DM's note: Tympani's writing posted by me on her behalf.

---

The slate gray sky of Icewind Dale loomed in its glaring indifference down through the transparent dome to where Tympani Major lay, making every effort to ignore the fact of yet another day.  Sea-green eyes blinked in reply, closing and opening in autonomic response as moisture dried from delicate surfaces.  These were eyes that tried their best to see nothing.  These were eyes that could no longer retreat into the empty realms of sleep.

"Rrrrabarglah!"  A flight of blankets fluttered across the tiny hut with an irritable pinwheel of arms as a relentless restlessness drove the halfling from the dubious refuge of her bed.  For a moment, she considered striding as she was out into the cold - nothing but pink skin and freckles.  But common sense and the memory of the vicious bite of frigid Icewind Dale won out over her current combined mood of impulse and irritability.

So, when the halfling stomped out of her pearlescent pink dome she did so fully clothed and ready for the day - despite all impulses to the contrary.  Snow crunched under her bright red boots as the dome winked out behind her, and she made her way through the North Gate of Bryn Sander on her way to the Northlook.

"Hoy, Scrammy!  Free breakfast for your favorite halfling?"  Quickly stuffing all ill-humor and concerns down under the cushions of her mental couch, Tympani Major entered the inn with a bang of the door.  She mustered a *tappity*tap* and slide across the wooden floor of the room before leaping to perch her pert bottom on the edge of the bar, and favored the old sellsword with her most charming grin.

The burst of energy faded then, as quickly as it came.  Silent and moody once again, she kicked her legs, red boots swinging in time from the edge of the bar.  "It wasn't her, Scramsax," she said.  "In Caer-Konig.  Tall, that one."  And Tym laughed a sorry laugh that threatened to crash into a sob - but didn't.  "Wasn't her."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:21, Wed 20 Mar.

Scramsax turned from where he was wiping down the shelves behind the counter, withdrawing his cigar as he cast his perpetual smug grin Tympani's way. "Ah, you saw the sign! Free breakfast, week out! Free rooms and handies, too!" He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing a knife he had set in the table to cut open a freshly delivered sack of chicken. The kitchen boy wasn't particularly busy, but he kicked hard on the door nonetheless with Tympani's order and the scarce ingredients. This was a delivery from Good Mead and it was the last he was due for a while.

"Although, if you truly can't pay . . ." he said to her in more earnest, tapping the list of names he kept on display. Each person was associated with a sum they owed, and that sum was scratched out several times — most for good, a few to allow for increasing numbers. Rapidly increasing numbers. Most knew that Scramsax was as cutthroat as his clientele, and he made no exceptions. Ever. If you didn't pay in coin, you'd pay in fingers, teeth, or kneecaps at the proprietor's discretion. Scramsax's age was betrayed by the silver that streaked his rich red hair and beard, but his long years as a mercenary were still sufficiently recent and hinted a bite to the bark.

Tympani was joined by only one other customer, a ragtag hoodlum of some sort. A brigand, perhaps. He was eating whatever soup the kitchen had prepared, and Tympani was offered her more of the same, some bread to go along with it, and a drink. The menu was short these days. "Can't say I've seen any Elves of note roaming about either, I'm afraid," Scramsax said as he served her. He wasn't going to let her bail on the bill, but he could offer her some sympathy at the very least. Only problem was that he was terrible at it. "Maybe it's time to think about heading to Lonelywood? It wouldn't do you harm, methinks."

"I can pay."  The petulant words came without even the slightest of assessments of her financial state.  She hadn't worked in a while - all efforts being consumed by the search for Maer.  "I can," she reiterated, though, from her tone of voice, this was more to convince herself than anything else.  She sighed.

"And thank you for the sympathy, Scramsax."  Turning at the waist, the flame-headed halfling leaned back on one arm with her palm planted on the top of the bar.   "The only problem is that you're terrible at it."  She fixed the innkeep with an accusing glare.  But the glint of mischief in the halfling's green eyes quickly spread to her lips which just as quickly parted in a bright laughter over one trait of the master of the Northlook that they both knew to be true.  "But, seriously.  Thank you."  Tearing a small, puffy cloud of bread from the main of her serving, she dipped the halfling-mouth-sized piece into her soup, and then paused, contemplating thoughts in the near distance before popping it into her mouth.

