Ulfgar grabs some ale and waits for the two elves (or so he thinks) to come back and tell him what they read on the poster
Ulfgar is ready to commit for the adventure
OOT: (I assume that means out of character?) I don't really have much action to do here I think. So I'll just leave it like that for now!

Cloaked in the tavern’s shadows as he was, Tristan had managed to slip closer to the group whose conversation revolved around the posters and the ‘mission’ to discover what had become of the missing beggars without drawing much notice it seemed. For the longest time, he was content to sit, passively listening to the banter of the growing party, and nurse his own mug of ale as he did so. The posters he had seen, of course, indicated a reward would be granted to those who chose to participate and, he had heard elsewhere, that provisions and horses would even be supplied for those that accepted the job, so he wasn’t at all surprised to find such a diverse group gathering together in hopes of tackling this quest. A grand adventure for those who seek glory and fame and a tidy profit for those whose motivations might be other than honorable, he grinned faintly around the rim of his tankard, always the surest way of cobbling together the widest variety of folk to send off to their dooms, isn’t it? When you’re not sure of which weapon to pick, throw them all, right?
After indulging in a muted chuckle at his own joke, the Shadowblade had been set to start sorting through the group; trying to determine what might have drawn each of them to this quest. He recalled having noticed the fire-wielding mage among them before and, given the odd man’s impromptu display a bit earlier, figured that, like most wizards, this one was looking to sharpen his skills, perhaps gain a bit of notoriety, and put a nice chunk of coin in his purse. Magic users of any ilk seemed typically to be motivated by mish-mash combinations of things that often were incomprehensible to those who didn’t dabble in the turnings of arcane energies, he reminded himself, punctuating the thought with another swallow of ale. Spider’s gaze slid away from the party’s only human then, slipping past those at the table who were (like himself) of mixed heritage, and making assessments of the true elves in the lot…

It wasn’t that the halfbreeds didn’t interest him, of course, but Tristan already knew what it was like to be them. Disavowed, denied, and even shunned by both races who contributed to your existence; all alone, you took what skills you had and you made the best of them and you lived by your own hand or you desperately and foolishly tried, time and again, to be accepted by the communities of either your father or your mother, hoping to get guidance from some sort of family, perhaps some assistance or some training even, and you died a fools death. No, the half-elves at that table were of the former lot, he knew; their very presence here was testament to that. The true elves, though… his mother’s people from what he had been told… they were the ones that Spider thought warranted their inspection first. These were the ‘fair folk;’ the graceful, willow, painfully beautiful creatures that, for as long as his memory could travel back, never found his ears quite pointy enough to accept him. Who thought that the stink of his human blood might be all too much to bear, even for as comparatively a short time as he might have lived compared to them. Seldom did elves stoop to interfere in the lives of humans or half-breeds, but when they did, Spider always found himself curious as to how they were so different from their kin… like Darli always had been.

Spider’s ale was drained by the time he had completed his study of the ranger and the battlecleric and his attentions had shifted to the Priest of Khoronous; between the ale and his initial appraisals, he had decided that shadowing for such a group might not be a bad idea… If Dark Hand’s chap is half-alert, he’ll likely be thinking the same, he mused, moving to signal the barmaid for another tankard before finally introducing himself to the group. When his gaze flicked away from their table, though, Tristan caught sight of a dark-haired elven girl entering the place and nearly fell out of his seat. He righted himself quickly and quietly enough, and few in the place probably thought anything of it had they noticed, but even having saved himself from feigning a drunken stupor, Spider couldn’t help but think that was exactly what he was in…

It can’t be, he told himself, tearing his eyes from the girl just long enough to cast a suspicious glance into his empty mug.

No signs of poison or powders. His gaze snapped back to the girl, again, as she approached the bar.

The way she moves, though, he argued with himself, and that hair…and…
Sensing his eyes on her, perhaps, the girl looked his way for an instant. He almost gasped in shock, then, but instead, bit down hard on the inside of his lip and forced himself to sink back into his chair, wrapping himself in the comfortable cloak of shadows that he hoped served to mask his thoughts as well as his actions. … those eyes! It has to be her!
No, no, no, he told himself, his palm itching for the hilt of a dagger as his golden eyes darted stealthily around the place but unerringly set focus back on her,she’s dead. She has to be. Otherwise, why wouldn’t she have come to the cave? Why would I have never found her? This…This is an illusion… a glamour cast by some thought scrying mage… He cast a suspicious, almost angry glance at the Firedancer before letting his eyes be returned to the elven lass at the bar.

