Talca offers the little lady a smile and gestures vaguely at the druid. "Patience," he says with a wink, "The secret of all good bear tamers."

Finn raises an eyebrow, and casts a sideways glance at the Halfling sipping her wine 3 stools over. He looks back at Talca and snorts derisively.

"Better a bear than a rutting tom-cat,..."

Maria snorts, cackles and shakes her head before she fills Finn's empty mug, which he drains with relish, wiping his damp beard with the back of his shirt sleeve. She promptly fills it again and then disappears into the kitchen with a tray of dirty crockery.

"Well if'n you're coming you'd best know what's been goings on,, This is No Natural Blight,,"

Finn Sighs; a resigned look on his face. He takes a pull from his mug.

"Nine months back, the harvest came and with it a below average yield. Plenty to go around,, but not much to put back. Fine. There's always next year."

Finn scrapes the dregs of his dinner into his mouth and pushes the empty bowl to one side.

"The Winter came and it was bitter cold,, It happens. Winter's always cold,, but this one seemed to hold it's grip longer than most - and get into your bones till you thought they'd crack from the chill."

Finn reaches into his haversack and draws out a tobacco jar and a long dark pipe with a wide bowl. He fills the pipe, and pushes the open jar toward Talca.

"Now Spring's finally come,, with little rain,, and yet the sky over head is gray, and a mist hangs in the air,, making things feel slimy and damp to touch but never actually a good ground penetrating soak."

He stands and retrieves a candle stub from one of the nearby tables. He lights it and the pipe with a long match from the hearth and then settles back into his seat at the bar to smoke.

"It's brought with it a slimy fungus that's covering the fields. The turf is brown from it, and it's now well into the planting time,, The buds on the maple, the oak, and ash are dark and won't open,,Then Johann's Chickens wouldn't lay,, and then three of them died from getting bound up. The eggs they pulled out of ‘um,, the yolks were black with ichor."

He puffs quickly, agitated, causing billowy white smoke to rise from the bowl.

"Every calf, piglet, foal, pup, and lamb as come out still born or feeble,, There's no bugs,, except files. Great swarms of um that I'm sure ye've seen."

He takes a deep draw from the pipe and blows a series of rings with the smoke. He pauses staring off into space for a moment.

"The water in the Lynn is low,, low and slow,, and dark, like somethings blocking her upstream."

"All this didn't happen at once either,,"

"Everything that's happened has occurred days apart, first at one end of Lynnbrooke and slowly working it's way to the other. Runi the healer reckons it started in the north east and has spread south west, like we was caught in some dark, unseen tide,..."

"I just came from her study upstairs,, she scryed it out,, somewhere to the north,, in the upcountry she reckons we can find the source. But what it is,, or how bad it is? Won't know for certain till I find a piece of it and get it back here to study".

Finn Drains the contents of his mug and motions to Sara across the room for another round.

"But whatever it is,, it's mighty dark, and any who go trekking near it might get the taint,, or be consumed by it."

He tamps his pipe and adds another plug of tobacco from the jar. He turns around in his stool and leans his back against the bar and continues to smoke.

"So,, y'know,, that's exciting..."

"Better a bear than a rutting tom-cat,..."

Maria snorts, cackles and shakes her head before she fills Finn's empty mug, which he drains with relish, wiping his damp beard with the back of his shirt sleeve. She promptly fills it again and then disappears into the kitchen with a tray of dirty crockery.

"Rrrrooowrrr," the elf purrs, joining in with the chuckle at his expense and flicking a wink at Maria as she saunters away.

"Well," Finn exhales, "if'n you're coming you'd best know what's been goings on,"

Talca's gaze pans back to the druid. He offers only a nod in response as he lifts his cup, his ears keen on what Finn is about to say.

"This is no natural blight," Finn sighs, heavier this time than last, and a longsuffering expression darkens his features as he lifts his mug in concert with the elf's.

This much I had gathered, already. Talca didn't give voice to the words, though his nod spoke them plainly enough.

"Nine months back the harvest came and with it a below average yield. Plenty to go around, but not to much to put back," the druid continued, a faint shrug of the shoulders offered as punctuation, "Fine. There's always next year." Finn scraped the dregs of his stew into his mouth as if he believed there may not be a next year and pushes the bowl aside before carrying on.

"The Winter came and it was bitter cold," Another shrug of buckskin-clad shoulders, "It happens. Winter's always cold, but this one seemed to hold it's grip longer than most - and got into your bones till you thought they'd crack from the chill."

Another nod from the elven pathfinder, slower this time, He could recall the end of that winter; it was the last time he'd passed through Lynnbrooke. He shuddered at the memory of the bitter cold and, as Finn produced a jar of tobacco and a pipe from his haversack, Talca indulges in another long swallow of his wine to warm himself against the recollection. "Mmm," the elf murmurs appreciatively in acknowledgement of the druid's offered tobacco. He sets his cup aside and, at the same time, retrieves a shorter clay pipe from a pouch on his belt.

