Cho'Ra sipped her stew and kept her eye on the distraught woman as she continued to reply under the deluge of the bowman's questioning. She sighed to herself as with new revelation in the Mistress' story, another barrage of questions were flung wildly at the woman who had hardly had a chance to touch her stew or even grab a breath to herself since they sat down. 

"Blood and ashes!" The woodsman shocked Cho'Ra away from her thoughts as he leaned in toward the bowman, "I've not been able to eat in peace as my ears are filled with this simpering. Maybe if I were to draw it out in the mud, the case might be clearer."

He proceeded in his way to explain to the room and the grieving woman that it had been the weak, love-struck will of the young lady who was at fault for the murder of the Aes Sedai. Though for his defense, he did mention it was at the manipulation of the whitecloak.

"The only one who seems to be not guilty of anything is this poor woman," the hairy woodsman continued, "The lot of you would do well to follow my lead: eat your meal, get some rest, and then leave the boneheaded behaviors of city folk to the city folk. Now, mayhaps I can eat in peace? Hmmm?"

The silence, despite its awkwardness, came almost as a relief to the incessant questioning of the one man, and bolstered lecturing of the other.

It was a brief relief however, as the scrapping of chair legs on the wood floor drew everyones attention to Mistress Velalin. She rose and Cho'Ra could nearly see the flames bursting from her eyes at the woodsman. She scooped up her sadly untouched bowl of stew and threw it at the woodsman's hulking form, spattering him with its entire, likely cold contents.

"How dare you!" She shrieked, and the rest of the room fell silent, "Millae had nothing to do with Nelelle Sedai's death! NOTHING!" And she spun around and fled the Gleeman's Abode.

Cho'Ra looked down at what remained of her own stew, as far too many eyes settled on their eclectic table, and she could nearly feel the silence.

"Music, man! We need music. And drinks! Come, a free drink for everyone!"

She looked up in time to see Master Masteon glaring their way and wondered how much longer they would be allowed in this place. At this rate, having all just arrived in town and already confronted their guards and upset their beloved Mistress Velalin, they wouldn't last until nightfall.

She waited until the crowd and music perked up so they would not be overheard and finally addressed their group, "It seems we're all quite well-versed in making lasting first impressions. Before they throw us out of town however, it would be wonderful if we could assist the kind lady who so graciously bathed our woodsman here," she gave a quick smile to the large, unpredictable man who seemed to be ignoring her.

"Bowman, your questioning must have begotten some useful information, shall we proceed to the jailhouse now and perhaps speak with Millae or find what the guards know? Strategy is not entirely my strength, but I would like to work on some sort of plan on how to go about this. Oh, I'm Cho'Ra, by the way."

Dane listened as Vilalin answered his questions.   He tried to be patient.  The woman had gone through a lot.  But they also needed information.  And so the questions continued.  Not hurried and he hoped not harsh, but persistent.  The answers were somewhat useful.  He didn't understand the whitecloak.  But then he didn't like whitecloaks and wanted to stay as far from them as possible.  In his experience any one as self-righteous as a whitecloak would do just about anything in the name of their cause.  The light supposedly, but rarely had he found their causes to be enlightened.  Only arrogant.  

But he didn't need to worry about that issue immediately unless it bore on this case.  He looked to see if the others were following the discussion and most were.   Even it seems the obnoxious woodsman who broke into the discussion with an outburst on what he believed must have happened and setting off Mistress Vilalin who stormed off into the night.  He looked at the man and shook his head.  Idiot.  Cruel, self-righteous as a whitecloak and an idiot.  And now the tavern keeper didn't like them either.  

At that point the woman, Cho'Ra spoke up.  Something about her made him a bit nervous, although he wasn't sure what.  She wanted to head to the jail right away.  "Do you think that wise?  It is late already and at least one of the guardsmen who dragged that poor young woman away seems to have taken quite a dislike to us.  He will likely still be on duty.  Based on what the others have said it seems likely we can wait until morning.  Perhaps we can talk to others and learn something," and here he nodded his head towards the obnoxious woodsman, "unless the cretan over here has turned the entire tavern against us.  It might be more valuable than charging into a jailhouse that is likely to just say "go away" unless we arrive with something useful."  He shrugged.  "I've had a long day and could use some rest.  Plus, I want to talk to the tavern keeper if he can be persuaded that we are not all problems.  He seemed to know the lady well."