"I suppose you're right," Tympani admitted.  "But, I have to say, the idea is ...  Well, it's sort of terrifying.  But it's been ... what?  A month?  More?  Dougan's Hole, Good Mead, Easthaven, and Caer-Konig."  She counted the towns of Icewind Dale's Ten Towns off on her small pink fingers.  The halfling sighed again, before popping a chunk of cheese into her mouth.  "Have you ever been in love, Scramsax?" she asked from a place down within the well of her despondency.

"Nay," Scramsax was quick to conclude despite the complexity of such a question. "I didn't let myself. Thought I didn't want to. There were a couple of times someone nearly convinced me otherwise, but I was stubborn and stupid. Now I'm stubborn, stupid, and alone." He shrugged, smothering his cigar in an ashtray on the counter. It was what it was. He'd been through his own endeavors, but he very well knew it was small time stuff. Tympani's grief was plain to behold, and he couldn't begin to understand the extent of it. "'To have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all', isn't that something they say?" The words likely rung hollow to those whom they would benefit the most, but Scramsax at least held it to be true. They probably weren't right in the moment, but then again he was a terrible shoulder to cry on.

It was then that the door to the inn swung open, inviting in the terrible winds that howled this morning. In strode three faces familiar to Scramsax, those being Rhydd's, Stormheart's, and the squire who had visited his establishment several days ago for an interrogation. The Goliath woman he didn't know. He nodded Rhydd's way while still speaking to Tympani. "That's a mug I've not seen in a while," he commented. "Ranger. Him and the Goliath both. Leave the snow by the door!" he shouted to them before they could find their seats. He didn't want to mop the floorboards more times than he had to. "What can I get you?"

"Master Scramsax," rumbled the Human, speaking on a voice that sounded deeper than one might have expected from one of average size.

He stepped inside, then moved sideways to clear the door, and set about scraping off the snow that covered the thick cold-weather clothing that he wore. Perhaps a bit surprisingly, given the weather outside, he neither moved nor sounded as if he were near-frozen.

"Thank all the good gods -- but most especially, Lady Mallory -- for those boots that she crafted for me."

Rhydd had almost spoken of "magicked boots", but he caught himself in time and refrained from doing so. After all, magicked boots that could keep a body warm in the sort of weather that was howling outside were . . . well, Rhydd supposed that he valued his bow a bit more -- for after all, where would an archer be without his bow -- but certainly the boots were a close second, most especially when the weather was being as contrary as it was just now.

And if word got around amongst the wrong sorts -- like the ill-favored fellow who was hunched down over in a dark corner, for example . . . better not to praise Mallory's gift too loudly or proudly, Rhydd had decided.

Catching sight of the red-haired Halfling over by the bar, the outdoorsman nodded, affably enough, in her direction. His gaze was pulled down to her boots -- so brightly red was their coloring -- and the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a ghost of a smile.

"Rhydd Maldhon," he said, introducing himself, thus saving Scramsax the trouble.

"I am leaving," Farwalker stated before she bothered to dust off her snow. She adjusted her shawl, then plucked the Ioun Stone from orbit and handed it to Stormheart. It wasn't customary for Goliaths to regift something offered in respect unless death was involved, but if he was staying along with the group she guessed he would find himself in more danger than she would. And these weren't the times for customs. She also doubted the Trolls would have cared. "You must attune it." He would learn of its properties when he had.

Without any further words of parting, she reopened the door and headed back out. She did after all leave a rather large Peryton outside that would undoubtedly have drawn undue attention.

---

Farwalker is giving Stormheart an Ioun Stone of Protection.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 14:32, Mon 25 Mar.