"Now Spring's finally come, with little rain," Finn goes on as Talca loads his bowl with a sampling of the pipeweed, ",and yet, the sky overhead is gray and a mist hangs in the air, making things feels slimy and damp to touch but never actually a good, ground penetrating soak,"

The stump of his pipe clenched between his teeth, the ranger produces a well-used and well-blackened tinder-twig from the same pouch he'd pulled the pipe. His eyes follow Finn as the other man retrieves the nub of a candle and lights his own pipe with a match from the hearth before settling back into his seat. Talca strikes the business end of the twig with a thumbnail and touches the now glowing end of the thing to his bowlful of Finn's tobacco,

"It's brought with it a slimy fungus that's covering the fields. The turf is brown from it and it's now well into planting time," the druid continued as Talca took his first appreciative puff, "The buds on the maple, the oak, and ash are dark and won't open,"

I took note of that, west of here, just two mornings past, the elf recollected, again offering no words, only a nod, Found it odd that the buds had yet to split.
",Then, Johann's chickens wouldn't lay," Finn had already continued, "and then three of them died from getting bound up. The eggs they pulled out of um, the yolks were black with ichor,"

The image of that made the elf wrinkle his nose in disgust and briefly soured the taste of the sweet tobacco the druid had shared.

",Every calf, piglet, foal, pup, and lamb ‘as come out stillborn or feeble, There's no bugs, except flies. Great swarms of um that I'm sure you've seen."

Another silent nod from Talca as he tests the pipe, hoping that the sour taste has gone, It has, and, as Finn goes on, the elf slowly and appreciatively puffs away, paying careful heed to each word his friend speaks. Every detail the druid imparts etching itself into some inkless almanac in the elf's mind,

"The water in the Lynn is low, low and slow, and dark, like something's blocking her upstream.

All this didn't happen at once, either, Everything that's happened has occurred days apart, first at one end of Lynnbrooke and slowly working it's way to the other. Runi, the healer, reckons it started in the northeast and has spread southwest, like we was caught in some dark, unseen tide,"

Necromancy of some sort? the elf didn't dare wonder aloud. His bitter expression when he exhaled a wreath of smoke likely belied his thoughts, anyway.

",I just came from her study, upstairs," Finn said, drawing Talca's gaze briefly in the direction of the Lute's creaky stair, "she scryed it out, somewhere to the north, in the upcountry she reckons we can find the source. But what it is, or how bad it is?" The Druid shrugged again. "Won't know for sure till I find a piece of it and get it back here to study."

Til we find it, the ranger silently corrects, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe as Finn drains his mug and motions for Sara to bring another round.

"Whatever it is, it's mighty dark, and any who go trekking near it might get the taint," the druid added ominously as Sara approached and began to refill his mug, "or be consumed by it." Finn tamps his pipe and adds another plug of tobacco before turning to lean his back against the bar. "So, y'know, that's exciting,"

"Hm," the elf says, shortly, offering little else just then but another slow nod as his gaze drifts away from the druid and swims in the dark surface of the contents of his own cup. "Exciting, indeed,"

His cinnamon-hued eyes break from their contemplation of his drink, then, and lift to catch Sara's gaze before she wanders away. "Leave the bottle, please," he requests.

The flighty barmaid blinks at him a few times but, when he produces another silver and slides it across the bar, she smiles, nods, and, in one graceful motion deposits the bottle between Talca and Finn and scoops up the coin before offering a quick curtsey and scampering off.

The elf sips from his cup, then, and replaces that sip with a small splash from the bottle before turning his own back to the bar. Another long draw on the pipe and a slow sip from his cup occupied the contemplative silence before Talca glanced sidelong at Finn through a gauzy veil of pipe-smoke. "If it's to be as exciting as you and Runi say, mellonamin," he offers in earnest, "then I'd reiterate my earlier suggestion and strongly recommend not rushing off once we've finished our pipes," He turns his gaze fully in Finn's direction, then; "Let us take the time to, at least, plot our initial tack, gather decent supplies and provisions and, perhaps, another willing soul or two, eh? Better to head into the hells with a bit of water than none, after all,"

The pathfinder takes another draw from his pipe and a pull from his mug as Finn ruminates over that reiterated recommendation. As he does, his gaze falls once more on the Halfling a few seats away, "Excuse me, aier," he calls, offering an affable grin as the woman turns her questioning gaze in his direction, "I don't recognize you as being from around these parts and, if you are, my apologies, miss, but I can't recall your name. Might I ask from where you've come to Lynnbrooke?"

"He can talk," the little rogue tittered, her laughter interrupting and punctuating her words, "but apparently, he needs work on how, ta eat and drink. Ya need to work on that, Sir Elf."

Had the situation been slightly different, Talca, too, might have joined the little woman in her enjoyment of Finn's plight. Given the druid's dour demeanor leading up to the incident, though, the elf shot the Halfling a warning glance, "Please, aier;" he implored softly with a slow shake of his head.

The Female Halfling's giggling slowed then stopped when she saw the imploring look in the Elf's eyes. She sighed and then nodded to him, but said nothing other then to bow her head and show him a gaze that tried to show her own sadness at allowing this to get this far that his friend was embarrassing himself. She turned away and back to her wine, which the bartender had just refilled once again. She remained silent, but her sharp little ears could not help but overhear most of what was being said by the two men next to her at the bar.

"Perhaps, it would be a good idea if,,you came along with me, to watch each other's backs,"

"Perhaps so, it's certainly not the worst idea you've ever had."

Perhaps, too, we should rethink the bit about leaving after you've eaten. It seems, my friend, that you could stand a rest before the road. I, myself, could use at least one more drink and, maybe, a few hours to tend to other concerns, see to some provisioning aside from all of the Lute's cheese and the like?... Daybreak is a better time to set off on the path you're planning, anyway, mellon,"

"Patience," the elf says with a wink and a smile, "The secret of all good bear tamers."