It was then that she spoke - he couldn’t quite make out the words over the din of the tavern, but the sound of her voice… the tone and rhythm of it… May there never be another moonless night if that’s not Darli!
For the first time in a long time, Tristan “Spider” Drôst was at an utter loss as to what to do. Part of him wanted to storm across the bar, take this elven woman who looked so very much like Darlthenia into his arms and cry. Another part of him wanted to wake from this horridly cruel dream. Yet another part wanted to beg that damned fire-fondling wizard to take this illusion away. The rest just wanted to snatch he poisoned dagger from where it was sheathed at the nape of his neck and plunge it into his own chest… Only way to be sure you’re not dreaming, Spider…
“Dammit,” he spat, suddenly snatching back his hand when he realized that, in fact, had been inching towards that blade. Then, realizing that he had just uttered the curse aloud, played into his own surprise and offered a sheepish grin in reply to any eyes that might have turned his way. “Dammit,” he repeated, this time snickering a little for effect, “Someone’s gone and drank all my ale, again.”

Spider rose from his seat and separated himself from the shadowed corner and strolled, somewhat indirectly, towards the group of adventurers he had been watching. “Barkeep,” he barked, unable to take his eyes off of the girl just yet but hoping to skew perceptions otherwise, “Another pint, if you please!” He blinked and forced himself to look in the direction of the Firemage. It was enough to veer his feet from their course to the bar and in the direction of their table. “And a round all about for the group at that table,” he added, gesturing in their direction with his empty tankard even as he tried to steal one more glance at the dark haired elf.

No! With the ghost of a smile playing on his lips he forced himself to stride purposefully towards the table where Velkyn, Ulfgar, Amiri, and the rest had gathered. Just don’t look and the illusion will pass!
“I’ve been listening to you,” he grinned mischievously as he reached their table, his golden eyes darting from face to face, “and if what I’m hearing means what I think, ladies and gents, you’re apt to require my services.

Now, my real name’s probably not the wisest thing to know in some company, but most folks call me Spider.”

((OOC: And there you have it… Introductions are made and Spider’s desperately trying to ignore the ‘illusion’ that is Darlthenia… I figure Spider’s ‘playing up’ the stereotypical, crafty, sneak-thief persona here, as much to distract himself as anything else. ))

Darlthenia took another long drag of her drink, effectively emptying it of its contents. She slapped the cup down on the counter and ordered a second drink.

Dammit!
Her head snapped up when she heard the voice which had uttered the words. “Tristan!” His name came out in an excitedly breathless whisper. She looked in the direction of the darkened figure yet again, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Then she heard him mumbling something about someone drinking his drink.

Darlthenia turned back to the bar, her head racing and with so many thoughts. Could this truly be the same boy that had been her life so long ago? The one who had helped her escape from that damned orphanage? The one who had been there for her, helped her learn to be tough and to look out for herself..The one who had sacrificed himself for her freedom. The one she loved?

“Barkeep,” he barked, “Another pint, if you please!”
Her breath caught in her chest for a moment before she exhaled slowly. She looked up and saw Needlemire walking around from behind the bar. She jumped up and went to him. “Let me take it. You’re busy enough as it is.” Darlthenia smiled at him, and waited for him to hand it over.

She winked at her friend, the barkeep, and taking a deep breath, she turned on her heal and quickly made her way to the table where this man now stood. She looked up at his face, “Sorry to interrupt, but I believe you ordered a pint?”
She waited for him to look directly at her. It felt as though her heart had stopped beating, and her lungs were unable to draw a breath. Once he looked at her, she’d know if it were truly him.

Amiri reads the poster on the wall then looks over to the other elf who was also intrested in the information to be found there "It seem we are to give our names to the barkeep and he will pass them on to the ones who solicited for help."

Turning to the other elf who had joined her reading the poster. "My name is Amiri Moondancer. If you are interested in joining this adventure let us return and give the barkeep our names." Amiri surveyed the other elf trying to get an idea of what area their skills lay in.

HEr own appearance was most likely deceptive, being well spoken, intelligent but carrying a long sword and a composite bow and quiver her well muscles wiry body hinted at her bing some kind of fighter. Which she would not deny. She had worked had to earn her mother's favor in following her footsteps. He Mother ranked high in the Sisterhood of the sword. However this ws not her first shoice of occupations her earlier life lead her into the paths of magic and later even into the priesthood. The death of her older sister the apple of her mother;s eye in that Elira was a consummate fighter cause her to add a new facet to her like that of Sister of the Sword. Only sometimes did she regret the long road to rasie her self to the ranks of full sister and to where her mother took pride in her but it meant that she had to put aside inproving her skills in her own chosen paths as cleric and mage.

