The passing of time...

[Avienda]

"I am well thanks. But you already knew that from looking at me." Avienda ran a hand through her hair shoving it back from her eyes. From where she sat she could see a mark near where Kheiron's neck met his jaw. She couldn't see the whole of it but it could be a decent scar.
"Mal," Avienda gestured to the shadow at a near table, "move your sorry ass over here. No need for caution now."
Avienda set her empty mug down and pulled up a worn chair before taking up her second cup. She leaned back like there was not a care in the world but lowered her voice to something less conspicuous.

"My wise sister set us on this trail." She told Kheiron over her shoulder, "Mytherceria told us we would find the necromancer we needed here. She was insistent or I would not be here. I have combed the region this last week listening for whispers but found none. I was beginning to doubt." Avienda tossed her head as if she was tossing the thought as well. "Now after coming upon you here, I am certain that you are the one that we were meant to find and ask for aid."

Avienda raised her arm signaling the serving wench with two fingers for two more tankards then turned back and eyed Kheiron uneasily. Talk touching upon magic always made her mouth sour.
"There is something wrong that other..." Avienda grimaced and seemed to spit the word out "mages, dare not act alone. Apparently you are a talented one."
Avienda washed her mouth out with more good tavern ale. She couldn't be bothered talking on magic more than that. She already knew more than she wanted to from spending time with her sister. She always thought Mytherceria would make a fine mounted archer if she only gave up her books.

[Lorak]

Lorak stood outside the tavern with one hand on his horse and the other by the hilt of his blade. He was pretty sure that he saw Ikkari enter earlier, and he was positive that was Avienda that went in after.

“Damn, why would they choose here to stop? I swear you can see the fleas jumping out the door because the place is so nasty. Umm… Not Ikkari’s kind of place at all. I’d bet a silver he was forced or drugged to come here. Now, as for Avienda. Yes… This place would fit her nicely. Although if that was her that went in, I would have expected a drunk with a knife in his gut to have flown out by now. Decisions, decisions. “

Lorak taps his foot indecisively, or maybe he is just trying to put off going inside this refuse hut a little longer.

“Well, I am not going to get answers as to why they are here by staring at the door.” So With a heavy Sigh, Lorak pulls up his hood and walks into the Tavern.

[Kheiron]

"Hmm" Kheiron sat and pondered. The situation did require a great deal of thought and certainly seemed of a truly dire nature, so he sat and pondered, then pondered some more. With his hand stroking his chin he struck a mighty noble pose, so he assumed. Finally, after everyone was sure he'd skitzed into some continuous loop, he come to a decision.
"You've got no taste buds. No other way you could stomach this swill then ask for another mug. Truly, you have my pity but, alas, there is nothing I can do. I'm so sorry"
Then he sat there, staring, a look of profound sympathy plastered on his face. He held it as long as he could, until a smile cracked through and he laughed.
"Oh, my dear, don't look so serious. Of course I know that's not why you've come. You've had no taste in drinks since I've known you, why seek help for it now?"
He laughed again.
"But seriously, my hearing is not as good as most and the hearing of most is not near as good as some." He paused, then moved in close until his lips were near Avienda's right ear, then whispered "But I heard you say you were looking for a Necromancer and found one in me."
He tried, but could not hide the menace in his tone.
"Know that my survival depends on that knowledge being secret. Had anyone overheard you I would consider their lives forfeit in protection of that secret. Do not risk the lives of others so carelessly"
He stood then, the smile once more displayed on his lips.
"Now, my old friends, let us take our 'drinks' outside, where we can feel a breeze and more freedom to talk openly"
He wondered, for a moment, if he had spoken too harshly to Avi, whether he should place a hand on her shoulder as he passed as some gesture of...something. He hesitated and thought better of it.
People flinched from his touch, especially those people who knew him. He did not think, at that moment, he could stand to see her shy away from him.
Best leave the bridge cracked, than risk watching it fall
"True" he whispered to himself, "Quite true"

[Ikkari]

The barmaid made her appearance plunking his brandy on the table before him and stalked off after a disapproving look. Ikkari didn't notice her glare. He looked at the grease smeared glass of brandy and decided it was not worth it.
His face frowned at the glass but he was frowning inwardly as well. This man was similar to the Kheiron he once knew but something was off. Ikkari wondered on which edge of sanity Kheiron walked. Was this a good idea involving Kheiron? Ikkari briefly considered abandoning Myth's advice and just take the Oromëans he already had to attempt the cleanse with Mal'Nael alone. But they were here and Kheiron was here. It would not be that much of a risk disclosing some details and hearing the man's thoughts on it.

