The stranger entered the Brumic Tavern, the wooden door closing heavily behind her. As a hush filled the room, the only noise heard was the soft sound of her boots making contact with the stone floor. Weaving around the wooden stools and tables she worked her way towards the bar.

            “How can I help you?” the aid asked earnestly, his round face betraying his eagerness for the end of his shift. He was about 5’9, yet appeared larger due to his rather large beer gut.

            “I need a room for the night.” The stranger said calmly, placing two silver coins on the counter. “A quiet room.”

            Gingerly looking at what the woman offered (and what she didn’t) the aid grabbed the coins and brought out a key. “Upstairs first door on your left.” He stated flatly.

            “Thank you.” Swiftly picking up the key she turned and headed to the stairs.

            The strangers raven black hair swayed softly with each step, contrasting her pale skin and fair features. She was unlike most elves; her golden cat like eyes startled any who gazed at them to long or to deeply, for they revealed nothing of her thoughts, heart, and soul.

            As she began her slow assent of the stairs she paused to peer over her shoulder, uncertain of what she’d sensed and thus what she’d expected to see she turned and continued to her room.

            Inserting the key she listened closely for the sound of the lock. Cautiously she opened the door and entered, placing the key in a maroon pouch hanging from her belt. Quietly closing the door, she paused and opened her mind to try and sense if there was anyone else in the room with her. Once certain that she was alone she leaned against the door as she sank gracefully to the floor. As tears slowly trailed down her face, she looked straight a head in a daze. Slowly standing, she wandered over to the large mirror, staring intently at the reflection she spoke softly, “Who am I?” startled by her own question she realized the reason for the emptiness in her heart.

            The old mirror’s wooden frame was carved with various runes. The reflection startled the woman as she looked upon it. She was wearing a blood red leather top, clasping at her back and neck with black cotton sleeves contrasting and clasping at the wrists. The black also connected the top, just below the breasts as though a second skin, to the corresponding blood red leather skirt, and continued as a second skin down her legs until disappearing into her boots.

            Spinning quickly back towards the door she watched the door move an inch, grabbing the dagger at her hip she watched silently as the light from the hall crept into the room, slowly the shadow of a man followed.

            As the door was thrust open she posed herself ready for an attack, the man was not alone. The aid from the bar smiled at her as he moved to advance.

            The second a tall lanky man about 6’5 held the aid tightly by the shoulder. “We mean you no harm,” Turning back to the aid he spoke in a low tone, “Fool we don’t want to scare the woman to death, and if it is the one I seek she could kill you so swiftly there would be no time for your scream to form.”

            “Who are you?” Her question seemed to float in the air as it filled the sudden silence.

            “More importantly my dear, who are you?” The taller man countered.

            “She’s not who your after, she’s no challenge, now can I please…” the aid started.

            “No! I am certain this is whom I seek, leave us,” The taller man paused, when the aid did not move he raised his tone, “Now!”

            “Yes sir.” The aid spouted quickly before leaving.

“Who are you?” The woman repeated without relaxing.

            “I’m, an old friend. I’ve come to help you T’Laura.” Looking at her face, and into her eyes, he knew it had to be her. “I’m Daltok.”