An empty road

[Dhamon]

A lone figure walks up the road, the low hanging fog making small eddies with his passing. The traveller is somewhat uneasy. He can't quite put his finger on it but in this place of small scrub and stunted, shriveled trees he feels there should be life, yet there is none.
After a time he sees a large, shadowy form through the deepening dusk. A farmhouse? A shed? Anything to rest his weary feet! He quickens his pace to find an old tavern, not in bad shape but clearly out of use. He tries the door and the hinges squeak faintly as he enters the common room. Dusty tables, chairs and dining-ware lay about as if the patrons and staff were finished for the evening and simply departed.
At the other end of the room he sees a cold hearth. The previous occupants at least saw fit to leave a few logs and bits of kindling, if slightly used. He crosses the room to see what can be done about the chill that had begun to set in. He kneels down and stacks the wood quite expertly (if he says so himself!) and holds one hand out. After a moment of concentration tiny trickles of fire drift from his hand and set the kindling aflame.
"There, that ought to do for the time being." He says aloud. Mainly for the company of a living voice. "All that walking, I sure could use a drink!"
He walks to the table nearest the result of his handiwork and divests himself of his gear, laying his unstrung guitar gently on top, and goes to the bar in search of well deserved refreshment. After a brief scan of the libations available he selects a 4 year brandy.
"It'll have to do" he says with a sigh, "beggars can't be choosers." Then he sits to enjoy the comfort of the warm liquid and fire.

[Ikkari]

Ikkari stepped through the portal to the Oromëa forest. He always enjoyed his evening walks here, but this evening the forest felt different. There seemed to be something subtle in the air. "The air!", he exclaimed, "someone has started a fire." A thoughtful look spread across his face as he made his way towards the tavern set along the overgrown road. As he neared the sturdy building he smiled, someone had lit the hearth in the tavern. His robes brushed the familiar steps as he climbed them to the door. "It's been a while", he sighed with a bit of nostalgia as e turned the handle of the door. The scent of the fire became stronger as he stepped in to scan the common room.
"Ah, there you are", Ikkari muttered as he spotted the visitor. Then in a louder voice he said, "Welcome to our tavern, it has been a while since we had visitors. My friends call me Ikkari."

[Dhamon]

"Ho there!" the weary traveler exclaimed, spinning around from staring into the flames. "You rather startled me. Pardon my intrusion but it seemed a waste to let such a grand place as this surely must have been go without anyone enjoying its comforts." he said gesturing around the room with the mostly empty glass of brandy.
"I say, if you're friends call you Ikkari what then may I call you?"

[Ikkari]

"Ikkari will be fine", he said as walks to the bar, "And what may I ask will your name and business be while here in the Forest of Oromëa?" Ikkari fills a glass with wine as he awaits the reply of this curious stranger.

[Dhamon]

"Well met Ikkari. Oromëa you called it? Hmm. I guess I seek change. Not change for its own sake but a change in my impact on the living world. I am looking for a place that has meaning not only to me but because of me. They called me Cylldoril in my homeland."
The stranger pauses as he looks down at the table where his weapons lay. When he begins again his voice is soft with poorly veiled emotion. "Though I can nigh call it that anymore. You may call me Dhamon. Truly Ikkari I seek peace. A place removed from daily conflict devoid of just cause. A people that value life and honor over treachery and death! A place where family means something!"
At this sudden outburst Dhamon stands abruptly and slams the glass of brandy on the table, spilling what little remained of the liquid inside on his hand.
Looking a little surprised he says, "It appears I've had more than I thought." He sits heavily in his chair again and is silent for a time.

[Ikkari]

He sat down in a seat near Dhamon and listened for a moment to the sound of the fire, looking intently at the burning coals as he gathered his thoughts.
"If you believe that protecting the balance of nature is a just cause", Ikkari started off in a whisper. "If you honour the lives of your enemies as much as you value the lives of your friends", Ikkari's voice grew with strength and passion. "If this is the way you would live until you're dying breath", he looked up at Dhamon, the light of the fire reflecting in his eyes, "Then I believe you have come to the right place."
Ikkari took a long drink of his wine and a wry smile played across his face. "Would you like another drink Dhamon? I know where Silver Amil keeps the 10 year brandy and I'm sure others will join us if we build the hearth a little warmer."