The walls of the tavern were meant to keep the worlds eyes off but he was beginning to feel the oppressiveness of the smoke and stench of the place. If Kheiron felt more comfortable outside perhaps he would become more amiable as well.
"I will join you outside Kheiron. I have already inhaled enough smoke that I will never need to take up a pipe."

Ikkari cleared the tavern door with a sigh. The wind outside hit him in the face and felt good. The sun still lingered low in the sky. He felt it's warmth, light where the tavern's heat had been heavy.

[Avienda]

Avie sat there for a minute in the calculated calm before the rage. How could they have let him go off alone for so long? She had never imagined that he would not have some sort of company. She knew the signs that accompanied hermit sickness; Paranoia, talking to oneself, agitation and so on. Kheiron had always been a true red head like herself, personality, piss and vinegar. If only she would have thought of him, if only she would have known what he was turning into, she would have found him and made him come home!

She pulled out a dagger and stabbed the tabletop with it then ripped it out viciously to hurl it at the far wall. The man with the bright blue eyes had thrust his mug up in the air in a toast. Her dagger shattered the clay before embedding itself in the wall in front of him. He was startled at first then turned to see Avienda tip the table over as she stood up. He stood as well glaring at her "What's your business with me wench?"
Avienda glared back at the man who dared look at her. Her rage pulsed like a heart beat. She left the rest of her knives in their sheaths and the axe in his holster and shouted back "Come and find out, Mule!"
She wanted to hurt something with her own fists.

[Lorak]

Lorak had just managed to enter the tavern and step into the corner to let his eyes adjust, when Ikkari and... "was that Kherion? No, can't be..." walked past him and back outside. Lorak turned to follow, but caught himself midstride as a heavy table landed with a crash and sent clattering mugs in all directions. "Ah! There is the Avienda we all love so well. The trip to this cess pool of a tavern might have been worthwhile after all!".

Lorak losens his hilt and leans back to watch the proceedings, and lend a hand if needed. But looking at the crowd it was they that needed defending and not Avi.

[Rossco]

The man at the gambling table, hunched over, gaped at the sudden show of agitation preceding imminent violence. He quickly darted his gaze about at his fellow gamblers, began mumbling some dubious apologizes (much to their mixed disgruntlement and reliefe), and collecting most of his winnings up in a dirt-smeared cloth plucked from some mysterious fold of his voluminous garb. Soon enough, he quickly, and quietly (though hardly inconspicuous, given the many jossled bodies and muttered oaths in his struggle to escape the cramped area) made his way outside. He grumbled his way down the steps, onto the dirt track, and suddenly glared around the muddy street as a kin to somebody who just realized they're not sure where they are, where to go, or, especially, what to do with a their arms weight in solid coin.

"Bhh...mm... d'ah! Aha," he silently congratulated his eyesight, "ah, you, sir! Aye, sir! Oh, alas! This One is quite so fortu--" at this point, nearly tripping over one corner of his cloak (it is now, very evident, that most of his clothes would fit somebody much taller--particularly granted he's a rather short man, as far as humans go), and rock, dually, he sputters and barely saves himself the misery of landing face first in the mud.

His sack full of circular treasures, however, are not so lucky, and a great many of them rain down from their capture to land dully in the mud or on the gravel or underfoot.