Now she had taken on this responsibility again for the sake of her mother but with no regrets. SHe had a filling that all her skills and knowledge and abilities could be important in this matter before her. She had done an augury about it at the Temple before she left.

Amiri returns to the bar. "Master Barkeep," she begins politely, "I understand you have list to put names on of those who are interested in this matter. Add the name of Amiri Moondancer to it please. I will also order dinner and drink so please send a serving girl over," and with that she returns to the table where she had been sitting before. I would like to order a room for tonight at least she fishes out coins to pay for her night's lodging and passes it over.

Amiri weaves easily through the tables and patrons moving about. It is as if she knows where they are moving to and thus deftly avoids any contact. Sitting down at the table she waits for the serving girl before ordering a bottle elven spring wine and a simple dinner of stew, bread cheese and a fruit tart to finished it off. Oh I would like a second bowl of the please my companion will be joining me shortly.

Still sipping his ale, he awaited the two elves to come back and tell him what was on the poster. However, when he was about half way done with his first mug he heard the elves speak; the problem was, these words were not directed towards him.

"Master Barkeep," the female elf begins politely, "I understand you have list to put names on of those who are interested in this matter. Add the name of Amiri Moondancer to it please. I will..."
Her voice trailed off. Typical elf, Ulfgar thought. Smirking a little, he tried to ignore what had happened and kept drinking his ale.

He was used to being excluded when he was with company. Who wants to help the poor, street performer? He shook his head and kept smirking.

"Barkeep," Ulfgar called and motioned the man closer, "Can I have another drink?" Upon receiving his ale, he gave his thanks, slipping the bartender an extra coin. Just before he took his sip, he heard footsteps slowly approach him from behind. Ulfgar's hands began to fill with fire underneath his cloak.

“I’ve been listening to you,” a man grinned mischievously as he reached their table, his golden eyes darting from face to face, “and if what I’m hearing means what I think, ladies and gents, you’re apt to require my services.

Now, my real name’s probably not the wisest thing to know in some company, but most folks call me Spider.”
"Spider eh?" Ulfgar laughed at his own foolishness, the man looked harmless enough. "Not much of a name for a-"

“Sorry to interrupt, but I believe you ordered a pint?” A female elf motioned toward the man known as Spider
Spider turned his head towards the voice and the tell-tale sign of an elf came into view: the pointed ear. Another bloody elf. They really are invading! Ulfgar chuckled a bit to himself, turned towards the bar and called the bartender towards him again. "Barkeep, I hear that I need to give you my name if I'm interested. The name's Ulfgar Machin. I'd love to help with these beggar disappearances. I need a little change around here."

Ulfgar smirked again, his trademark pose, and went back to sipping his ale.

It was going well as far as Spider could tell to this point. He was managing to keep his eyes from returning to the illusion/girl at the bar and, as yet, none of the group at the table had demanded that he leave them be or so much as shown irritation at his interruption.

“Spider, eh,” the one known hereabouts as Firedancer chuckled, “not much of a name for a…”

The mage’s sentence stopped there, leaving Spider to wonder after what the man had been about to say… Not much of a name for a point-ear, breeder? Is that what you were going to say? Not much of a name for a bastard half-blood?!... Damnable humans! Just as condescending as elves but with less than a tenth of the reason to be so!… Spider’s grin widened a bit, as opposed to voicing any of those ingrained reactions to a likely misperceived slighting.

It’s probably nothing like that, he reasoned with himself, mages are notoriously odd, at any rate, and if he had that kind of prejudice, why should he be in the company of these others? Spider realized, then, that Ulfgar’s statement had fallen into oblivion because someone else had approached the table.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a hauntingly familiar voice said, “but I believe you ordered a pint?”

Spider’s eyes narrowed a bit as he glanced, first, at Ulfgar wondering if the mage might not still be mucking about in his mind and conjuring forth horribly cruel illusions with which to taunt him. “I did,” Spider nodded after deciding that Ulfgar appeared more interested in his food than in the goings on with a newly introduced sneak-thief, “and a round for these fine folk, as well…” He was almost afraid to look up. Afraid of what his eyes might find when he did. Afraid that, if he did, what he saw might drive him instantly mad and complete whatever sadistic torture had been visited on him since his return to Thyatis. He knew, also, that if he didn’t look up, he’d likely be thought mad by the folk in this place, anyway, and the torture, then would be completed just the same.