She turned her head to look at him and gave him a smile in return before returning quietly to her drink.

"Better a bear than a rutting tom-cat,..." the bear said.

The Halfling decided that she had enough of this verbal barbs and decided to ignore the bear and instead just sat looking down into her drink as if she hadn't heard the jab at her yet again. She wondered what was the bear's problem; he seemed to like to pick on people smaller than himself. This seemed like a fault in his character and perhaps a sign of his compensating for his own shortcoming; whatever they might be.

"Rrrrooowrrr," the elf purrs.

"Well, if'n you're coming you'd best know what's been goings on,"

"This is no natural blight,"

"Nine months back the harvest came and with it a below average yield. Plenty to go around, but not to much to put back," the druid continued, a faint shrug of the shoulders offered as punctuation, "Fine. There's always next year."

"The Winter came and it was bitter cold, It happens. Winter's always cold, but this one seemed to hold it's grip longer than most - and got into your bones till you thought they'd crack from the chill."


"Now Spring's finally come, with little rain ,and yet, the sky overhead is gray and a mist hangs in the air, making things feels slimy and damp to touch but never actually a good, ground penetrating soak,"

"It's brought with it a slimy fungus that's covering the fields. The turf is brown from it and it's now well into planting time, The buds on the maple, the oak, and ash are dark and won't open ,Then, Johann's chickens wouldn't lay, and then three of them died from getting bound up. The eggs they pulled out of um, the yolks were black with ichor ,Every calf, piglet, foal, pup, and lamb ‘as come out stillborn or feeble, There's no bugs, except flies. Great swarms of um that I'm sure you've seen."

"The water in the Lynn is low, low and slow, and dark, like something's blocking her upstream. All this didn't happen at once, either, Everything that's happened has occurred days apart, first at one end of Lynnbrooke and slowly working it's way to the other. Runi, the healer, reckons it started in the northeast and has spread southwest, like we was caught in some dark, unseen tide ,I just came from her study, upstairs, she scryed it out, somewhere to the north, in the upcountry she reckons we can find the source. But what it is, or how bad it is? Won't know for sure till I find a piece of it and get it back here to study."

"Whatever it is, it's mighty dark, and any who go trekking near it might get the taint," t"or be consumed by it." Finn tamps his pipe and adds another plug of tobacco before turning to lean his back against the bar. "So, y'know, that's exciting,"

"Hm," the elf says, "Exciting, indeed,"

His cinnamon-hued eyes break from their contemplation of his drink, then, and lift to catch Sara's gaze before she wanders away. "Leave the bottle, please," he requests.

The flighty barmaid blinks at him a few times but, when he produces another silver and slides it across the bar, she smiles, nods, and, in one graceful motion deposits the bottle between Talca and Finn and scoops up the coin before offering a quick curtsey and scampering off.

"If it's to be as exciting as you and Runi say, mellonamin, then I'd reiterate my earlier suggestion and strongly recommend not rushing off once we've finished our pipes, Let us take the time to, at least, plot our initial tack, gather decent supplies and provisions and, perhaps, another willing soul or two, eh? Better to head into the hells with a bit of water than none, after all,"

The pathfinder takes another draw from his pipe and a pull from his mug as Finn ruminates over that reiterated recommendation. As he does, his gaze falls once more on the Halfling a few seats away, "Excuse me, aier," he calls, offering an affable grin as the woman turns her questioning gaze in his direction, "I don't recognize you as being from around these parts and, if you are, my apologies, miss, but I can't recall your name. Might I ask from where you've come to Lynnbrooke?"

The Female Halfling take a sip of her wine, then slowly turns to look at the Elf who had spoken. She had been listening of course; they didn't seem to be whispering so it wasn't really spying. She didn't smile this time as she turned back to her drink as she said, "What dus it matter? Yar friend will only find some way to throw it back at me as an insult. I am dun playing his game."

"Excuse me, aier," he calls, offering an affable grin as the woman turns her questioning gaze in his direction, "I don't recognize you as being from around these parts and, if you are, my apologies, miss, but I can't recall your name. Might I ask from where you've come to Lynnbrooke?"

The Female Halfling take a sip of her wine, then slowly turns to look at the Elf who had spoken. She had been listening of course; they didn't seem to be whispering so it wasn't really spying. She didn't smile this time as she turned back to her drink as she said, "What dus it matter? Yar friend will only find some way to throw it back at me as an insult. I am dun playing his game."

The elf's brows knit in confusion and his gaze flits between Finn and the little rogue for an instant. Game, he couldn't help but wonder, What game? Have I missed something?
No matter, he told himself, shaking the thought from his head and tipping his cup to his mouth. When the cup came away, again, any semblance of a smile had melted from the Pathfinder's lips and there was something harder about his eyes, too, as he leveled his gaze at the Halfling,

"It matters," he said flatly, "because I tend to care about this place and what happens here, ascarer. If you've come to Lynnbrook from some other place, I should like to know if things are much the same there as here," The sigh that escaped him as he offered a slow shake of his head was peppered with the same mild irritation that had just colored his countenance. ",If you can't be troubled to share that small bit of information of, for that matter, so much as a name," he shrugs faintly as his gaze peels away, "I'm sorry to have troubled you and bid you quel undome."