"What's love got to do, got to do with it.
What's love, but a second hand emotion ... "

"That's sad, Scramsax."  Small and sorrowful, the words to the song had dropped like tears from a cheek that stain the breast of a doublet only to dry then, and disappear forever.  "So sad," repeated the halfling.  Though whether she had been speaking of the innkeeper's loveless life, or of some condition of her own was unclear, and seemed unlikely to gain further explanation.

Her head made a slow turn at the opening of the door.  Both the movement and the expression on the halfling's face were still wreathed in the lethargy of her emotional self-indulgence.  She watched with disinterest as the newcomers cleared snow from their footwear.

"Ranger?"  Perking up, the flame-headed halfling sprang to her feet atop the bar, placing her roughly three-foot height much closer to the ceiling than any other person in the room save perhaps the Goliath.  "You're a ranger!"  Both the words as well as a small pink indicatory finger pinned the vocation upon the man that had just introduced himself as Rhydd Maldhon.  Banished in an instant seemed the doldrums and the dumpy mood that had wreathed the halfling only moments ago.

*TUNK*tap*  Her red boots clacked as she leapt from the bar to hit the wooden seat of a nearby chair.  *PU-THUMP*tack*tack*tackity*tak*  She hit the floor next, and danced in a tight circle before striking a pose with arms flung wide.  "I'm Tympani.  Tympani Major."

"And you're a ranger.  Ranger's wander.  And I'm wondering, in your wandering, if you've seen an elf.  Not just any elf.  I've seen elves.  She wears furs.  White furs.  Over a shining chain shirt.  Dark hair.  With feathers.  In her hair.  About this tall."  With a single pink hand, the halfling that had just named herself Tympani Major reached up to indicate a height that could lay claim to being little more than somewhere taller than herself.  "Goes by the name of Maerthryl.  Have you seen her?"

The running stream of babbling exposition comes then to an abrupt halt.

"Ummmm ... She's leaving," said the halfling, indicating the Goliath with a point of her finger.

Awfully busy morning, it seemed. He often had patrons in the evening, but rarely did anyone need a room these days. Poor times for tourism. "Eh," Scramsax cocked his head and pulled a frown as he grabbed a mug to clean while he considered Tympani's verdict. He was the architect of his own fate, so he didn't consider it particularly sad. But maybe he should visit Helka in her chandlery again and invite her to join him for a meal . . .
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:19, Mon 25 Mar.

~If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it's probably a Ranger,~ Rhydd thought to himself.

~Nay, that's not quite right. But 'twas something like that.~

Rhydd could also remember having heard a bard some time, somewhere asking the audience what was in a name, and going on about roses. He could recall that had been part and parcel of a presentation by a traveling troupe about a pair of doomed lovers. He had not cared for the ending, he could recall.

In this instance, although Rhydd had not formally joined any of the bands of Rangers who operated in the vicinity, he sometimes joined them in their efforts to put things right. And he spent lots of time roaming the outdoors, and could take care of himself out in the Wild, if push came to shove. And so it was that most folks reckoned him to be a Ranger, and he had at some point simply ceased to correct them. After all, he *did* walk like a Ranger and quack like a duck.

He eyed the flame-haired Halfling as she leapt up onto the Northlook's bar and danced a little stutter-step, then "Thumpety-Thump!" jumped down into a chair-seat, and ended with dancing a little jig on the floorboards and announcing her name with her head held high and far-flung arms.

"Well . . . that's a good way to keep warm, I'd wager," the archer commented dryly, allowing a small smile to creep into his expression.

"Well-met, Mistress Tympani."

"And like you, I have also seen Elves. But to answer your question -- nay, not Maerthryl, I fear."

---

OOC: Tympani, I shall mention that I write Rhydd's inner (unspoken) thoughts in seagreen, as opposed to green for his spoken words. Also, his unspoken thoughts are bracketed with tildes (~), as opposed to the usual quotation marks (") for his spoken words. To my way of thinking, that makes things a bit easier to follow in a PbP forum such as RPoL. :)

Also, Rhydd's point about not "officially" being a Ranger is really just a D&D nuance -- he is a Fighter with an archer's Build, in game-terms. I was curious as to how such a build would stack up against a more traditional Ranger's Build. But, in truth, he does indeed walk and quack like a Ranger. :)
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:37, Mon 25 Mar.