He'd go to the jail with the others if they really wanted to go, but he really was set on talking to the innkeeper.  When the opportunity arose he would approach him.

(Assuming a chance arrives . . .)

Dane approached the innkeeper with a smile and what he hoped was an apologetic look on his face.  "My apologies for the disruption caused earlier.  Truly, we were just attemtping to the help Mistress Vilalin."  He glanced back at the woodsman.  "Well, most of us anyway, I'm not so sure about grumpy."  He smiled again.  "But I did not intend to upset her at all - or the rest of your patrons either.  The good mistress really does seem broken-hearted, even an idiot can see that.  I'd love to help and I think you would as well."

Dane hoped the man cared as much for the woman is it had appeared.  "If you want I'll just take a room and get out of your common room for the night.  No disruptions and there is nothing you need do.  But if there is any chance that young woman can be saved I'd like to ask yu a dew questions.  I'm new here and trying to help someone you don't know in a town you don't deal with circumstances you don't know - well, that is a lot of not-knowin'. May I ask a coupel of questions?
 

(The types of questions he would ask are as follows.  He wants to be sure he does not upset the innkeeper any further.  But will ask what he can.)

*How long have you known Mistress Vilalin and Millae? I'd love to help out, but I don't know the people in this town. I'm new here. You seem sure about this young woman. If the authorities are so sure, what makes you so sure they are wrong? Are they often wrong?"
*"What's up with the whitecloaks? What brings them here? Are they here frequently? How'd Millae meet one, they aren't usually real frienldy."
"Any idea who we would need to talk to about Millae's case? Mistress Vilalin has been impressive - staying strong and telling what she can. But we need to know why the guard thinks the girl was involved. Do you know who we would talk to about such things?

The aroma of the stew wafted up as Za'ahrat sipped the broth, and it smelled as bland as it tasted. Whomever had prepared this meal shared the Midlander fear of spice in full measure. There was probably dust in it as well. Wretched. Despite her disapproval of the tasteless gruel, the Aes Sedai set the bowl down without scowling. There were far greater matters to focus her ire upon. The vile man brutalizing the bland stew stood at the very top of that list. 

Particles of food flew from his mouth as he bellowed his slurs, alternating between abusing Mistress Velanin and defaming Aes Sedai. While most outside of the White Tower distrusted and feared the sisterhood, hatred was not such a common thing. Yet, any who referred to them as witches certainly bore only ill will. The oaf would have to be watched, and likely deloused. From the sea of glares directed at the group she likely was not alone in that opinion. They had a difficult task ahead of them and he was not making it any easier.

At the moment, they needed more information and it was high time they went about getting it. 

 

((OOC: Sorry this is short and irresolute. Work deadlines galore. Yay spring semester!))

Alyrëa gratefully set about her meal when it arrived, the hot food pleasant after so long on the cold, hard road. While she ate, she divided her attention between her repast and the matter at hand. Dane was interviewing the distraught Mistress and Alyrëa watched and listened intently but kept her council for now. She was a patient woman and besides she did not wish to put any more pressure on poor Vilalin by peppering her with questions and observations of her own. Dane was doing enough of that as it was. They needed the information, however. The wanderer knew that. Alyrëa just hoped Vilalin would be able to stay strong and give them the information they required to solve this unfortunate incident.

As the questioning continued, Alyrëa glanced at her fellow companions curiously to see how they were reacting to the answers Vilalin was giving. One in particular caught her eye: the burly woodsman, Lanur, was picking at his meal and the longer Dane's questions continued, the more Lanur's stony face displayed his annoyance until finally, the noise seemed to get the better of him.

'Blood and ashes!' He cursed angrily. 'I've not been able to eat in peace as my ears are filled with this simpering. Maybe if I were to draw it out in the mud the case might be clearer.'

Alyrëa's brows rose in shock at the woodsman's sudden outburst. Surely he could not be so self centred. The wanderer's brows then lowered as she eyed Lanur with disaproval. She was beginning to like this man less and less and knew that she would be wise to be cautious around him, being careful with her words whilst in his presence lest she inadvertently anger him. It would not do to make him an enemy.

