In the Wilwarin Inn and Pub, one never knows just what characters might be encountered. Still, things rarely get too out of hand, as long as one doesn’t mock the mages or kick the berserkers. Best of all, the patrons could always count on a good show. That is, as long as there are bards. Tonight was one of those nights when it was open for anyone to be the entertainment, and be at the mercy of the crowd. A young man was standing up on the stage, trying to recite a poem, which was a crime against the tongue of Men, or at least, the patrons thought so. As he was being booed off the stage, there was a young woman, clad in masquerade attire, who was sitting at a table playing cards. Half of her face was covered by a white mask, which bore the symbol of an Ace of Hearts. A similar marking adorned the bottom of her sleeveless, two-tone shirt. Her appearance seemed at first rather chaotic, but was quite flattering once a closer look was taken. This young girl was grinning and laughing like a hyena, while her companions were scowling and cursing under their breath. This was, of course, because she kept winning most of the games. There seemed to be no way for her to be cheating, as she had no sleeves to hide her cards in. Nevertheless, luck seemed to favor this woman, and her companions finally threw their hands up in disgust, and left the table, and her to her winnings. Iânâr, for that was her name, pocketed her winnings with a grin, and went to the bar. She ordered two ales, “One for each hand…” She added as an explanation, flashing a roguish grin.

As the night wore on, many were coming and going in and out of the Wilwarin Inn and Pub, be they elves, humans, dwarves, you name it. Among these stood someone wrapped in a voluminous red cloak, which was decorated by intricate patterns all over it, which were of a slighter darker crimson hue. Beneath the hood, a gleaming yellow eye stared on at the Wilwarin Inn and Pub, as if lost in thought. People passed the stranger by, who continued to stare on, seemingly unaware. At last, the one in the red cloak stirred, and began to walk slowly into the busy pub, and made its way to the table closest to the back of the common-room. Pulling back the hood, it was revealed to be a young woman, no more than eighteen, perhaps. Her hair was a light brown, and her hair, which was adorned with several small charms, covered her right eye. Her complexion was fair, and she had a large intricate tattoo surrounding the right side of her face, red like her garb. A red headband adorned her head; her expression was dark and cold, callous to the antics of the patrons. A katana hung from her side, its hilt gold, with a emerald leaf imprint on the handle. It had been a gift from the former Goddess of Nature. She treasured it above all else. Though it had long been a source of self-confidence and control for the young woman, now that the Goddess who had been so kind to her was gone, she felt lost, like a leaf in the autumn wind. When the barmaid came by, she asked for a bottle of strong whiskey. When it arrived, she immediately poured herself a glass, and downed it in a single gulp. She had nothing to lose, and she had whiskey. Not the best of combinations.