Firiona Vie Everquest

Will grinned with slightly dazed cheerfulness at Sanjah's affection, letting weariness be swept away by feelings of greater immediacy. Jelsa was right, though Karana send a tongue of lighting to smite him if he ever admitted to it. He had been gone far to often of late. Returning the drakkin's kiss, the druid turned to the cloaked stranger, emeralds glimmering as they analysed this enigma with intense interest.

Height was the most obvious thing that protruded to the observer, though the Feir'dal dismissed it quickly as unimportant. A sylvan elf soon became used to be towered over when they ventured among the other races of Norrath, and he had associated with barbarians enough to long cease considering vetical growth, or horizontal, as a factor of any consequence. Yet, it was odd for one of his cousins to be of such stature, perhaps the blood of northmen flowed though Mithion's veins? The druid's swift mind sifted though details, placing them into rapidly shifting patterns of thought and impression. That veil of strands, still glistening with water despite the heat, was an eerie white, a shroud of winter that sought to distract from, or perhaps....attract fatal attention to, the phantom' gaze. Eyes of chilled granite reflected the curious young man before them without even a whisper of the soul that stirred beyond their barred gates.

Breaking the strange hypnosis with a flinch shaped into a respectful nod, Will let a neutral tribunal of suspicion settle within him. A wolf to be sure; those eyes quelled any doubt. As with all hunters, the scent of danger pervaded, though it seemed to be veiled at the present. A predator at rest perhaps, although potential of hostility certainly did not denote certainty; the child-like trust Will granted to those he called friend could have horrible results if he extended it blindly. The Feir'dal had learned this lesson harshly, and he tried, despite his nature, to remember it. A heart made vulnerable by an innocent belief in man's inner divinity was one easily torn to shreds by those who respected neither life nor the soul's sanctity. The question became obvious, what manner of wolf was this Mithion? A lone wolf was either a kinslayer... or a survivor. Which stood before him?

"Saesa omentien lle Mithion," he intoned warily. "I am Willowen Sagethorn, warden and healer in service to the goddess."The Feir'dal frowned slightly as he had to mentally translate his name and speech into Common. His speech wavered with the slight awkwardness of one who did not speak human tongue, or any language for that matter, very often.

Delvahart sat his fork down as he finished his meal. He dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin. An elf had just entered the room and appeared to be known by the two partially scaled women who had been just a few moments past chatting with him. The newcomer's soft brown hair was cut very unevenly and his eyes flashed, hinting at his wild nature. His eyes quickly observed Delvahart.

He made it a point not to stare at the elf, who appeared just a bit shorter then himself as he stood up from the table. The person before him soon began to speak.

"Saesa omentien lle Mithion," the stranger intoned warily. "I am Willowen Sagethorn, warden and healer in service to the goddess."

His speech was heavy with an elvish accent as he spoke a blend of both Feir'dal and common. Delvahart thought to himself that this Willowen perhaps did not visit the stone worked cities of men very often. He could only guess this by Willowen's wild gaze and speech.

"Air air eil cylys sai taer o Willowen Sagethorn." replied Delvahart with a small, respectful bow. Roughly translated this spoke to the stranger "It is an honor to meet you Willowen Sagethorn". He smiled warmly, again trying to mask his true feelings of weariness.

"I am Mithion Aglar, simple traveler hailing from the lands of the Highpass." he introduced himself again. This time he spoke in common out of respect for any who may not speak the elven tongue.

The bar tender strolled over and picked up the plate. He then returned to his duties behind the counter. Mentioning over that they would soon be cleaning up the bar for the night but all of the patrons were more then welcome to stay and chat further.

"Willowen, Sanjah, and Jetamio... It has been a most welcoming evening by each of you. And I apologize that it is so short lived. But, I must rest for a short while. Only a few hours. Then I must continue on my way." he explained.

Delvahart grabbed his personal belongings from near the fire. They had dried considerably. He quickly strapped his small pack to his back. He carried no weapons or armor, so there was no need for him to don these items. He turned towards the three strangers again and a small smile came to his face. He glanced at Sanjah.

"Thank you again for the meal," he stated and then glanced to the other two with those timeless eyes, "and the hospitality."

Delvahart did not wish to be too involved with these people. He knew what would happen if he were to get involved. The same fate as those others before him. His brow tightened as the thoughts started to come again. Thoughts of his friends who were gone. And thoughts of his enemies.

"What do you I owe you Sanjah? I will not take nothing as an answer." he asked. His face no longer tightened with worry as he pushed aside the thoughts.

Before she could speak he reached into his pack and quickly pulled out a small brown parchment that had been folded closed several times. He slowly opened it to show her a red powder with blue crystals.

"This is the little spice that I had during my travels. It is from the deep jungles of Kunark. Far from this planar realm It does however make for the sweetest treats. I hope that you are able to use it well." he slid it across the table and let it lay there.

"I must retire now. I wish you all safe travels and it was again, an honor." he says this as he slowly makes his way to the room, the bartender's wife showing him the way.

Delvahart climbed the small wooden stairs, and thanked the bartender's wife. As Delvahart reaches his room he puts down his belongings and slowly makes his way to the tiny window. Even through the rain, he can still see the shadowy remnants of the old guild hall. A flash of lightning ever so often lights up it's face as well as his.

Slowly he lets out a sigh as he makes his way to his meditation blankets. He could hear the voices downstairs, though he could not make out their words.

Elves are not required to sleep like a normal human would. They simply trance for roughly four hours before being fully rested. As Delvahart had done less of here often. He did however need this tonight. For the road tomorrow would be long. He mindfully put out the voices of those downstairs.

He slowly closed his eyes while sitting upright. The normal nightmares of Terris Thule began to sweep through him again. Images of blood, death, and war. He began to sweat. Rain continued to fall outside as he drifted into his sleep.