"Oh.  Well."  The disappointment was palpable, and the halfling heaved a heavy sigh.  "Well, that's not much different from the answer I've had from anyone else over the past few ... whatever the time's been in this frozen hell-hole of Icewind Dale."  But, just as bitterness seems about to brim over and run to tears, the halfling turned to the other two:  The Goliath, now half out the door, and the one who had the look of a squire.  "You're ... with him.  Right?"  She sighed again.  "So you wouldn't know either."

"Has any of you ever been to Lonelywood?"  The question seemed yet another zig in the zag of moods and topics that had run through the halfling in what had surely been but moments.  Her mouth pulled into a line of worry, and her eyes cast down to the worn boards of the inn floor as she viewed various prospects of dread in imagination before her.  "I may have to go there," she said.  "And I'm not sure that I want to."

Stormheart was about to reply to the demand to keep the snow out but was distracted by the Farwalker. He turned to face her as she spoke. "Ahh, but I will miss you, my friend. It has been good to travel with another Goliath for a while."

He frowned slightly and hesitated at the 'gift'. "Are you...certain? I..." He restrained a sigh and gave her a nod. "Thank you. I will try to bear it with honor and think of you." He touched his forehead with two fingertips and then held them out towards her as she walked away. "Safe journey, my friend!" He shook off the snow and headed inside, shutting the door behind him and Khulekani.

There was...a very excited halfling inside apparently, barraging Rhydd with questions and descriptions. Then she looked at him. He wasn't sure whether to shake his head no indicating he hadn't see this person or to nod his head yes to indicate he was with Rhydd. After a second, he did neither and simply said, "I have not seen such a person, no." He gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. "And yes I have been to Lonelywood before, though it has been some time."

It seemed Tympani had gotten her answers, but Farwalker still lingered in the door as she was directly addressed. "Good luck with your search," she said. And she truly meant it. Out of anything, this little Halfling stranger had nearly convinced Farwalker to abandon her own goals in favor of the search of this person who was probably dead, and all in the span of mere moments. But still she closed the door behind her and headed on her way.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:46, Tue 26 Mar.

Farwalker was apparently not given to long good-byes -- by the time Rhydd turned to speak to her, she had gifted Stormheart with the Ion Stone and left the building.

With a shrug, the outdoorsman turned back to face Tympani. In point of fact, he did not favor long good-byes himself.

"You mentioned Lonelywood. I am not sure whether you meant the town or the forest."

"It so happens that I have been to both, and know them well. Do you suspect that the person you are seeking may have gone there?"

And so the moment found the halfling waving farewell to a door now shut against the cold and snow of Icewind Dale.  "I thought she was going to stay," said the halfling.  "For a moment."  Another sigh escaped her small body before she turned to the remaining Goliath and the ranger named Rhydd.

"I meant the town," the little one clarified.  But then reversed herself.  "But, I could have meant the woods.  You could never tell with Maer.  I often thought her more comfortable with leaves in her hair.  More herself.  I loved her that way."  A soft smile dimpled the corners of her rose and freckled cheeks.  "She said she was from Lonelywood.  She ... she said she had relations there."  Despite the seemingly positive context of the halfling's words, they seemed buoyed by an under current of unease.  A fidget in the hands.  A tight set of her mouth.

"She seemed a good friend."  And the halfling pointed to the door of the inn, admitting the idea that she had been speaking not of her lost Maerthryl, but of the Goliath who had just departed.  "She gave you a gift.  Before she left.  Was she special to you?  She seemed nice.  In those brief few moments that she was here.  And as much as you are Rhydd, I can't imagine you'd want to be Rhydd of her," she added.  But the jest only rose to the level of a half-smile, before dying back again into the cooling embers of a banked flame.

"I believe that you will find both the town and the Forest more welcoming . . . well, at least not as daunting . . . as you may suspect," Rhydd replied to Tympani.