It’s not going to be her. It can’t be her. It’s not going to be her. This was the Shadowblade’s mantra as he steeled himself for what he was about to do. He masked his delay by fishing into a belt pouch for a few coins and, stitching a decidedly roguish smile to his lips, finally lifted his eyes to meet the barmaid who was delivering his ale.

As his eyes met hers, though, that smile disappeared with the dropping of his jaw and, as the coin that had just slipped from his fingers clattered on the tavern’s floor, he blinked. “Gods help me,” he heard himself whisper, “It is you…”

In Spider’s mind, he was with her again in that alley all those years ago. They were standing in front of the gate and she had just protested climbing to the other side without him. In the tavern in Thyatis, he reached out a trembling hand to touch his fingers to her lips just as he had then. The feel of those rose-petal lips beneath his fingers broke him at that moment and his voice might have even cracked a bit as he whispered her name.

“Darli?”

Like that night all those years ago, his fingers traced tenderly away from her lips, pushing a spill of onyx-hued curls from her cheek as he took a step closer to her and blinked, once again, into her eyes. His other hand lifted, too, and mirrored the path of the first. As his fingers entwined themselves in her hair and tilted her head forward, Tristan closed his eyes, and possibly on the verge of shedding a tear, completed the memory and kissed her lovingly on the top of her head. “You were supposed to run,” he whispered, scarcely loud enough for any to hear.

He couldn’t bear to open his eyes at just this moment so, instead, and because he had wanted nothing more for so long, Tristan Drôst pulled Darlthenia as close as he was able and held her tightly against him, not caring that his fresh mug of ale had just been dropped to the floor. “Dammit, Darli-luv, you were supposed to run,” he whispered, kissing her on the top of her head once more.

Then, tilting her face up towards his so that he might look into her eyes without thinking he was losing his mind, he smiled at her and allowed his glittering eyes to follow his fingertips as they gingerly explored her face… Just the way I remember you… “I’ve missed you,” he admitted before kissing her again… this time not on the top of her head.

((OOC: There ya go, folks… we’re closing this one with a surprise reunion and a passionate kiss, I suppose… the tale rolls on at your leisure… *bows*… Love to have Spider get to know the rest before we go traipsing off into the whoknowswhere… ))

Tristan, it has to be you. Even after all this time, I know your voice, surely it must be you!
Darlthenia was gripping the mug of ale between her hands so tightly, her knuckles had turned white from the effort. She knew that were she to relinquish her vice-grip, her hands would tremble something fierce. The anticipation continued to build from deep within her chest as she waited for the man to look at her, waited for the confirmation that this truly was the one she had lost so many years ago. The one who was always in her heart and mind.

As the man continued to stall, Darlthenia grew tenser by the moment. She was ready to slam the mug down upon the table and grab the man, forcing him to turn and face her, when he did just that of his own accord.

“Darli?”
She heard her name, as if for the first time in almost 10 years, whisper over her. Her heart ached at the tenderness in his voice, the awe, the disbelief. And she knew he was feeling the very same as she was in that moment

She stood and stared at him dumbfounded for several moments. Her hands' grip on the mug began to slowly loosen when he oh so softly touched her lips. A delicious chill shot through her body and she looked up into his beautiful eyes, and she knew she was home.

She leaned into his caress as he slid her hair behind her ear, revealing her elegantly pointed ear. When he reached up with his second hand, and caressed her face just as lovingly as with the first, she almost dropped the mug entirely. He kissed the top of her head, and she suddenly exhaled.

“Tristan!” His name was a choked whisper, barely able to make its way through her constricted throat. She took a deep breath, taking in his scent. It was just as she remembered, and yet somehow different. He was a man. Her senses were reeling! The heat radiating from his body enveloped her, and she almost felt dizzy from the intensity of it all. She exhaled slowly, trying to maintain some measure of control.


The mug slipped from her grasp as Tristan pulled her close and hugged her tight. She threw her arms around his neck, standing up on her toes slightly, to better reach him. She held onto him as if he would vanish were she to let go. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she buried her face in his neck. “Tristan..” his name was muffled in a broken whisper against the flesh of his neck.