'The only one that seems to be not guilty of anything seems to be this woman,' Lanur stated as he glared at the poor sobbing Mistress. 'The lot of you would do well to follow my lead: eat your meal, get some rest and leave the boneheaded behaviours of the city folk to the city folk. Now mayhaps I can eat in peace. Hmmmm?'

Alyrëa swallowed nervously as she didn't like where this conversation was heading. She tensely awaited Velalin response, which was not long in coming.

'How dare you?' the Mistress demanded as she sprang to her feet angrily, sending the contents of her untouched stew flying. 'Millae had nothing to do with Nelelle Sedai's death! NOTHING!' With those words she bolted from the inn, even more distraught than she had been before.
The whole of Gleeman's Abode fell tense and an awkward silence settled over the room's patrons, including the waitstaff and barkeep. Alyrëa looked at the staff worriedly. Were they about to kick them out of the inn for disrupting the cheerful atmosphere and causing trouble? Well, the wanderer reasoned, it wasn't all of them causing trouble. Just the irritable Lanur. They can't be grouped with him. The rest of them were merely seeking to assist Velalin, it was only Lanur that had lost his temper. To her relief, however, someone broke the tension by insisting the boisterous party continued and music be played. As the jaunty tune struck up, most everyone seemed to forget the brief argument which had just taken place and went back to their tankards and their cheery conversations. The wanderer relaxed a little. As the more pleasant atmosphere prevailed, the other woman of the company asked if they should now proceed straight to the jailhouse as Dane's question had yielded some useful information, but Dane questioned the wisdom of the suggestion, saying that they were all weary from their travels and that the guard whom they had assulted earlier could very well be at his post at the jailhouse.

Alyrëa finally spoke up.

'If I may,' she said in her small voice, 'I must agree with Dane. We will do well for the rest and will be able to provide better assistance when we are not all tired and sluggish. I also believe that we should have someone observe the jailhouse to see if the guards who are on duty are not the ones that know us already and who disaprove of us. If we were to meet one of these it would surely not go in our favour. What say you?'

She awaited their answer patiently. Whatever they decided, she would lend her assistance but she hoped they would see the wisdom of Dane's words and heed his advice.

It didn't take long for Dane to spot his opportunity to approach Master Masteon, as the Innkeep wasted no time getting the promised drinks for the patrons. He smiled jovially with every mug he handed out, sharing in brief laughs and quick commiserations. To a casual observer, the man seemed the very epitome of light-heartedness; however as Dane approached the bar, he noticed a tightness around the eyes and a brief hesitation to his smiles and laughs. 

Master Masteon was a shorter man, standing just taller than Dane himself, however, his boisterous presence gave him the impression of someone much larger. A ring of neatly combed, gray-speckled brown hair circled a spot of shining baldness the size of a full Andorian gold mark on the top of his head, but the spot of baldness was made up for in his eyebrows which were almost bushy and long enough to be compared to an Ogre's. 

Master Masteon face fell into a small scowl as Dane approached the well polished, but a definitely worn, bar. "I'm terribly sorry," he stated flatly when Dane stopped in front of him. "We are all out of free drinks."

"My apologies for the disruption caused earlier." Dane replied with an apologetic smile. "Truly, we were just attemtping to the help Mistress Vilalin." He glanced back at the woodsman.  "Well, most of us anyway, I'm not so sure about grumpy."  He smiled again.  "But I did not intend to upset her at all - or the rest of your patrons either.  The good mistress really does seem broken-hearted, even an idiot can see that.  I'd love to help and I think you would as well."

Master Masteon snorted, hoisting up his trousers over his rather considerable girth. Grabbing a rag from behind the bar, he began rubbing the already shining surface rather aggressively. "You've got a mighty fine way of showing it." He finally grumbled.

"If you want I'll just take a room and get out of your common room for the night." Dane intoned. "No disruptions and there is nothing you need do.  But if there is any chance that the young woman can be saved I'd like to ask you a few questions.  I'm new here and trying to help someone you don't know in a town you don't deal with circumstances you don't know - well, that is a lot of not-knowin'. May I ask a couple of questions?"