",Aye! But I dinna know why ye need ta bring ‘er with ye e'rywhere ye go!" The words crossed the threshold of the tavern's door before the woman who had spoken them.


"You take your tools everywhere you go, Haga," replied another, younger woman's voice as the door swung wider, "What's the difference?"


"That's no' a tool," Haga called back, "et's a goat!" The stout dwarven woman stood in the doorway, one hand on the slab, holding it open, and the other wagging a finger in the direction of the road and the as yet unseen other. "An' th' diff'rence es tha' my tools won' shyte onna floor an' ‘ave ‘Enry all riled up now, innit?"


"Her name is Walda,," the other voice answered, causing Haga to run a hand through her uneven, silver hair and roll her gray eyes in mock-exasperation, "and I wasn't planning on bringing her inside."


The dwarven woman - Haga by name and a resident of Lynnbrook known for her skill as a gem-cutter and jeweler - shook her head slowly and made a "hurry up" gesture with her freehand before letting it settle on a broad hip. "Could ye no've a'least put'er en th' stables ‘round back," she complained, "Fer th' luv o' stone, she smells like,"


"Like a goat?" A smiling young woman now appeared in the doorway just beyond Haga. She was a human girl with a not unpleasantly angular face, fine red hair, and large gray eyes. Her simple clothes were travel-stained and well-worn, and she carried a slightly crooked staff of oak in one hand. Regulars would recognize her as Benne, eldest daughter of a local goatherd named Gil.


"Aye," Haga snorted, her hand falling away from the Lute's door as Benne took her turn at holding the thing open, "Jus' like a goat, How ye manage ta keepin' th' stenk off'n ye th' way ye do'll e'er be beyon' me kin."


Benne only giggled in response to that and, as the dwarven woman trudged into the Lute's common room, she let go of the door and followed in her steps. Haga had only taken a few of those when she stopped short and took a quick measure of the place to see which tables might be open or, instead, if she and her companion would have to sit at the bar.


"Lavender," Benne's voice said softly from over her shoulder as Haga's eyes perused their options.


"Mmm," Haga nodded, half-distractedly before stopping her scan short, blinking, and then snapping her head back around to fix the human girl with a befuddled expression, "Eh, wut?"


"Lavender," Benne repeated with a smile, "That's how I keep the smell off, Well, usually, anyway. Like everything else, lavender's harder to come by since thi, Oh.My.Mother!.. is that Talca?"


"Lav'nder? Smell? Talca?" Another flurried fluttering of eyelids preceded the dwarf's response. Benne was a dear friend, more a beloved niece, perhaps, were Hagga's affection for the human girl truly known, but, at times, the girl's prattling manner of speech caused her head to ache, "Wut? Whar?" Her eyes had already begun tracking Benne's smitten gaze toward the bar when the ginger-haired lass gestured with the head of her staff.


"There," Benne cooed wistfully, "At the bar, with Finn,"


"Bless me! So it is!" A crooked grin tugged at Hagga's lips as, her gaze picking out the pathfinder, she reached back and up, gently pushing Benne's slack-jawed mouth shut. "Mind yer tongue, lass," the dwarf snickered, "less'n ye trip o'er it e're we've said hullo; I'll no' ‘ave yer Da blamin' me fer th' drool on yer chen, neither!"


"Mmmhmm," came the half giggled/half sighed answer as Hagga's heavy steps guided Benne's lighter ones toward where the point-eared ranger and burnt druid stood among the patrons lining the bar.


",you can't be troubled to share that small bit of information or, for that matter, so much as a name,"


Both women, human and dwarf, took interested note of the tone in which the pathfinder seemed to be addressing a slip of a halfling, whom neither of them recognized at a glance, sitting only a few stools away from him and Finn. Hagga and Benne, too, both couldn't help but wonder what had caused the typically genial elf to address the stranger so, and each woman's eyes were drawn to the Halfling for a moment, Hagga's lingered long enough to offer the little woman a nod, though, Benne's larger, glittery ones found their way almost instantly back to the elf.


Talca was offering the Halfling an unconcerned shrug as the Lute's latest arrivals got within a handful of steps. "I'm sorry to have troubled you and bid you quel undome."


"Kool oondohmee, y'self," Hagga rumbled, clambering up onto one of the stools that spanned the gap between Finn, Talca, and the dark-haired fuzz-foot, "ya bark-eatin' bunny-humper, An' yew tew, Fenn," She raised a thick hand at the druid as she settled her rump onto the stool,


"H'lo, Talca," Benne chirruped from behind an unabashed batting of eyelashes as she fumbled at trying to take the other stool without letting her eyes stray from the elf.


The pathfinder's heretofore flat features curled up into a familiar smile at the appearance of the two locals. "Hagga," he nods his welcome to the dwarven jeweler, "a pleasure to see you as always." His honey-colored eyes found the human girl, then, and he might have actually blushed a bit before offering her a nod deep enough that some might have called it an attempt at a bow. "Benne," he smiled, "Vanimlle sila tiri,"


Benne may have swooned at that, though it was difficult to tell as, in coincidence with her delighted giggle, the girl veritably collapsed onto the stool, swoon or seat, the difference was negligible.


