies,
but I find myself, after years of searching.
I’m free.

I loathe all I became.
I am no longer a human being.
Somebody help me, somebody save me.
Take me away from me…”

The plucking of the haunting tune continued for a few moments after he completed his song, and letting the last note ring out in the common room, Damien shook his head slightly, freeing the strands of black from his face and bore no expression on his handsome face. Without a word, he walked to an empty seat, and sat down, wanting to be alone once more.

"Really, so this place you come from, has very little vegetation. I have not been in any of those places in my life before, or perhaps, I just cannot recall, heheheheh..."

The monk laughed politely while conversing with the desert man who had given the name Teros. It sure had been a pleasant evening and the barkeep seemed pleasantly surprised at the amount of travelers that occupied his tavern this night.

The man in the back, the one in black who seemed as pale as Vilyamar did, though less full of life, had been noticed stealing peeks at his nunchaku. The monk chuckled quietly to himself, and looked to the side, pretending to observe whatever was on the wall while also stealing a glance at the man, who had his hand fondly on the hilt of what seemed to be a slender rapier. Also accompanying the man was a lute, which marked the man as a bard, though the lute was ordinary to the monk's knowledge, he had had experience with the nigh magical feelings a skilled bard can cast upon his, or her, listeners.

He also took note of the strange beings by the counter, the satyr and the kender. He knew little of either of these peoples though he did not see either of them as harmful to him. So he regarded them currently with nothing but a curiousity.

A pretty young barmaid soon approached the table, bearing two plates of food. The monk realized suddenly that, no, he hadn't eating and yes, he was hungry. Looking up at the young woman, he smiled, thanked her and brought out the few coins he had to pay for the meal.

Looking upon the plate of roast beef, potatoes and other foodstuffs, he was soon filling his belly and emptying his purse. The fruit went untouched by Teros, so Vilyamar went at it with abandon.

He noticed that two of the patrons had approached the bardic man, and had not unreasonably requested a song or two. And so with more than a slight hesitation, the man moved to where he could be seen by all, tuned his lute and began to play. He was obviously not a beginner.

The song he played was the only one he had agreed to play this night. The darkness that clouded the monks mind was not so soothing as it was disturbing, the dark words telling of an even darker time. Obviously the man was troubled by his past, and there wasn't much that the monk could do for him.

Not accepting any applause or even condolences or anything at all, except, perhaps, a few coin for his services. He took his seat once more, with the intention of being alone again, so the monk did nothing more than give him a short look of...well, pity, I suppose.

Returning to his nearly empty plate, Vilyamar picked slightly at his food, not really intending to eat anymore. Putting his hand to his chin he went into deep thought, remembering his own past that the song had brought to light.

A shadow crossed his face, it seemed as haunting memories of burning buildings and slaughter arose in his mind. With a shake of his head he cleared the thoughts, and warded off anyone who was looking at him with any sort of pity.

He picked up again on the conversation with Teros if was still there, attempting to get a few more tidbits of information from him.

If this is not possible, he goes in search of a room with which he could rent for a cheap price with the little gil he has remaining. He also thanks the innkeeper and his employees for their hospitality and superb cooking skills.

"Interesting choice of words." Teros spit out, obviously taking offense. "Puppet strings? My goddess is not puppet master...." He looks around with obvious anger at the words, but after a few deep breaths he calms himslef down. He turns the compainion at his table. "I'm sorry I never caught your name, oh thats alright, its getting late and I need to get a room. The more rest I get, the farther I can go tommarow."

He grabs his stuff and moves to the inn keeper, giving one last nod the half-elf sitting at the table.

"Hello there! I was wanting to know if you had any rooms open?"

He glances around, giving a nod to the Kender and Stayr before returning his focus to the innkeeper.

As the final words of Mahou's question faded the innkeeper brought Elandor and the Satyr their diner. Elandor put up his thumb at the redfaced man but kept his gaze on the food on his dish.
"This looks good and smells very nice. What herbs did you use for the bread? I'm sure it could use a little of...ehm...well, where did I keep it..."
The small kender started rummaging through his pouches untill he finally found a small leather pouch containing several dried leaves. He pulverized the herbs with his fingers, spreading them over the bread and potatoes. A sweet yet spicy smell blended with the already pleasant odour that steamed from the plates. As a habbit Elandor picked an old and common fork out from under his belt and started eating his food.
One half of his mouth full, chewing and holding his head slightly up to stop the food from falling out he addressed the Satyr woman. "I became a traveler because of a little squirrel actually. The village I was living in was one day blessed with the arrival of a party of adventurers. I thought it would be very exciting to get to see real monsters and solve puzzles and be rewarded for all the good you do. So I joined them in their quest, which was at that moment actually wandering around looking for adventure. Well, we had a lot of fun, of course. There would not a day go by or I would be chased by one of the fighters. I even got turned into stone by the group's sorcerer. That was fun to begin with but it get's boring very quick. NEVER let yourself be turned to stone! After several days we were walking down a little path through the woods when..."
At that very moment the bard starts his song and Elandor's attention is drawn to that immidiately. The tune reminds him of a song his mother used to sing. Not that the words are even close to that of a kender song, no kender would sing of loathing, life is just too amazing! And see, even the warrior with barbaric behavious states it.
"Life is good indeed!" Elandor wispers at the man absently. He turned his back on the bar, sitting on the barstool, finishing his diner holding the plate on his lap. When the song is done he retuns the plate to the wooden surface it came from, leaving his old fork on it. Then he jumps off his stool, a new fork (the inn's of course) half sticking out from under his belt. The little kender makes his way through the visitors, trying to find the bard. When he finally sees the man sitting alone he walks up to him with the attitude of a poor boy addressing a very wealthy and well-known man, shyly and stammering.
"I'm s-sorry to bother you, dear sir. Could you please sing us another song? Or, or that song you just did once more?" he fumbles with his pouches and suddenly has a goldpiece in his hand. "I am w-willing to pay of course. That s-song just made me f-feel so great... it reminds me of my mother, sir."