[Avienda]

The smell of wild lilies preceded the sound of chain mail at the door.
A heavy palm-shove set the hinges to screaming and the door opened slamming against the wall.
The sun's last rays glittered on light mail worn on a lithe body. The tan of hard hours spent in the sun made her old scars more obvious. A wry grin spread on a hard face at seeing cups and empty bottles on the table.

"What is this?" Red hair was pushed away from her eyes.
"No cards, dice or women!" She scoffed. "You think yourselves monks then eh?"
Adding to the teasing words she let down the raw edge of her axe, stabbing new marks into the floorboards. The long smoothed haft was almost as tall as she and she used it to lean menacingly towards the shadowed figures inside.

"Ikkari, you magi seem to multiply every time I turn around. And for what? I do not see anything useful conjured." The eyes on her face laughed. "No ale, no food and no fence around the livestock, that are at present, running wild through our streets."
She raised a cocky eyebrow towards the dark mage lounging before her, then seemed to give up with a shrug of her shoulders.
The large axe spun up with a kick and was tossed into the corner.
"I'll bring up a keg."
The woman started for the cellar to find the kegs of beer stored there.

[Mytherceria]

She stood in the doorway unnoticed, all attention naturally on her sister. An amused smirk played with the corners of pale lips as a stormy gaze watched Avienda toy with the men, one of whom she didn't recognize. She could swear she saw his jaw slacken in shock, perhaps fear, when Avienda tossed her axe as if it were a ragdoll.

She remembers like it were yesterday, that fateful afternoon when she had witnessed it for the first time, the awe of watching as the axe-weilding, red headed barbarian woman - graceful, beautiful, and deadly - had easily bested all the men in the village in armed combat to win her position as Enforcer. And now she watched with the same wide-eyed amazement as she performed her nightly dominance ritual that never let them forget it.

As Avienda made her exit to the cellar, Mytherceria approached the table where The First and his companion were seated. She instinctively lowered a hooded gaze in polite nod to Ikkari, her lord. Her greeting was always more respectful than the red haired one, a clue as to her own unique personality.

Of regal bearing, Mytherceria was much less willing to be as openly brazen as her sister, though she respected and even admired her at times. She herself was much more reserverd, submissive, and dutiful, perhaps to a fault. As Conciliator, that was her job; to submit in order to keep the peace.

She smiled at Ikkari and the newcomer, her words a softly accented lilt as she purred softly, "I hope my sister has not offended you, my lord." She turns her attention to Dhamon, smiling still. "She can come off as quite blunt, but she does not mean any disrespect..."

Her hands were clasped elegantly in front of her as she stood there, a beautifully sculpted ice statue, waiting patiently for acknowledgement and the invitation to be seated.

[Dhamon]

"Yes, I've had...experience with women like her" said Dhamon casting a sideways narrow-eyed glance at the cellar stairs. The scowl on his face lingers a moment before shaking himself back to the present.
A wide smile appears on his face, "Ikkari! You somehow failed to mention your friends would be so lovely as these. But my manners must have fled along with the contents of these bottles!"
Dhamon springs from his chair to perform a flamboyant bow, somehow flourishing his tunic and shirt sleeves as if they were a royal jester's silken cloak. "My name is Dhamon Myncar, 2nd string of, well, hopefully of the fine lands of Oromëa. Bah! Tonight is a night of new friends and new beginnings! Matters of business can wait for the morrow."
He circles around Ikkari, all but forgotten it seems due to the appearance of the two women, to pull out a chair for this coldly beautiful newcomer. "Please sit, sit that we may enjoy each others company more thoroughly!"

[Ikkari]

Ikkari gave a small start as Dhamon sprang from his chair and stood up as well. His gaze and thoughts had lingered on the door to the cellar for too long. "Yes, lovely indeed", he said as he glanced one more time to the cellar. He turned to Dhamon, once more composed, "Dhamon, this is Mytherceria", Ikkari said as he gave a small bow to the robed figure. "The woman in the cellar", he continued, "is Avienda." Ikkari started for the bar to get a glass for Mytherceria, "and please Myth, if you're going to insist on calling me lord, please keep it out of the tavern."