Chapter 1: Nightstone

"Gods Damn it!" Chanler thought. "I should've helped him! I should've healed him and brought him with me! I-" Thought Chanler, as his eyes drifted to the crimson mud lying at his feet. "No. I did what he wanted. And he would want me to get the children to safety instead of wasting time kicking myself over what I should've done." Chanler drew a dagger out of its sheathe and drove it into a tree near the drag marks. He gripped it tightly for a moment after he had driven it into the massive trunk, and looked down the path of displaced foliage. "I will come back." Chanler left the dagger in the trunk and ran back to the group of children and fathers.

Chanler locks eyes with Morak, his face grim. "Not yet. Come, we all need to get back. It's past all of your bedtimes." Chanler hesitates for a moment, and turns to the child. "Don't worry, your grandpa will be back by the time you wake up." He says, attempting to convince himself of this as much as them.

A stout dark-haired dwarf enters the inn. He beats the dust of the road out of his green cloak and hangs it near his belongings - a large backpack, two swords of different sizes, and a crossbow. He then straightens his leather coat, fixes a mohawk that looks slightly off after a long day of travel, and gently pats his braided beard with silver beads and rings that would make any dwarf proud. After this quick grooming, he walks to a bar and orders dark ale. From the way he bears himself you can guess that he serves - or served - in the military, yet there is no visible insignia on him.

As he gets his order, he sits at the bar, slowly drinking his ale, its color matching the color of dwarf's eyes. He observes the commotion in the inn with a frown, and asks the innkeeper in a deep clear voice:
"Aye, this town looks more nervous than a girl at her first dance! What's brewing?"

A halfling just to his left turns to face him. She appears to be drinking a mug of water. She wears simple robes dyed in garish colors. Slung over her shoulder is a pan flute. She gives him a bright smile. "Why would a girl be nervous at her first dance? I wasn't. I love dancing!"

Still wearing his brimmed hat layered with the dust of travel, the human male sitting next to the flamboyant halfing looks positively muted in comparison with his brown pants, light shirt, and weathered boots. Qavez tips back his pint of Morak’s Ale, then wipes the froth from his stubble.

"Ain’t much for dancin’, myself," he says, raising his hand for another round, "but maybe it’s just ‘cause the music ain’t right.

A cloaked slender figure sits in a corner close to the fire. Despite being indoors they still have the hood of their cloak pulled up and a flag on of ale sits on the table at the side of them untouched, all of their attention seems to be fixed on the flickering flames in the hearth.

Amidst the low hum of activity within the proud little tavern Aestan minds his own at a table near the entrance. It isn't a far throw from the last he'd visited, but it was certainly a step up from a soldier pine with the onset of the current weather trends. He'd gotten a horn of water from the keep a bit ago and had already gone through most of it. He didn't need a lot, although good water never went to waste. Rain water was the best though. Always something good about a cleansing of the air and the morning after.
His mind wandered as he went about rubbing an oil cloth over his bucket helm to try and stay ahead of the present moisture. It wasn't often he let his chestnut hair display for others. Too much of a soldier left in him to not go without protection like as not. With a distant look of those bright eyes you might mistake him for a man of romance and he would probably chuckle. It wasn't love but loyalty that keeps him on his path. The same one that keeps him wearing that old mailed hauberk in clan blue. The very same he had left his home in so long ago. Beneath it hung his earthy linen shirt and brown woven trousers. Neither could hardly be seen for his armor. He still wore his heavy, leather wrapped boots and his worn, hard leather gauntlets. Both as brown as the dirt they have helped him stay above for so long.
The longsword at his side hung over the edge of the chair. It rarely came off of his side even as he slept. He needed to invest in a dagger, but the thought was always averting him during visits to town commons. Saega did fine work for protection by herself so he wasn't one to complain unless her blessing left his hand. He couldn't think of a replacement when she'd seen him through so much. He did have his heater set against the leg of the table along with his small pack of provisions. It had a few holes, but wasn't worth turning into a sling just yet. Aestan was a touch too sentimental for that.
He couldn't help but think where he may wind up next. He'd need coin for food again soon.

Xed turns to the man at her left. "I guess that's true. If you don't feel the music, dancing would be pretty hard. Luckily for me, I learned a long time ago that sometimes it's better to dance without music. It's less distracting that way. Hey, nice hat!" She leans over and brushes off some of the dust from it.

Chanler hesitates at the threshold of the inn, and steals a glance back towards the forest, but soon after continues inside, and works to make himself useful by helping Morak pass drinks around and settle room arrangements. Noting the two men he doesn't recognize that each sit alone without drinks, the bard, with his thoughts still drifting elsewhere, begins to make his way around to both. First to the figure by the fire, Chanler asks, "Excuse me, do you need a drink? Or a room?"

The figure sits still staring into the flames for a beat longer than is comfortable before twitching their head round in surprise and looking at Chanler "Erm, yes....a room, perhaps." the figures hood falls back slightly revealing a young looking Teifling male. "Forgive me, you don't appear to be the normal type to be doing this kind of work" he says as he reaches for his flagon and takes a drink.

Qavez smiles. "Much obliged," he says, letting his hat be cleaned. "But how can you dance without song?"

"Like this!" Xed gets up from the chair, stands on one foot and begins a sort of march, keeping to a steady beat before running forward into a series of tumbles, jumps and flips, using empty chairs as props. It’s less a dance and more a rhythmic floor exercise routine. Once done, she somersaults and ends up right back where she started. "You see... instead of music, you listen to the rhythm of the energy around you. It’s quieter here, but it’s still there. Come to think of it, all living things have that energy. Neat, huh?"

Chanler places his hand behind his head and furrows his brow in an attempt to focus on the here and now. "I'm normally the bard, but Morak needs rest for tomorrow so I'm doing my best to help finish up for the night. Give me just a moment and I'll be back with a room price." He says, as he steps off hurriedly to the other lone figure that appears to be a soldier, or at least a well put-together adventurer. "Excuse me, do you need a room? Some food? A drink?"

Aestan had let his hands rest in his lap for a moment while he watched the vivid Halfling express herself quite artistically. He wasn't one for the arts himself, never had more dexterity needed than for the occasional hand written letter. His people weren't particularly well known for that sort of thing. He was suddenly awoken from his thoughts when approached hastily by a young man making his rounds.
"No, but I might see about your stable. Fortune has not favored my pouch" -jingling about a solemn coin purse- "would a few coppers earn me a place outside with the horses? I dread returning to roadside for another night, the dew settles heavily as of late and is hell on old steel."
He raises the oil cloth and helmet in hand in indication of his plight and offers a sincere look as his eyes crinkle at the edges. It was harder to smile than it used to be, but he wasn't without a simple joy of a dry place to sleep and the mercy of a fellow traveler.