The outdoorsman pursed his lips, his thoughts seemingly turning inwards to search for memories. "Ever since I was a youngling, the town's Speaker has been a Halfling who answers to 'Nimsy Huddle'. She is of the Strongheart Clan, if I remember correctly."

Rhydd smiled, "Many were the times that I would wander in, hungry, cold, and filthy from the trail, and she would hasten to open her door for me, offering welcome, warmth and food."

The archer's smile broadened. "Her baking skills have been well-honed over the years. If perchance we visit her in search of your friend, be sure to ask after her lemon tarts . . . mouth- watering!"

"Now, as to the Forest," Rhydd continued, gazing up at the ceiling, "many who venture in with the wrong goals, wrong attitude -- what have you -- find it unwelcoming, even dangerous."

"But for those of us who are respectful of the Forest and those who dwell therein, that is not an issue. It is the domain of the local Rangers, many of whom are Elven. They deem themselves the guardians of the Forest, and they take this responsibility quite seriously. At the moment their leader is Eyes-of-the-Hawk, with whom I have trod many trails in pursuit of raiders, marauders, and thieves -- and, of course, despoilers of the Forest."

Rhydd lowered his gaze to peer at the Halfing. "Mentioning Nimsy and Eyes-of-the-Hawk as I do -- that is not to say that the two Lonelywoods do not have their fair share of rogues and ne'er-do-wells who have wandered there with the intent of leaving the broader outside world behind them . . . so you should not expect to find only rainbows and Unicorns -- and perchance some lemon tarts."

Rhydd smiled and nodded to Tympani in acknowledgement of the Halfling's good-natured jest. "Farwalker was a boon companion, and we have been through many adventures together. I shall regret her absence, but in the end we must each trod the path that calls to us the most insistently."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:59, Wed 27 Mar.

"Oh.  That's nice."  A polite nod accompanied an equally polite - though not terribly enthusiastic - smile.  In fact, a bit of concern seemed to worry at the corners of Tympani Major's eyes when the ranger made mention of another halfling.  "Thank you.  Rhydd.  For all of the very useful knowledge.  Of Lonelywood.  Which will come in handy.  I'm sure.  Yup.  Useful."

"Yup.  Um ... "

Curiously, the infusion of Lonelywood lore seemed to do little to set the flame-haired halfling's mind at ease.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  She paced in a tight circle with her face squinched into an expression of concerned consideration.  "Um, this halfling.  Um, Nimsy.  You wouldn't happen to know if she's, um, a, attractive or not, would you?" she asked the ranger, half in fear of what the answer might be.

Stormheart held the small stone in his hand, looking down at it. When the halfling woman addressed him, he turned to look at her. "Hm?" His head tilted to one side and his eyebrows drew in slightly, as if confused by the question. "Of course! Farwalker is of my Clan. My clan is the most important thing in my life, even when they are far from me. I would do almost anything for them."

He looked down at the ioun stone once more and shook his head. "so small." He then closed his hand around it into a fist and moved next to Rhydd.

He faced Tympani once more, "My apologies. Well met, I hope. I am called Stormheart."

Then Rhydd went on a long talking spree, the Goliath staring at him with wide eyes for a long moment. "right."

Then he cleared his throat and one eyebrow lifted. "And just who is this...Maer-thryl?" The name was said haltingly, with unfamiliarity, "...person to you that you seek them with such dedication and fervor?"

"Huh?"  The introduction of the Goliath came with a brief knee-dip of a curtsy as the halfling recovered from being torn from her Very Important Question.  "Tympani Major," she replied perfunctorily.  She was about to return to the ranger for his answer when the BIG QUESTION came.

"Maer is the love of my life," she replied.  "She rescued me from a life of the dull and the mundane," Tympani continued, by this time beginning to loosen up, possibly even wax a bit poetic.  "Dark and wild, clad in the white furs of winter wolves, Maer drew every eye in the common room of my mother's inn.  We ran away together.  Cut a swath through the Sword Coast.  Then made our way toward Icewind, where she said that she had family.  She didn't want to go.  But I insisted."