"Yew stop tha'!" Hagga reached past Finn to swat Talca soundly on the shoulder, "I'll no' be takin' this'n home ta her Da stewed in ‘er own juices onnaccount o' yer a ruttin' goat, Mester Adalvat'ar!"


"I like goats," Benne cooed.


"Of course you do," Talca winked even as he recoiled, snickering, from the dwarven lady's blow, "how is Walda?"

The ginger-haired girl's smile nearly spilt her face in two. "She's well, Mother bless me," she answered, tipping her head in the direction of the door only so far that the elf never left her sight, "She's just outside if you'd care to see her. I know I, SHE, she'd be happy to see you,"


"After a bit, perhaps," Talca returned, "Ow!"


"Ow!" Brenne echoed.


"Both of ye; bloody weel stop'et," Hagga admonished, having delivered a double handed swat to the flirty elf and her enamored human charge, "I sweer ta Kharox, if'n I hafta tell yer Da me plans ta cut this'n's berries from their bag, Benne, et'll no' be a faerie-story this go 'round!"

The Inn door yawns open and a familiar pair of faces wander in.

",Aye! But I dinna know why ye need ta bring ‘er with ye e'rywhere ye go!" a stout dwarven matron cried.

"You take your tools everywhere you go, Hagga," a thin redheaded maiden retorted.

Arguing the finer points of animal husbandry, Hagga and Brenne meander in looking for a place to sit.

Youthful Brenne notices Talca, and they make a beeline for the bar.

Finn Takes a long swallow finishing off his mug. He nods to both ladies as they approach.

"Kool oondohmee, y'self," Hagga rumbled, clambering up onto one of the stools that spanned the gap between Finn, Talca, and the dark-haired fuzz-foot, "ya bark-eatin' bunny-humper, An' yew tew, Fenn," She raised a thick hand at the druid as she settled her rump onto the stool,

Finn gives Hagga a firm handclasp and embrace as she settles into the seat next to him. Benne has eyes only for the slope-eared roustabout. "H'lo, Talca," she coos.

"Brenne," Talca says roguishly, "Vanimlle sila tiri,"

Brenne is visibly infatuated.

"Yew stop tha'!" Hagga reaches past Finn to swat Talca soundly on the shoulder, "I'll no' be takin' this'n home ta her Da stewed in ‘er own juices onnaccount o' yer a ruttin' goat, Mester Adalvat'ar!"


"I like goats," Brenne interjected ecstatically.

Both Finn and Hagga share a look that conveys the absurdity of the situation.

"Of course you do," Talca winked even as he recoiled, snickering, from the dwarven lady's blow, "how is Walda?"

The ginger-haired girl's smile nearly spilt her face in two. "She's well, Mother bless me," she answered, tipping her head in the direction of the door only so far that the elf never left her sight, "She's just outside if you'd care to see her. I know I, SHE, she'd be happy to see you,"


"After a bit, perhaps," Talca returned, "Ow!"


"Ow!" Brenne echoed.


"Both of ye; bloody weel stop'et," Hagga admonished, having delivered a double handed swat to the flirty elf and her enamored human charge, "I sweer ta Kharox, if'n I hafta tell yer Da me plans ta cut this'n's berries from their bag, Brenne, et'll no' be a faerie-story this go 'round!"

Finn pushes away from the bar, stands, and shakes the curbs out of his beard.

"I'm stepping out for some air"; he says.

"Harry-bak" Hagga says; "E've git m'hans fool keppin this wee one en line. Aye nae enuff eyes en mae haed to kepp track of thes scoundrel tew"; she says pointing to the smirking rogue. "Nae Uffence Mester Adalvat'ar".

"Not my Squirrels Haggie,...", Finn replies as he relights his pipe and goes out the front door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maria enters the common room from the kitchen and is intercepted by Hugh, the portly waiter, coming down the stairs. They share a few private words and both look directly at the dark haired halfling sitting at the bar.

Maria nods acknowledging Hugh's message and something passes between their hands. Maria continues on to the bar while Hugh heads further into the common room and begins busing the tables.

Maria pauses and addresses the wary halfling. What is said between them cannot be heard but she passes a card of some kind to the small dark haired woman.

Maria turns her attention to the new arrivals.

"Haggie dear, Brenne"; she says "I'm sorry we've not got much tonight, but I can set you up with a bowl of rabbit stew and perhaps some tea - grog if you're needing something stronger?"

"Tha'll bae fin deery"; Hagga says. Hagga stands up on the stool and both women lean up close to each other and share a chaste peck on the cheek. "But es thar nae bread or ale tae b'had?"; Hagga rumbles.

"Afraid not"; Maria frowns, its just,,

"Aye, Aye, y'need nae explain. s'long ae's hawt an thars pleanty of it weel bae fin. Brenne, stop starring at that rapscallion and give Maria a proper greet".

"Evening Maria, thank you for the hospitality". Brenne leans across the bar and gives the bartender a brief perfunctory hug. There's something petulant about her tone, and it's not lost on Maria.

"You're Welcome"; She says. "I'll be back with your food and drinks in flash, and while I'm at it I'll see if Cookie has any biscuits left in the cellar.

"Oh, tha'll bae luv-lay dear"; Hagga rumbles appreciatively.

Maria Smiles;"Mind, you'll want to soak them in the stew for awhile, they're regular tooth-crackers".

With that Maria turns and disappears into the kitchen.