"A couple of questions!" Master Masteon boomed, scowling at the bar as though it was a disgusting mess. "Like you did with poor Mistress Velalin? The woman just lost her only kin left in the world, and you spent the entire evening interrogating her! The poor woman." Looking up, the Innkeep jabbed a finger at Dane's chest. "I've half a mind to throw you and your companions out into the cold. I should've followed my gut, with you torturing Mistress Velalin there earlier and sent you all on your way. But she seemed so hopeful. I actually believed you were there to help for a moment, but now..." He huffed, turning his attention back to the bar. "Fine. Ask your questions, but ask them quick. And I warn you, if you insinuate for even a second that Millae was at fault here, then you'll be out faster then your curious little mind can comprehend."

Picking his words carefully, Dane asked, "How long have you known Mistress Vilalin and Millae? I'd love to help out, but I don't know the people in this town. I'm new here. You seem sure about this young woman. If the authorities are so sure, what makes you so sure they are wrong? Are they often wrong?"

"I've known them long enough to know that Millae would never hurt anyone." Master Masteon replied curtly. "Anyone who knows Millae would know that much."

With a smile and a nod, Dane pressed forward. "What's up with the whitecloaks? What brings them here? Are they here frequently? How'd Millae meet one, they aren't usually real friendly."

Again, Master Masteon snorted. "Those bloody Whitecloaks come into the area every couple of years or so. Undoubtedly Pedron Niall was recruiting or trying to establish some sort of influence here in Andor, and likely Valda is attempting the same sort of thing. Usually, the most trouble they cause is the kindling of old feuds and prejudices. I don't know how Millae and the Whitecloak met, but no matter what her mother or even I told her, the sweet young thing seemed to believe that this Whitecloak was a good one. Psh, a good Whitecloak. Millae is such a wonderful young woman, but she can be right fluff-headed at times."

Dane wanted to shake his head in irritation with Master Masteon.  Pestering the poor woman?  He knew he had asked a fair number of questions, but they hadn't been blasted at her.  He had tried his best to be calm and courteous.  She'd gone through a lot.  But she'd go through an awful lot more if Millae was executed.  The innkeeper should take some lessons from Villalin.  She'd been willing to buck up under the pressure - if anythng was going to be done it would need to be done soon.  Waiting around for her to cry her eyes out or for the tavern keeper to wring his hands wouldn't solve a damn thing.  The man was a fool.  

But as Dane watched the man move to the other end of the bar he had to admit that at least he was a kind hearted fool.  He wanted to help and had even answered Dane's questions when he clearly would rather have not done so.  Maybe he was ok.  Dane quickly paid his 5 silver to Teni and moved back to the others. 

Approaching the table he ignored the obnoxious woodsman.  "Master Masteon didn't have much to say beyond the usual 'Millae wouldn't hurt a flea' stuff.  That and 'go to the jailhouse' for information.  Which, since I don't think any of us are complete idiots, we were already planning to do."  It took all of his effort not to stare at the dumb woodsman as he made that comment.  At this point he actually did think one of them was an idiot.  Or at least a massive jerk.  "I'd suggest in the morning, but am willing to go with others if they insist on doing it tonight."  He raised his hands a bit in a questioning gesture and asked, "suggestions?"

"Do you think that wise?" The bowman asked in reply to Cho'Ra's pondering as to whether or not to head to the jailhouse, "It is late already and at least one of the guardsmen who dragged that poor young woman away seems to have taken quite a dislike to us." He continued in his reasoning and eventually came to a shrug, "I've had a long day and could use some rest. Plus, I want to talk to the tavern keeper if he can be persuaded that we are not all problems. He seemed to know the lady well."

"If I may," the timid little one began, "I must agree with Dane. We will do well for the rest and will be able to provide better assistance when we are not all tired and sluggish. I also believe that we should have someone observe the jailhouse to see if the guards who are on duty are not the ones that know us already and who disaprove of us. If we were to meet one of these it would surely not go in our favour. What say you?"