"'I want to know where you're from,' I said.  Stupid."  The halfling shook her head, the foreshadowing of sad endings to come.  "The storm rose up as though out of the snowy ground itself.  The winds howled in the voices of damned souls.  'Don't get separated', Maer shouted.  I turned at the sound of the voice.  A sharp flurry stung my eyes, and when I looked back, Maerthryl was gone.  Panic beat an alarm in my chest.  I shouted her name, but the wind stole my voice, and returned only cold laughter.  I called, and searched, but the storm beat me down.  It was all that I could do to trudge forward, growing colder, more and more numb and frozen.  Finally I collapsed into the snow, and then, as suddenly as it had come, the storm lifted.  On my back in the snow I saw the storm rise and retreat, fading into the hard dark mountains that towered above.  And, in the swirling winds of that retreating storm I thought I saw a face.  For the briefest of moments, the face of the storm grinned at me as it pulled away into the mountains, leaving me alone."

The halfling lapsed into silence then, as though channeling the vast emptiness of the peaks.  *tak* *tiktak*  Small movements of her feet as she shifted in her sadness were the only sounds.

"I've been searching for Maer ever since," she said, breaking the silence with a sigh.

Rhydd listened as the Halfling responded with great feeling and a heavy heart to the question that Stormheart had posed. He would answer Tympani's question about Nimsy Huddle in good time -- but now did not seem to the the right time.

He cleared his throat quietly when the Halfling had finished speaking. "Getting caught out in the open by a sudden winter storm . . . it's not a good thing."

"And it can happen to anyone. It seems to me that the storms have been getting worse as of late. 'Tis almost as if they are lying in wait, looking for an opportunity to spring up and catch travelers unawares."

The door opened again, this time to a Half-Orc and two men who, going by their snowed-down outerwear, had been on a journey of similar length to Rhydd, Farwalker, Stormheart, and Khulekani. Khulekani and Rhydd recognized the Half-Orc as Moyrah, her dark plait hair adorned with bones peeking out of her hood. Rhydd also recognized the two men as Arno, the rugged warrior whom had accompanied them on the journey to Targos, and Salim, one of the two bodyguards hired by Niels and Alma.

"Rhydd?" Moyrah said as she lingered by the door to brush off her snow. "I thought you were headed for Caer-Konig. I saw Farwalker outside. Is Mallory not here?"

A spectacularly busy morning, indeed. Not that Scramsax minded, it suited him just fine, and he whistled a tune as he got to pouring ale.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:20, Thu 28 Mar.

Speak of Asmodeus and so he shall rise.  It was a mere half-moment after Mallory's name was uttered that the door to the Northlook came open at the hand of the very noblewoman herself, albeit with her looking quite distracted as she fiddled about with a few enormous blackish-blue feathers toted in her free grasp.  "Why in the world are there Peryton feathers, of all things, out--" she seemed rather preoccupied by the question and damn near walked straight into Moyrah.  Before she could apologize reflexively for the faux-pas, however, the sight of the towering Half-Orc brightened her cold-rosied cheeked with a smile.  "Moyrah!  Oh, it's so good to see you again!  Is Dannika here?"  She didn't hesitate a single moment to toss her arms out wide and seize Moyrah about the middle in a hug.

She shifted to lean past Moyrah a bit to peer around at the others gathered, though her expression certainly went on a journey as she scoped out the present company.  The lack of her Candlekeep companion brought a pout to her delicately painted lips, while the sight of Salim turned it to an outright scowl.  But before indignation could get the better of her, she spotted everyone else of her party - her fond friends - and her manner brightened up yet again.  "You're all here~!  Wonderful, I've brought presents for each of you to... wait, where's Farwalker?  Has she wandered off again?"  The young noble's reintroduction to the group was just another layer of the chaos on that busy morning.  Though she was without a particular Elf in company as well, so that only added to the questions.

Astre, meanwhile, remained fairly passive where he laid draped about his friend's shoulders.  His sharp eyes bounced around as they always did and lingered on the fellow in the corner, just in case.