The air of the Inn seemed to suddenly become a little electric, and some of the patrons noticed that the hairs on their bodies stood on end as if a static charge had grown in the air of the Common room. The wind then picked up, out of nowhere and seeming to swirl around the room, growing slightly in velocity. Some people grabbed on to light items as they started to vibrate and move as the wind continued. Suddenly a crackle grew in the center of the room near the ceiling and it looked as if a some small clouds had impossibly formed and were starting to swirl in a circle. Within seconds, the swirling clouds crackled with lightning and people seated beneath the sudden storm rose from their seats and fled across the room. With a sudden brilliant flash of lightning, something large fell from the center of the storm and crashed into the now empty table below. The large thing was a body, it crashed into the table, causing it to collapse to the floor. A smaller body fell from the storm and landed atop the larger body. With a sudden loud 'pop', that caused some patrons ears to pop as if the pressure in the room had suddenly changed, the storm vanished with a flash.

In a tangle amid the destroyed table, lay a human looking old man and atop him a medium sized cat. The cat was the first to recover and hop from the chest of the man to the floor. The old man was a little slower getting to his feet. He rose to his full height, of about 6', and his back cracked loud enough for those nearby to hear it as he stretched. He was a typical looking old man, though his exact age was hard to determine; he could be anywhere from 70- 120 years of age. The top of his head was bald, yet his chin sported a full white beard stretching down almost to his waist. He wore simple tan-colored robes, a rope for a belt, and he carried a 7' gnarled wooden staff that was scorched black on the upper end. The cat at his feet had smoky fur with black spots all over it's coat; it was currently busy grooming itself as if nothing had happened.

The old man looked around the room and blinked, "Well this wasn't where I meant go." The cat stopped grooming long enough to look up at the old man; it seemed as if some sort of silent communication had passed between them.

"Yeah well, you were in a bit of a hurry!" the cat communicated by Telepathy with it's 'master'.

The old man looked down and frowned at the cat as if it had just said something to him, "I know, but this place doesn't look at all familiar to me. I would think I would go someplace I knew." He spoke to the Cat apparently.

Just then, Maria burst from the kitchen and looked at the mess in the middle of the common room.

"What's going on here?" Maria exclaimed loudly.

"I'm sorry, my dear," the old man said as he stepped from the rubble of the flattened table and approached her, "totally my fault. I didn't mean to appear here, and well, I was a little off target. I will pay for the table." He reached into the sleeves of his robes and came out with a small sack and withdrew a couple of golden coins and handed them to her.

Maria was dumbfounded for a second as she looked at the table, the old man, the cat looking up at her now, and the gold coins that the man was offering her. She put out her hand and the old man placed the coins in her hand. She looked at them, the imprint in them were unknown to her, but they were gold and would more than pay for the table.

"Well," she said finally, "I guess it's ok. Please, no more disturbances, ok?"

"Of course, my dear," he said with a smile and having handed her the coins, he took her hand and turned it over and gently kissed the back of her hand, "my sincere apologies."

The Cat let out a chortling sound, which seemed unusual for a cat. As the old man let go of the woman's hand, he turned a disapproving glare at the cat. Maria blushed a little bit and then composed herself and mumbled something and went back to the bar.

The old man turned to the pieces of table and with a gesture and some muttered words, a thin beam of green light came from his finger tip and hit the broken table and it turned to dust which then seemed to blow away by a strange breeze and was no more.

The man looked about at all the other patrons in the room, most looking at the strange man and his cat. The man smiled apolgetically, "Forgive my untimely, and unorthodox entrance, it was as unexpected for me as it was for you."

He chuckled and grabbed up one of the chairs from the, now disintegrated table, and moved to sit it against a blank spot by the wall where he leaned his staff against the wall, then sat down with a sigh. The cat looked about the room and then moved to sit at the old man's feet, and looked at the room as if it was standing guard over the man.

"You know this is all your fault."

"What?," the old man exclaimed and looked down at the cat at his feet, "it was you that angered that dragon. I tried to reason with it."

"You know that was never going to work."

"Well you could at least you could have let me try." The old man said with a shake of his head, "you are just so impatient."

The cat made some sort of snort that sounded like a sneeze as it continued to watch the other patrons of the Bar. The old man sighed and looked up at the room; taking note of the people here and trying, unsuccessfully, to determine his location.

"My dear," he finally said gesturing a hand at Maria who looked up at him, "could I get a glass of wine over here?" The cat looked up at him then, and the old man added, "and a bowl of milk?"

Maria, poured a glass of wine and then went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a small bowl of milk and walked over to them.

"It's not much," she told him as she handed him the glass and bowl, "but I hope it will do."

The old man snapped his fingers in the air and produced a silver coin which he handed to her, "Thank you, my dear. I am sure it will be fine." As she turned to return to the bar, "Oh, could you tell me what is this place?"

"This is The Bleeding Lute, sir!" Maria said before she returned back behind the bar.

"Hmmm," the old man said as he leaned over in his seat and set the bowl of milk by the cat who immediately began to lap it up, "that sounds inauspicious!" He began to sip at his wine and nodded his approval. He didn't know if it was really that good, or if he just had been deprived of wine for so long that his senses were skewed by it's absence. It didn't really matter; they were both safe, for now.

Finn bursts through the Inn door his hands raised and weapons drawn,,

"WHAT IN THE BLUE BLAZES?!?!"