As he tilted her face up to look at him, she ever so softly caressed his face with her fingertips, almost scared to truly believe he was there. She took in every inch of his handsome face, tracing her finger along his forehead, down the side of his face, around his ear, along his jawline.

She traced his lips slowly, as he whispered against her finger, “I’ve missed you.”
Before she could even respond his lips were on hers and her arms slid around him once more, holding him tight against her. And she kissed him back.

If there were ever a doubt in his mind of how she felt for him up to this point, surely there could be no doubt left after that kiss. To be absolutely certain, to make sure that she did not pass up the chance to tell him how she felt, she broke away from the kiss.

Darlthenia looked into his eyes, "I love you, Tristan. Always you, and only you." Then, with a tender caress to his lips with her fingertips, she pressed her lips to his once more, and held on for dear life. Yes, she was finally home.

Asheera stepped out side the temple of Khoronus and moved down the steps so gracefully it was as if she was floating. At the bottom of the steps waited what could only be a War Horse, a dark palomino with silvery-white mane and tail and a odd cresent shapped face marking, very much like the silver cresent moon that adorned Asheera’s deep green tabard, with the thin, ornated cresent moon of Corellon emblazoned on it. The stallion was taller that any Panon Panaw had ever seen. He was broad chested, short backed, with a long arched necked and a powerful set of hindquarters, and most strange of all there was a horn set in his forehead, just above his big violet eyes.

Next to the horse was an equally big cat, like none Panon had ever seen before, it was the size of a large pony, it that the ears of a lynx, the cheek hair of a tiger and an oddly colored coat. A silver taupe faintly spotted with deep green and brown roan spots (A mixture of the base color (Weimaraner dog color) and the deep green hairs and brown hairs. His coat was of medium length with slightly longer hairs about his ears, around his neck, on the back of all his legs and on his long tail. There was also another horse, wearing packs, who was also of excellent quality and size.

Asheers take him right up the to the animals. “This is Isili’lamar, Moon Dancer in common,” at the sound of his name the big stallion dropped his small muzzle into her hands to receive a caress on his velvety nose, “and this is Andoran, a beggar of food, a moocher, It translates to Moochie”

The cat looks to Panon expectantly, Panon could almost swear Moochie was smiling, as the cat eyed him with his deep green eyes.

Khalessin sat back at the table and quietly watched as the group of potential beggar-savers grew. It looked to be a diverse and generally pointy-eared crew. Elves, he was half one himself, and he respected their abilities. He suspected that of those currently present he would likely be asked to ride point, but that was nothing new. Talent, that was what he wanted on his side, and that was what it appeared he would have.

When the half-elf who wished to be called Spider approached the table, Khalessin thought he appeared to be a solid addition to the crew. Something was a bit wrong, and he wasn't pleased that he was unsure what it was until the barmaid appeared.

As the mug of ale fell to the floor in a waste of a good drink, Khalessin could not help but smile. Clearly here was a reunion worth having.

As he watched the warm greeting, Khalessin caught the eye of the barkeep and commented, "I'll have what he's having!"

Amiri heard the strangers word that had approached their table. It took about two seconds before she realized that there was a double meaning to his words. and from the look of his when he said it she would bet he know it as well. She chuckle softly and replied. "I don't think there is any more of that , not exactly that is.

Another enter the tavern and was his way through. He had the look of a half-elf though she was not sure of what occupation or background he came from. The barmaid suddenly called out and moved over to the half-elf and through her arms around the half-elf and kiss him like a long lost lover. That certainly was not a kiss nor a kiss for kin.

"I think I should introduce myself she says to the man at her table she was directed to by the barkeep. My name is Amiri, and yes there is a lot more to it as typical of our names. My mother waxed poetic when I was born. Are you also interested in finding out more about what that poster says?"

“I love you, Tristan. Always you and only you.”

Had he died, right there and then, it would have been as a happy man, even though the moment, to him, still seemed as if it had been plucked from a dream. He lingered in that kiss for a long moment and, when he could finally convince himself to pull away even in the slightest, Tristan still found himself lost in the exploration of her face, content in allowing himself to drown in those liquid emerald eyes. “I love you, too, Darlthenia,” he whispered, smiling softly as his fingertips drifted across her cheek, “as I always have.”

For a long while, it seemed, Tristan could do little more than smile and look at Darli – there were thousands of questions to ask her, thousands of things to tell her, thousands of lost kisses to return, and all of them seemed to be colliding in a chaotic jumble in the very center of his mind. Where have you been, was the first question that he thought might have fashioned itself into some sort of vocalization, Why couldn’t I find you? Before the words could form, though, he heard a somewhat amused chuckle and a voice from very close by…

“I’ll have what he’s having,” the voice snickered.