Cho'Ra tapped the table absentmindedly, "I suppose you're both right. I just despise the thought of that girl and her mother having to suffer through the cold night unfairly. But it is growing late. First thing in the morning then, I'll accompany whoever of you would like to storm the jailhouse for answers. I look forward to that which you are able to glean from them in your questioning, Sir Bowman."

With that the man found his opening and made his way to the bar. She watched as he began gesturing to the innkeeper and could tell already that he was in full interrogation mode. She shook her head to herself and looked around the rest of the table at the strange bunch that had come to the aid of two helpless women, for one reason or another. They were all different palettes of colors and shades and moods, and she wondered how long they would be together, if what remained of the stew and the night was all that was binding them.

She turned to the other woman, beautiful, she could be nothing other than a Domani. Yet another power seemed to fall off her in ways nearly palpable, unnerving.

A motion caught the corner of her eye and she realized the bowman was being dismissed. She smirked to herself, curious that the innkeeper had lasted a far shorter amount of time than the frazzled old woman.

Cho'Ra realized she was tapping and stopped herself, looking back to the Domani woman, "And what do you think of all this? Will you join us tomorrow and help us to hopefully find and prove the young lady's innocence?"

Slurping down the last of his stew and following the loud disposal of the foodstuffs up with sopping up the residue in the bowl with the scrap of bread that remains, Lanur ignores the rest of the group and shoves the bread in his already full mouth. Settling back in his chair, the woodsman places both hands on his belly and closes his eyes to enjoy the feeling of fullness in peace. Bubbles rise up in his stomach pushing through his throat and rolls through his mouth to finally release in a thunderous belch. Patting his tummy, Lanur smacks his lips a couple of times and abruptly rises, his chair scraping along the wooden floor.

"Innkeep!" he barks cheerfully. "My best to your cook. I don't know the last time I enjoyed such a meal." 

Snatching up his displaced gear, Lanur strides past the bowman towards the disapproving owner of the establishment. "I'll take a room for the night. We'll see what transpires tomorrow, eh?"

Once he's settled with the Inn, Lanur makes his way casually to the room. His survey of the chamber is thorough, noting the weak points of defense and the best position for him to sleep and still be able to react should anything creep in during his slumber. 

(OOC: Whether he has a single room or is forced to share...)

Stripping down to his smallclothes, Lanur lays his sullied, stew covered clothing with the stew up so as to dry on the surface making it easier to scrape off on the morrow. Taking his bow and quiver, he places them against the door where they'll fall should the door be disturbed making a racket and waking him for action. Moving the bed into a position that will make it even more difficult for a would be attacker to enter the room through the door, he then, takes his sword and lies down upon the bad, cradling the weapon as he would a lover. He is asleep almost before he has closed his eyes. Though it might be expected of the big man, Lanur has been blessed to not snore while sleeping—a favor from the Wheel that has allowed him to sleep undisturbed in the wilds for the whole of his life.

 

The flame haired channeler turned to face her, “And what do you think of all this? Will you join us tomorrow and help us to hopefully find and prove the young lady’s innocence?”

Zaharat met the other woman’s gaze with impassive serenity, letting her own violet eyes rest on the woman’s before replying, “Riddles in the dark, secrets upon secrets… I will join you to find the truth, whatever it may be.”

The Aes Sedai let her words, and their meaning, hang in the air. Let the others place their concern with the girl, Za’ahrat would place hers with justice for the yellow sister.

 

*****

 

I hope you’re ready, Aes Sedai. 

The words echoed through Za’ahrat’s mind and chilled her to the core. Emphasis had been placed on single work, Aes Sedai. Whatever else the shadow intended it was clear that it knew she was an initiate of the tower, and that could be dangerous. 

It was just a dream, and yet, Za’ahrat had learned to trust her dreams long ago. Not all dreams were prescient, there were many that contained the reflections and fantasies of the mind at rest. True dreams were different. Everything seemed more real, more real than life. Memories of true dreams didn’t fade, they remained palpable and clear. This had been a true dream.

Getting up from the bed, Za’ahrat glided across the room to watch the rays of sunlight transform night into day. Maeldon and the mysterious death of the Aes Sedai stretched out before them. The dream had drawn her toward the center of town, perhaps they would find some answers there. She would have to find a way of convincing the others to visit the sites of her dream without revealing herself. That or she would make the investigation alone. 