But no one could have heard him over swirling roar that now erupted from a center of the Inns ceiling. Finn had been perched on a fence rail outside the Inn puffing on his pipe when this unnatural tempest dropped down from the sky and penetrated the interior of the Bleeding Lute.

Finn was sure this was the end,,

But as the debris settles and the scene unfolds he finds himself more and more and more,, confused.

Finn understood some magics,, a fair bit of natural lore and the ways of critters,, but this was far beyond his experience.

Henry the Owner, dressed only in a nightshirt and cap comes bellowing down the stairs,,

"Oi, Wots all dis then! Oi swear, I takes one evenin' off fer once in me bloomin' life an' th'whole world comes crashing in through my roof! Maria wots going on down ‘ere!"

Henry is red in the face, this thick frame heaving with extreme agitation. "This is why we can't ‘ave noice tings!" He shouts to no one in particular.

Maria walks over to Henry and places some gold coins in his hand. "It's alright Boss, I've got it handled"; she says, her voice cracking slightly as she gathered her wits. "Really, It's been settled, you can go back to bed".

Henry looks at the money and then looks at the patrons and then looks at the strange old man sitting in the corner with his exotic spotted,... cat?

‘Well,, it better be,,"; grumbled Henry. "Oi' won't stand fer it!"

At Maria's firm insistence he begrudgingly turns to ascend the stairs.

Halfway back up the stairs he turns and calls down to Finn.

"Master MacCuel, Oi knows ‘ur aware of my weapons policy. Put ‘em away a'fore I ‘ave Murph confiscate um. I runs a respectable establishment not a Brawlers Pub!"

With that Henry disappears up the stairs and back to bed.

The old man sat and looked at the patrons of the Bleeding Lute; for the most part they seemed to take his unusual method of arrival in stride. The destruction of the table seemed to be the main focus for the Staff, but the monetary compensation seemed to quell that issue. He took note that most seemed to be simple folk, but there were a few, sitting at the bar that appeared to be the more adventurous type. There was a Elf, who he would have bet good gold that he was a tracker or some similar profession; a dirty looking man who smelled like he might be a drifter or .. *sniff* .. or a druid of some sort, one who took to his work a little too closely. A dwarven female, a human female, and a halfling female; the old man patted down his robes briefly to confirm the presence of his purse.

"WHAT IN THE BLUE BLAZES?!?!" He recalled the dirty human had cried aloud at his entrance; he seemed to have calmed down somewhat now that he had seen the apparently harmless looking old man and his cat. His thoughts were again interrupted by another cry coming from the stairs.

Henry the Owner, dressed only in a nightshirt and cap comes bellowing down the stairs,,

"Oi, Wots all dis then! Oi swear, I takes one evenin' off fer once in me bloomin' life an' th'whole world comes crashing in through my roof! Maria wots going on down ‘ere!"

Henry is red in the face, this thick frame heaving with extreme agitation. "This is why we can't ‘ave noice tings!" He shouts to no one in particular.

Maria walks over to Henry and places some gold coins in his hand. "It's alright Boss, I've got it handled"; she says, her voice cracking slightly as she gathered her wits. "Really, It's been settled, you can go back to bed".

Henry looks at the money and then looks at the patrons and then looks at the strange old man sitting in the corner with his black and white cat.

‘Well,, it better be,,"; grumbled Henry. "Oi' won't stand fer it!"

At Maria's firm insistence he begrudgingly turns to ascend the stairs.

Halfway back up the stairs he turns and calls down to Finn.

"Master MacCuel, Oi knows ‘ur aware of my weapons policy. Put ‘em away a'fore I ‘ave Murph confiscate um. I runs a respectable establishment not a Brawlers Pub!"

With that Henry disappears up the stairs and back to bed.

The old man had been about to apologize again for his rude interruption of the festivities, but before he could the proprietor had been satisfied and returned upstairs.

"Well now," he said, "I have caused quite a stir eh?" He looked down to the cat, who looked up at him and replied, "You do that quite a bit, Aticus." The old man sighed and reached a hand up to rub his head absently and then stopped and felt the top of his head as if searching for something.

"By the Gods," Aticus exclaimed, "not again!" He looked down at the cat, "Why did you not tell me?"

The cat appeared to give a little shrug, "I knew you would realize it eventually."

The old man felt around his head and face and tugged at the long white beard and then sighed. "Well, it has been worse." The way he was acting, was as if his appearance was not what he was expecting. He leaned back in the chair against the wall and sipped his wine again as his eyes took in the common room.

The old man sat in his chair sitting against the wall; the cat sat at his feet looking out at the room. The man absently stroked his long white beard and stopped with a start. "I don't know if I can get used to this." He sighed and looked down at the cat, giving it a suspicious look. "Are you sure that you aren't responsible?"

The cat looked up at him with narrowed eyes, "It was not me," it told the old man, "besides you have many enemies whom don't exactly like it when you travel through their realms without permission."

The cat tilted it's head to the side as it studied the man closely, "Well at least your still human this time."

The old man nodded with a sigh and looked out at the room once again. This Inn, The Bleeding Lute, looked just like any other Inn in any other town. It was surprising packed it seemed, and the destruction of one of their tables didn't do anything to help the seating situation. He considered moving to the bar, but there wasn't much room there. The bar was taken up by a male elf, a dwarven female, a human female, a female halfling and the dirty human, who had been startled earlier by his sudden and disruptive entrance. He figured he would just sit here for a few moments; let the wine sooth his nerves after the ordeal that brought them here. After that, he might just see about getting a room; it had been a few days since he had gotten a good night's sleep.