“I don’t think there is anymore of that,” a female voice chuckled softly in reply, “not exactly, that is.”

Dammit! The job!
Spider had let the moment sweep him away, take him far from the professionalism – such as it was – of his trade and wash him up on the shores of some far away paradise. He had completely forgotten the job and where he was and what it was he was supposed to be doing here. A very dangerous thing to let happen in your line of work… Spider, he chastised himself.

He didn’t release his grip on Darli, however. No, he had waited far too long to hold her again, and that wasn’t something he was keen on doing at the moment. Instead, he turned his eyes, once again, to the table and offered a somewhat apologetic smile to the group. “Excuse me,” he grinned, “it’s just been a long time since I’ve seen this lovely lady…” his eyes flicked back to Darlthenia for a second and his smile brightened all the more; “…a lifetime, it seems, but… I suppose… our reunion will be long in the making, won’t it?” He kissed her quickly on the lips, again, pulled her close, and turned his gaze back to the table.

“This conversation,” he said, forcing himself to focus on the job at hand, “before it was so pleasantly interrupted, had to do with…ah… business, shall we say?

The poster, m’lady,” he said to Amiri as he settled himself into an empty chair at their table, pulling Darli onto his lap as he did so, “says little more than to ask the bartender should you be interested in undertaking this investigation into the missing beggars, hereabout. Now,” the Shadowblade smiled, his lithe fingertips feathering the small of Darli’s back as he leaned forward, “by way of saving you a chat with old Needlemire, he’ll tell you that there’s quite the reward being offered and, should you be interested, provisions and some supplies can be provided, along with accommodations at this fine establishment until such time as a sufficient party has been put together.”

His roguish gaze danced from face to face and one corner of his mouth curled into an almost wolfish grin; “Sounds to me like quite the opportunity to make a bit of profit and perhaps some notoriety, eh? I’d say we’ve got, at least the starts of a decent party, right here… What say, ladies and gents? Shall we pool our resources… I’ll take all of our names to the barkeep, myself, and secure us our lodgings, right now…”

((OOC: A little nudge forward, I suppose… Spider is still more interested in Darli than anything else, of course, but he does have a job to do (don’t we all?) and, so, is trying to bring this group together, so to speak… for the mission or for his own designs, though, hmmmmm? ))

Darlthenia groaned softly in protest when Tristan abandoned her lips. She looked up into his eyes, her own filled with love and a passionate desire. She caressed his face with her fingertips, slid her fingers through the silky, onyx strands which hung longer than she remembered, and she smiled.

She was eagerly re-memorizing every detail of his face when he whispered his love for her, ”I love you, too, Darlthenia, as I always have.”
The length of her body trembled against his as his words washed over her. Her heart swelled to overflowing with so much love and emotion that she could not stop the tears from spilling forth and gliding down her cheeks. She had never imagined she would be so happy as she was in that moment.

She was lost in this man that held her so close. To her mind, they were the only ones that existed in those moments. The rest of the world had melted away. That is until a voice broke through the haze that had settled over her, then a second voice washing the last of the haze away.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” the voice snickered.

“I don’t think there is any more of that,” a female voice chuckled softly in reply, “not exactly, that is.”
She blinked and looked in the direction of those who were sitting at the table. It did not occur to Darlthenia to be the least bit embarrassed of the display between her and her beloved. She had waited for him, and yearned for him for far too long to be embarrassed. She simply smiled at the others.

“Excuse me,” Tristan said. Darlthenia looked up at his grinning face and could not wipe the huge smile from her face, “it’s just been a long time since I’ve seen this lovely lady…” then he looked back at her for a second, and her heart summersaulted in her chest at the beautiful smile he gave her, “…a lifetime, it seems, but… I suppose… our reunion will be long in the making, won’t it?” Then he kissed her again. Though this kiss was fleeting, it still ‘caused a torrent of heat to flush over her entire body, and she shivered softly in his arms when he pulled her close to him again.

Darlthenia grinned as Tristan pulled her to sit on his lap. She wiggled a bit to get comfortable, placed a tender kiss upon his cheek, and turned her attention to the business at hand, though the smile remained in place, and it seemed nothing could dim the glow that lit up her entire being just within the last few moments.