Consciousness pervades the surreal and a realization of the darkness encompassing him strikes like a hammer to the anvil; sharp and startling. Sitting bolt upright, sword half unsheathed before fully aware, Lanur Dinas finds himself alone in his rented bedchamber, nearly naked, his hair caught up in his beard and a feral look prevalent in his unsettling eyes. Recognition dawns, cascading through his mind first as a gentle snowfall and then an avalanche reminding him of his condition and surroundings. 

"The Wheel take me," he grumbles, sheathing his blade fully and casting the scratchy blanket aside. "Once in a great while I sleep indoors and cannot fathom how people desire to do so on a regular basis."

Glancing towards the window, he registers the approximate time of morning by the fact that there's a small sliver of gray on the horizon but the rest of the sky is still dark. Living in the wilderness has taught the large man the value of stepping lightly and moving with as little noise as possible. This lesson has taken root so deeply in his being that even in the "safety" of a civilized society, he moves like a mountain cat as he dresses. Retrieving his belt knife, he sits on the edge of the bed and gently scrapes the dried stew from his furs and clothing. He is patient and calculating in his efforts so not to damage anything and when he finishes with his laundry, the rough man cleans his blade before returning it to the leather sheath from whence it was produced. 

Quietly moving the furniture back to its original place, he then shoulders his gear and steps out into the dark hall. Leave this Light-blasted place and return to the solace of the wilds, you fool. Turning his gaze to and fro in the hall, he considers the willingness of the strangers he had met the night before to throw in together in the effort to assist the fiery old woman. Strange pack of wolves... their pelts will likely rest before a fireplace before their quest is over. Let them be. The Whitecloaks aren't to be trifled with and Aes Sedai are just as bad. Images of the poor girl being manhandled and Mistress Velalin being struck down along her garden path flow back into his thoughts as assuredly as the spring rains bring flooding. Closing his eyes and allowing his head to loll backwards for a moment, Lanur curses the good nature the Wheel has bestowed upon him and breaks free of the traps his mind is setting for his conscious. 

"Fine then," he grumbles, searching along the hallway to count out the doors. He hadn't registered any others who might be setting themselves up in the Gleeman's Abode but those who had already determined to assist the old woman in her plight, so he cared not about the consequences of his actions. He can already hear the rustling about of the Inn's staff as they prepared for the day and as an early riser himself, time is of the essence. Striding to the furthest away door, he pounds upon it with his closed fist. 

"The day escapes us," he bellows, moving on to the next door and repeating the pounding. "If you wish to spare the youngling the headsman's ax, we best be about it." The next door receives the same treatment, and the next, and the next, until all have been thunderously beaten.

Gliding down the stairs, the woodsman places himself in front of the kitchen door and declares, "I'm hungry and ready to eat. The others that came here yester eve will likely also be ready to eat." 

That being said, he picks out a table from which he can eyeball the whole of the dining area and at which angle his back is completely protected. Depositing his gear to his side, he awaits the others. Strange pack of wolves we'll make.

The light of the sun slowly kissed the horizon, bathing the sky with pinks and golds, and the glory of the light. Za'ahrat took in the painting of the dawn with quiet serenity. The dream had awakened her and there would be no return to sleep after its terror. Awake so early, the young Aes Sedai allowed herself this moment of joyful meditation. Soon she would have to contend with the dream and all it meant, but for now Za'ahrat would loose herself in the fleeting sublimity of the early dawn.

Her joy did not last long. The clamor of a fist pounding against a door filled the room followed by a man's bellow. The pounding stopped, got louder, and stopped again before it reached her door before continuing down the hall. Was the idiot man banging on every door in the thrice bedamned inn?

Hissing, the Aes Sedai slowly rose to her feet and glided across the room, the gossamer layers of her domani skirt rippled along her figure. She ran her hands along her pack and the belongings neatly folded within in her daily inspection for dust. This morning spared her the invasion of the insidious filth. At that Za'ahrat allowed herself a small smile. Perfection must be maintianed even in the earliest hours of the morning.