(OOC: I probably don't need to explain, but I want to mention it just in case anyone isn't aware. The old man is talking aloud to the cat, but the cat's replies, in italics, are mental communications only received by the old man. I hope that's clear.)

It was a crystal clear night, the stars twinkled in the cold winter's night. Only a few scattered clouds were visible above the plain where a lone shepherd watched over his mingling flock of sheep as they quietly grazed or dozed before him. He leaned back upon a rock, his staff held before him where he leaned upon it and fought the urge to let his own head droop down like so many of his flock were currently doing.

His head dipped then suddenly rose again, and again, he shook his head as he fought the fatigue of a long night. His eyelids slide closed again and his head dipped once again, but he was suddenly startled wide awake and it brought him to his feet as he felt a tremor of .. something. His sheep felt it too, for some of them began to cry out with unease as if something dangerous was out there. The shepherd took a tighter grip on his staff as he looked around. Was there a wolf out there somewhere nearby?

The waning moon light was suddenly blotted out as a large shadow passed over him causing him to jump. His eyes cast skyward as he looked but didn't see anything, yet the sheep grew noisier and more restless. He felt a trembling in the ground itself, and he suddenly felt an intense sense of fear take hold of him. He didn't know why, as he saw nothing, but that only made his fear grow more fearful.

After a few moments, the sheep's cries began to subside and he felt the fear drop slowly away from him like a blanket slipping to the ground. He didn't know what had just happened, but he knew that he couldn't wait for the sun to rise, as he looked to the horizon praying for it to rise early today.

A few miles away, something large glided through the skies, its skin glistening in the light of the moon and the stars. It began to descend, and if there had been anyone nearby, they would have saw a large dragon gliding towards the ground. It's scaly hide glistening silver in the light, as it flapped it's wings to slow it's approach before it landed, rather gracefully, upon the plain. It stretched it's huge wings for a moment, before drawing them in tight to its body. The huge head looked left and then right, as if looking to see if anyone had noticed it. Seeing no one about, it spoke a word in the dragon tongue, and it's body shimmered more brightly, and sparkled for a few seconds before it began to shrink and change. Within seconds, the large silver dragon was gone, and in its place stood a lovely young woman.

The woman wore a flowing silver gown of the finest silk adorned with tiny crystals which shimmered with reflected moonlight making her form sparkle. Her long flowing hair was a silvery blonde and framed a beautiful face with elvish features. Cool almond shaped eyes, with golden flecked irises, scanned the surrounding area before she stepped forward towards the trees in the distance.

An hour later, as the sun was just beginning to lighten the horizon, the door to the Bleeding lute opened and the woman paused in the doorway for a moment before stepping in and closing the door behind her. At this early hour, there wasn't many people in the common area. The owner, Henry, was up and directing the other staff in preparing for the coming day. Soon patrons would be down and looking for breakfast to start their day. Henry, looked at the woman who entered, and opened his mouth to greet her but then his breath caught in his throat. The beauty of the woman literally took his breath away. He managed to regain his voice a moment later.

“Good day, milady,” Henry said, “if you are looking for a room or a meal, you have come to the right place.”

Maria, the bartender, came out of the kitchen at that moment and saw the woman as she approached Henry where he stood in the center of the common room, Maria paused herself, taken by the appearance of the woman. She was quicker to recover and continued on to the bar, where she began to check her stores to see what she might need to bring out for the morning meal.

The woman stepped up to Henry and smiled at him, he gasped as his breath once again caught at her continence. She looked him over for a moment, locking her eyes upon him and then she gestured with her head to a table near the fireplace which was already lit against the chill of the morning.

“Greetings kind sir,” she spoke, her voice musical to the man's ears, “I will sit by the fire if you don't mind, and I would like a glass of Elvin wine for now.”

“Ah... coming right up,” Henry said once he got his voice back. He gestured towards her table then he turned back towards the bar, “Maria, a glass of Elvin fine.” Approaching the bar he lowered his voice as he leaned towards her, “the best we got.”

Maria nodded to him and looked towards the woman as she sat at the table nearest the fireplace. Dragging out a bottle from beneath the bar, Maria blew the dust off the bottle before opening it and pouring a glass and setting it on a tray. Henry took the tray and walked over to the table, where he set the glass on the table before the woman.

“Here you milady,” he said as he tried not to stare into her eyes; they seemed to draw him in and made him feel as if he would do anything his lady asked of him.

“Thank you sir,” her musical voice came again. She reached out a hand and placed two gold coins on the tray that Henry held as she lifted up the glass and took a sip. She nodded her approval to him and smiled.

“Anything else I can get you milady,” he asked.

“Not right now,” she replied, “perhaps in a little bit I might have something to eat. For now, I would just like to enjoy the wine and the fire.”

Henry nodded and then walked away; he went into the kitchen to make sure things were up and running smoothly.

The woman sighed slightly, though the sound didn't travel beyond her table, as she looked around the room and quietly sipped her wine, apparently enjoying the atmosphere of the Inn known as the Bleeding Lute. Perhaps she would find out the origin of the strange name of this place.

(OOC: Just a little something as the games I am in are stalled, and I was bored. Anyone may join in if they wish. )