((ooc: not a literal glow, of course, but just a figurative “glow”))

Once Tristan had finished what he had to say, she spoke up. “Count me in, and add my name to the group. I was going to look into this situation anyway.” She sat in his lap absently caressing the back of his neck beneath his hair, with her fingertips.

Panon Panaw gazed into the deep green eyes of the big cat named Andoran and easily understood why it translated into Moochie. Although the Half Elf Cleric had the ability to cast spells for Animal Friendship, Talk to Animals and Create Food and Water; Panon Panaw needed no spells to make friends with Moochie.

The Cleric's Emerald Green eyes seemingly merged with an understanding with the deep green eyes of the beggar of food as he knelt on the ground and playfully scratched Moochie's ears and rubbed the hair along the back and sides of the Cathe Shee, talking to the cat as if Moochie were his own.

"I know just the place to escort you to dinner," Panon Panaw spoke directly to the big cat, "where a certain friend named Needlemire will welcome us all and provide you the meal you are seeking before we begin our journey on the morrow!"

Panon Panaw continued to playfully rub the big cat with his right hand as he swiftly stood to his feet and extended his left hand for Isili'lamar the Moon Dancer to sniff and decide if he too wanted some playful affection before heading for their destination.

"Needlemire has some tasty food for you too," the Cleric cooed to the War Horse before turning his attention to Asheera.

"Mighty fine animal companions," stated the Cleric as he offered his best smile to the lady Asheera, "and my WagTang, Talbog, Surok and Abaga should get along just fine with them during our upcoming journey. But first, let me escort you to the finest Tavern in Thyatis City ... where you and your animal companions can get refreshed after your long journey ... a place with lots of atmosphere and interesting folk ... allow me to guide you to Needlemire's Nest ... where the real adventure begins!"

Panon Panaw engages the lady Asheera in conversation as he leads the way to Needlemire's Nest where he suspects that Khoronus has woven the flow of the time tapestry to bring a group of adventurers together to unlock the mysteries surrounding the disappearances of the downtrodden!

Asheera watches and Panon makes his acquaintances to Andaron and Isil. There was something to be said that Andaron did not lay back his ears or give a slight snarl of warning. All the while Isil was watching and it seemed to Asheere that her Paladin's mount approved of the man for when a hand of introduction was placed before him he grace the Paladin with a touch of his velvety muzzle on his palm.

Asheera took the man's arm with the inborn grace of an Elf and all the demeanor of a lady. She matched stride with the man and as they turn to go to this place Needlemire's Nest, the cat and the "horse" fell in behind with no one leading them.

Asheera's face held a half smile as most of the town folk quickly sidled over and out of the way of the cat. In a Elven city, be it in the trees or on the ground, Cath Shee's and Cooshees abounded, there were the Elves equivalent of dogs and cats. Oh, the did had that smaller common domestic type, but they favored the big animals. Walking in an Elven city was like walking in a wild animal park with no fences between the people and the animals.

The was a Druid geas on the animals in the Elven cities, all could walk is safety and no hunting was allowed, no people after animals, no animals after people, and no animals after animals. Many a rabbit ran into the cities for safety.

Asheera did her best to hide her reaction to the "smells" of a human city. She had smelled it more than 5 miles from its gates and she was not even downwind of it.

She enter into some small talk with Hammer, basically asking about the city and himself. By the time they reach Needlemire's Nest Panon will find he had done most of the talking, while he has learned little from his charming companion. When they reach the place, Asheera looks about for a stable for the patrons' horses, which turns out to be at the back of the inn. Asheers give Andaron a hand signal, the big cat stops and sits. No need to scare all the horse should they see him or catch scent of him, that that is was a scent anyone would notice.

A stable boy comes out to greet them and take the stallion.

"Ev'n My Lady, My Lord. If your staying the night that'ill be 5 silver, if your only drinking and then leaving that be 2 silver, you pay inside."

"I was told that the food and the rooms were the best in town." Asheera looks to Panon.

"That they are My Lady," the boy touched his forehead in a common gesture of respect. "My uncle runs it, and my ma is head cook, you can't get better any where in the city."

"Well that is praise enough for me," Asheera says with a chuckle, a merry bubbling laughter that filled the air with a sweet sound that brought on the vision of sunlit waters dancing over the rocks in a stream.

She fished into a coin purse at her side and pulled out a coin. “Here is a silver for a good grooming. He likes the area right where his chest and neck meet really brushed well.”

When Isil was lead away Asheera, allows Panon to lead her into the establishment.

(Enter Panon and Asheera.)