He grumbles, again, distinctly--in that low octave voice so suspiciously hinting at a different persona. Nonetheless, after a second of staring in debate, he just releases the rag-sack to be held by one corner between index finger and thumb, raises himself up tall, and indifferently strides away from the many little coins--which are now, quite suspiciously, sinking down into the ground, as if each had landed in little puddles of mud perfectly shaped to their circumference. Evidently anbornmal. His stride leads him in a bee-line towards the figure he had addressed before his fall; Ikkari.

Right up to him, he goes, and then bows but a bit--an oddly deferential gesture. "Alas, sir, it seems this one's brave fortune at the graceful presence of one so auspiciously and evidently benevolent as yourself is matched only by my oh so fateful and incumbent disgrace at this one's own foolhardy audacity in the face of the grand beast and undoer of all upright hygiene; balancing on two legs. Fear not, however! I do not surrender, so easily, to the vices of dire fate and direr fatefulness! Oh, nay, no, ne'er, alas; posh! Dear me, no!" At this point, the man has obviously run out of breath--his last words a sputtered, exhausted verbatum. Therefore, his little dribble of a speech is punctuated by him keeling over forward, hands on his knees, bent before Ikkari, while he regains his breath.

At least, that's all that'd be clearly evidenced, by anybody except Ikkari, who is close enough to the man that his now whispered and disguised words could be heard.

And they flow, albeit in that same prior, low-octave, with a fluent grace, and in a tone seemingly buckled by some reverence or respect. "In all seriousness, the fate's do their craft well, with bringing me back to my kin. Not that I'm any much as nearly interesting or ... stalwart, it would seem, in my dedication, as you lot. Nonetheless, the worlds are many and vast, and it would seem that off-ranging and nomading by oneself--even if for the same name as ye' all--leaves one lonely and ... outmatched. ... But, oh, Ikkari, hmhmhm, is not this disguise so intriguing? Aspiring, I think. Hmhm...!"

At this point, the large man abruptly heaves himself straight up, apparently regained all his breath, and proudly slaps his thigh with that dirty rag that was prior used as a coin-bag. One more coin, that was apparently nestled there, rolls out and plops down to smack his metal-covered toes ... in all, an ultimately clownish and confusing fiasco, this 'human' is in whole.

[Kheiron]

As Kheiron stepped out into the sun, the light burning his eyes, he thought he glanced another face from his past slip by him.
You're starting to see friends everywhere
He was debating whether to turn around and make sure when he heard the crash of wood, the sound of shattering pottery, the shouted fury of a certain redhead...
Sounds like a bridge falling down
He hung his head and sighed, completely dejected. He wanted nothing more then to crawl back to his ruin and find a dark hole...and he would, soon, once they were done with him.
He followed Ikkari around the side of the tavern, keen to get to the specifics of their requirement so he could fulfill it and leave, but another felt compelled to absorb the mages attention.
That gambler, that podgey, self-obsessed, wind-bag had slipped past him to begin another verbose expulsion.
He made Kheirons ears hurt, so much so he felt compelled to strip the flesh off his bones and shatter his skeleton to powder.
But he didn't.
The rage wouldn't kindle. The short lived spark of fury smothered by his dark and damp mood.
Let him rave.
At least it was a voice other than his own.

[Rossco]

The rotund, sweating, only-still-heaving-slightly, ball of a man pivoted about (spun, obviously, would not appropriately describe the ineffective gesture), and balked--if only momentarily--at Kheiron. This, however, is punctuated by a large, if not without rhyme or reason, cracking of a grin across his face. "Ah, why hello, one who is as the foci of so much more a ruckus than my lovely self!"

One could, easily, be at a loss as to if this were an intended-to-be-friendly jibe from one of oblivious and unflattering niceties, or a whimsical and uncouth insult cast by the shadow of an over-bloated and apparently illegitimate ego. If they were not total strangers, one could accept it as the former, perhaps -- but either way, oh my, what an asshat this ball of imbalance is!

[Avienda]

Avienda ducked an incoming mug and finished breaking the arm she had hold of. A oddly dressed farmer came at a run for her. She tipped a shoulder into him and heaved him through the window behind her with his own momentum. She laughed, thinking now the window had become his escape route.