With a graceful gesture, she lifted her pack and made way to the door. Wrapped in Aes Sedai serenity, she would face the day and eviscerate whomever was making the clamor. There was little doubt in her mind who that would be.

“And what do you think of all this? Will you join us tomorrow and help us to hopefully find and prove the young lady’s innocence?”

The Aes Sedai replied with her impassive gaze before answering with her words, “Riddles in the dark, secrets upon secrets… I will join you to find the truth, whatever it may be.”

Cho'Ra nodded, "Splendid, we shall be a formidable troop on the young woman's behalf."

The rest of the night proved far less eventful once the woodsman departed to his room. The crowd and her table mates slowly dispersed as the night wore on and she sipped her ale. Cho'Ra finally turned in when only a few remained conscious in the common area of the Gentleman's Abode.

Sleep was often difficult to come by, and she tried to avoid it whenever possible. But when it finally fell upon her in the near silence of the inn, she clutched the sheath of the dagger that hung forever from her neck, and let the oblivion of unconsciousness take her.

Her dreams were typical: pain, death, revenge. The typical fair. Though the play swirling about her head was just bending in her favor when a savage rapping and barking of some beast drew her from her dream’s last act. She sat up and her long hair fell over her squinted eyes.

Was it truly morning already? Why was that bear of a man so jaunty? What did he want?

“If you wish to spare the youngling the headsman's ax,” the deep, gruff voice of the woodsman said, almost in reply to her thoughts, “we best be about it.” His voice faded down the walkway as he disturbed the rest of the guests and Cho’Ra lumbered out of bed.

She had once been a morning person, truly. She had woke and praised the Wheel for her fortune, her family, the grace she had been shown and had not deserved, coming from such a modest upbrining. The praise was much more difficult to even think of uttering these days.

Cho’Ra donned her her dress and traveling garments, did what she could to brush the sleep out of her hair, and joined those already downstairs, waiting for the rest to arrive.

She had thought it before, but the tapestry of colors they presented, both in palette and in personality, was wide and varied. It would be a very strange group that bore down on the Maeldon legal system today, and that strangeness was surprisingly exciting.

Dane woke in the morning just as the first light was beginning to peak over the horizon.  The sun would follow eventually, but not yet.  He hated getting up early, but life had given him the habit.  He greatly enjoyed those days when he could sleep in and when he had first arrived in town last night this night had seemed to hold the promise of a lazy morning.  And then the streets had come alive with the sorrows of a woman and the anger of a guard.  And now he found himself having to rise as early as ever.  He sighed and got up to face the day.  Still, he greatly liked the idea that today he might do something that would be worth doing, something that might make a difference.   

     As he headed down the stairs before the sun had yet cracked the horizon he contemplated what it meant to do things worth doing.  He didn't need to be a hero.  He wanted his father to be proud of himm, but even more importantly he needed to be proud of who he was.  And today he would find out if this was, in truth, something that was worth doing.  Velalin seemed an honest woman but you couldn't tell much from what they knew so far.  He almost chuckled as he emerged in the common room.  He best not let the landlord know he still harbored doubts.  He took a seat near the fireplace and pulled out a well read copy of The Adventures of Jain Farstrider from his pocket and started to read.  He assumed one of the women in the inn would find him when breakfast was ready and the others in the ragtag group of would-be-heroes would arrive in the room eventually.  

    He was only a page into his reading when a racket began above his head.  The cretan of a woodsman was banging on doors above to wake the dead.  Dane grimaced, the man gave thsoe of the woods a bad name with his complete lack of manners.  Treating others with respect was neither a weakness nor a sin.  The man seemed to be completely self-centered, and yet it sounded like he intended to join the rest of them in searching for answers.  He was not at all sure if that was a good thing.  He did not want others to associate him with the beast.  Still, you never knew what gifts someone might bring to the party, so he'd take what he could get and wait to judge harshly until he had again caused more trouble than benefit.  His emergence into the common room and demands to the kitchen staff did nothing to allay Dane's concerns.  