The Half Elf Cleric of Khoronus, Panon Panaw, was quite taken with the reception he received from Andaron the Moocher and Isil as the Paladin's mount nuzzled the Cleric's palm with a velvety affection.

As Asheera took Panon's arm and her animal companions followed behind, the Cleric felt much taller than his 5'6" frame. As he turned his head from side to side to watch the city folk make way for the big cat Moochie, he smiled with a deep satisfaction as his dark black pony tail seemed to swish back and forth with each turn of his head, seemingly keeping a musical beat with the flow of the corridors of time that beckoned the couple to converge at Needlemire's Nest in answer to the silent call of the downtrodden who seemed to cry forth their despair along the streams and dreams of the corridors of time watched over by Khoronus.

Panon spoke of his own animal companions and how they would be joining the expedition in the morning. WagTang his ferocious male War Dog, his golden palomino stallion War Horse named Surok who stood 15 hands high, his chestnut pack horse stallion named Abaga and his equally ferocious male hunting cat Jaguar named Talbog who all would certainly enjoy the company of Moochie and Moon Dancer during the long journey that most assuredly awaited them on the morrow.

He also spoke of Thyatis City and the points of interest as Asheera engaged him in pleasant conversation, but the Cleric took note that she was graciously evasive regarding her own personal history, as was Panon Panaw who had long ago learned to guard his heart with his mouth and speak only of those things necessary for the moment.

When they arrived at Needlemire's Nest, the Cleric took note of how Moochie obeyed Asheera's unspoken command and was more than amused by the interaction of the elegant lady elf with Nutmeg the stable boy who was more like a son than a mere nephew to his uncle Needlemire.

The Cleric allowed Nutmeg to examine his Mace as was his custom when visiting the inn, admonishing the boy about the true nature of weapons in a man's ... or woman's ... hands and how a weapon is merely an extension of the heart ... be it good ... or bad.

Panon drank in the laughter of his new companion in adventure as she tossed Nutmeg a silver for a good grooming to administer to Moon Dancer, then gently guided her into the inn as his Emerald Green Eyes danced within their sockets as he realized they were now passing into a convergence of the time flows orchestrated by Khronus that had brought together a unique band of adventurers ... hidden agendas and all ... to solve the mystery of the disappearances of the downtrodden who continually sent their cries of anguish and despair along the corridors of time in hopes that someone would answer their fearful prayers and come to their aid in time.

The Cleric surveyed the room once more, taking note of each man and woman in the light and in the shadows, then escorted Asheera to meet Needlemire.

"Greetings old friend," Panon Panaw extended his right arm in a friendly clasp with the right arm of the inn keeper. "May I introduce the lovely and talented Asheera, a most gifted Paladin of Corellon. Please add our names to the search party that leaves on the morrow at first light."

Needlemire nodded and replied, "I see you still have an eye for beauty among the Elven folk ... not meaning any offence to the lady ... but some men ... and half elfs in particular ... seem to have all the luck."

Panon Panaw held the index finger of his right hand to his lips as his Emerald Green Eyes seemed to sparkle as he smiled at Asheera and then turned his gaze intently upon his old friend Needlemire.

"Then please tell your sister, Myriam the Spice Mistress, that she has the distinct honor of serving her finest meal to a lady of the Elven clans and a secret admirer from among the Half Elven broods," chuckled the Cleric as Needlemire scowled at the mention of his sister who was in the kitchen whipping up delectable delights for his patrons.

"Panon you know how Myriam hates being called the Spice Mistress!" hissed Needlemire with a furtive look of mock despair towards the kitchen.

"Yes," answered the cleric with a twinkle in his Emerald Green Eyes, "but you know it is the truth anyway!"

"I heard that Panon, you little rascal you!"

The sweet melodious voice of the Spice Mistress came wafting from the direction of the kitchen, along with mouth watering odors that would loose the purse strings of any hungry traveler who had the good fortune of walking into Needlemire's Nest for a good meal among good company ... a voice that was unmistakenly pleasantly amused by her title, but stern enough to make the casual passerby think she was indignant at the mention of her nickname.

Panon Panaw clapped Needlemire good naturedly on the shoulder, smiled another sparkling eyed smile at Asheera, then turned away from Needlemire and with his left arm coyly resting on Asheera's right shoulder; the Cleric began looking at no one in particular, yet at everyone in the room who was eating or drinking before announcing matter of factly, "So who has the time and inclination to join us on a quest to deliver the downtrodden?"