---

Does the person hanging out in the corner seem familiar at all?  Be it on sight or scent?  Perception checks can be made as needed.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:45, Thu 28 Mar.

"I-" Moyrah started, Mallory's sudden appearance and subsequent hug taking her by surprise. Although, she eventually welcomed it, wrapping her strong arm and clenched fist around Mallory. "I'm sure Dannika is doing alright in the Geldenstag's with the Chwinga. I was away on an expedition for a few days." She nodded, indicating her happenstance companionship in Arno and Salim. Moyrah had seen the guard once before in the Three Flags Sailing the fateful night she had dueled Thorben, but Arno was up to that point unfamiliar to her. But she had found he was, on top of much else, reliable. "After you left, the Speaker approached me and Dannika with a request. She wanted someone to travel to Revel's End to deliver a message and carry out a bidding in her stead, someone who was already aware of the Arcane Brotherhood's activities in the region. Who was I to say no? Dannika didn't want to, nor should she have wanted to, so we set to gather a band for the task."

Arno, removing his jacket and uclasping his furs, gave Mallory a tilt of his chin in greeting. It had been a Tenday since he had seen any of them, and frankly thought they had settled in Targos. "Wine for me, please," he said to Scramsax.

The man by the table seemed harmless enough, Astre found. The Tressym had neither smelled nor seen him before. He was sniveling, looked somewhat worse for wear, and was entirely unperturbed by the sudden influx of patrons as he slurped his soup.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:25, Thu 28 Mar.

"Moyrah!" Rhydd exclaimed in surprise, turning to face the new arrival.

An instant later his surprise redoubled as Mallory came bustling in the front door. "Mallory!" he nearly shouted, bounding across the room.

"Wonderful!" Rhydd exclaimed the second time in only a few heartbeats, as he nearly shouldered aside the big Half-Orc to hug the wizardess.

Having uttered about a week's worth of words in response to Tympani's questions, it seemed that the archer had resumed his more customary laconic manner of speaking.

"Oh!" Mallory yelped as she found herself on the receiving end of a far more enthusiastic welcome than she honestly anticipated.  She had a bit of trouble with reading Rhydd when it came to his level of comfort versus pride in public.  She'd seen him huff and shuffle in silent humiliation when they'd met the Chwinga, yet he was bold as brass with his affections in another moment, and stoic in yet another.  Well, if nothing else, the uncertainty made for an enjoyable surprise to keep Mallory on her toes even as Rhydd swept her right off them.

"Why, Mister Maldhon..." she tittered through her blush as she held at Rhydd's arm and shoulders in his embrace, dark eyes alight and eyelashes aflutter.  At any other time she might've flustered and erred reflexively on the side of etiquette to gently pry herself free, but in all honesty she'd missed him terribly and had no such desire, audience or no.  Though her fond gaze for Rhydd did quirk with confusion after a moment, given how close they were held to one another.  "Why do you smell like Owlbear?"

Astre, meanwhile, didn't quite appreciate the handling as much as Mallory did.  Rhydd's enthusiasm disrupted the Tressym from his perch along the woman's shoulders and he immediately bailed out with a flap of his broad, owl-like wings.  He instead daintily landed atop Moyrah's broad shoulder and offered the Half-Orc a fond chirrup himself.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:15, Fri 29 Mar.

"What's that . . . Owlbear?" Rhydd repeated, mayhap in an effort to give himself time to work up a worthy response.

"Oh . . . that," he continued after a moment, bending his neck to sniff at this clothing, even as he gently set Mallory down.

"'Twas sold to me by a most friendly merchant," he said, his expression all innocent.

"He assured me that 'twas a fragrance favored by men of action . . . 'manly men' was the phrase that he used, I believe."

"He guaranteed that 'twould win over blushing maidens -- 'sweep them off their feet', he mentioned several times, as if to emphasize the point."

"To hear him tell it, 'tis one of a line of fragrances that he is selling under the name of 'Wild Musk'."

"Do you like it?" Rhydd asked, striving most manfully to maintain a straight face.

"Does it render you weak in the knees?"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:26, Fri 29 Mar.