    The others from last night all emerged gradually after the ruckus caused by the cretan.  It wasn't long before everyone was there and eating a quick meal.  Eventually they would head towards the jail to see what they could find.  As a group they headed out the door and through the early morning of Maeldon.  As they approached the jail Dane kept his eyes open.  He wanted to know if either of the guards from last night were around.  He glanced at the aes Seadai in the group.  The woman made him uneasy.  Such people seemed to make everyone uneasy.  Yet, he had always suspeted that they were not evil or anything else in particular.  If he guessed right they were just people - people with power, yes, but still people with the same types of differences, interests and habits as others.  Probably they were sort of like nobles - used to getting their way and with their noses in the air, yet for all of that, sometimes useful.  And occaisonally, very occaisonally, helpful.  Might this be one such time?

    As they approached the jail he voiiced a thought that had been in his mind the whole time.  "Za'ahrat, I was thinking that perhaps you might speak for us.  you might be able to get more information than the rest of us."  

The dawn arrived with the usual glorious display of colour, like a masterpiece of a master artist painted across the brightening sky. The warm rays of slowly rising sun breached the horizon, the beams kissing the land and ushering the slumbering village to wake, including Alyrëa whose eyes fluttered open sleepily. Would an extra hour of sleep hurt, she thought drowsily as she stared at the white ceiling through slightly blurred vision. A few rapid blinks brought her the clarity she needed and with a sigh and a stifled yawn, she stretched her somewhat cramped muscles that had resulted from the excursions from travelling the hard, unrelenting road. She rose from the bed and opened the curtains to peer outside at the village that, while silent and still a few moments before whilst held in the night's cool embrace, was rapidly coming to life as the swiftly increasing activity and noise cast aside the silence that had pervaded previously.
With another yawn, this one succeeding to actually be heard, Alyrëa cast her mind back to the discussion of the previous night and the plans she and the rest of her companions had forged that were to be executed this day. The Wanderer had never considered herself an investigator, a mystery solver and she had her doubts that she would succeed in providing any useful assistance in the coming days. Rather, she suspected she would turn out to be a mere hinderance and may even throw the whole plan into jepardy.

I must cast such negative thoughts from my mind, lest I begin to truly believe in them and lose all confidence in myself, she thought, in an attempt to fill herself with determination and, indeed, confidence. That was what her companions required of her-and the two women they were attempting to help.

Her thoughts were sharply interrupted as an extremely loud knock, nay, more like someone was trying to bash down her door, filled the room.

Is this how the innkeepers wake everyone up in this establishment? Alyrëa frowned in disapproval to the person's complete lack of manners and consideration for their patrons' needs.
She went to the door and cracked it open a few inches and peered out to inform the innkeep that she would vacate the room shortly-only to discover that it was not the inkeep after all. Lanur, the woodsman, was already moving down the corridor, his large fist making yet more racket as it connected with the wood of several more doors that lined the hallway.

What is that oaf attempting to do? Alyrëa thought in frustration as she glared at his retreating back. Trying to awaken the Gods? Her dislike of the rude, arrogant woodsman was swiftly increasing, but as Lanur had already announced he would be joining them on their quest, she would have to hold her tongue, lest her opinions of him should loosen it and cause a confrontation between her and Lanur that she did not desire to have.
Gritting her teeth, her jaw set, she clossd the door again and changed into her travelling attire, laced up her worn boots (she would have to purchase another pair when she next saw a cobbler) then slung her pack over her shoulder and proceeded into the commonroom where she saw the rest of the group had already assembled.

'I thank you for your extremely loud knocking, woodsman,' Alyrëa said to Lanur in mock gratitude when she saw him. 'If not for you, I may never have gotten ready in time to accompany you all to the jailhouse.' She knew she was already breaking her vow to not provoke the hotheadded man, but she could not help it.

She took her position with the rest of the group and then they all made their way to the jailhouse where Dane suggested that Cho'Ra should be the one to converse with the guards.

She does have a silver tongue, Alyrëa agreed. The woman was cunning and manipulative, like a sly snake. Whilst Cho'Ra appeared friendly on the surface, Alyrëa knew she would do well to be wary around this woman as she knew she possessed many complex layers and secrets-ones that may bode ill.

Silently, Alyrëa waited with the rest of her companions near the jailhouse, still, cautious and alert, lest something were to very likely go amiss.